Medium Things (A Lost Souls Lane Mystery Book 3)

by Erin Huss

  Drew sits up and stares at me. “Turn on the fan,” he demands.

  I fold my arms. “Drugs are bad.”

  “Marijuana is legal in California.”

  “But fans aren’t … whatever.” This is a waste of time. He’s dead. What does it matter? I flip the switch, except the fan doesn’t turn on. “Must be busted.”

  “No, you have to pull the string.”

  He may be right. I stand on the bed and reach for the string. But it’s high, and I’m short. So I jump and reach, and jump and reach, and jump and reach … I do this for a while, until my dad comes in.

  “Why are you jumping on my bed?” he asks.

  “I’m turning on the fan.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it makes the spirit who is visiting me feel like he’s high.”

  Dad rubs his temples. He knows about my gifts. My mom doesn’t—at least she won’t admit she knows. It’s better that way. Mom’s not comfortable with the paranormal.

  “Let me help you with that." Dad stands up on the bed and turns on the fan.

  Drew sighs with the goofiest grin on his face. “Huh-hey-hm-hm-hm-hm.”

  Dad steps down. “Who is visiting you today?”

  “Andrew Foster, the man who was convicted of killing Margo Stolper.”

  Dad’s face blanches. “Are you ever visited by spirits who are not connected to a murder?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “I don’t need to remind you we’re already in hot water with the sheriff.”

  “And overturning the only murder he’s solved won’t help,” I say.

  “Precisely. Then again, you need to do what you need to do.”

  I heave a sigh, feeling a tension headache coming on. “Dad, did you ever meet Margo?”

  “No, I didn’t. We moved here shortly after she died. When we realized no one else was planning on picking up as the real estate agent, your mom and I took the test and started our business.”

  “Do you have any of Margo’s paperwork? Any information on her at all?”

  Dad shakes his head no.

  Crud.

  “Do you know if she sold homes in Trucker?” I ask. Trucker is a more lucrative area. It would explain the large deposits.

  “As far as I know, she worked solely in Fernn Valley,” Dad says. “Why do you ask?”

  I tell him about the bank statements and the one-way tickets to San Diego.

  Dad strokes his mustache. He does this when he’s thinking. “Can’t you ask your ghost friend?”

  I look at Drew. He’s in the exact same spot with the exact same goofy grin on his face.

  “Huh-hey-hm-hm-hm-hm.”

  “He’s not much help,” I say. “Can you think of anything else that you know about Margo?”

  Dad takes a seat on the bed and crosses his ankles. “She was the Attwoods’ agent right before she died. They told us Margo was distracted, unreliable, and would cancel appointments without giving a reason.”

  “Do they have any idea what was going on with her?”

  “No, but why don’t you ask Margo. Is she here too?”

  “No, she’s not.” Though I wish she’d come back.

  I want to tell my dad that I believe Margo was like me, that she saw dead people, and that she warned me to be careful who I trusted, and not to tell anyone about my talent, and that I was in more trouble than I even knew. I want to tell him because this information is heavy, and I want his opinion on what I should do.

  But I can’t. He’d only worry, and heaven knows he’s spent way too much of his energy worrying about his only child.

  There’s a tap on the door, and Mom pokes her head in. “Why don’t you come entertain your friend, Zoe.”

  “Friend?” Oh, right. Mike.

  “I’ll be right there.” Guess I’ll have to dig further into Margo’s death after Mike leaves.

  Only problem is, he isn’t leaving. We eat dinner, have dessert, and play two games of Scrabble. My dad and Mike spend thirty minutes deciding if disquieted is a word.

  Turns out it is, and it means agitated. Fitting, since that’s my current mood.

  “What about a game of UNO next,” says Mom, coming in from the kitchen with a tray of cookies.

  Ah! I want to scream and say, “What’s a girl got to do to get you to leave!”

  Mike appears to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Even when my dad told one of his corny dad jokes (why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself? It was two tired). He’s been telling that joke for as long as I can remember. But it even got “Huh-hey-hm-hm-hm-hm” from Drew, who stumbled out of the bedroom about an hour ago and is sitting on the couch, watching the wall.

  Gah! My life is weird.

  “I probably don’t have time for UNO,” Mike says and pets Jabba, who has not left Mike’s side. “We have to work on our article. Big deadline.”

  “What are you writing about?” Mom takes a seat and grabs a cookie.

  “Zoe and I are working on an article about my aunt Margo.”

  “Aunt Margo? I don’t think I’ve ever met your aunt.”

  “She died when I was nine.”

  Mom chokes on her cookie. “Are you talking … Margo … Stolper?” she says between coughs.

  “She was my godmother.”

  Oh, good! We’re talking about Mike’s past. This gives me the perfect opportunity to find out information. “Did Margo ever talk about moving to get away from your dad?” I blurt out.

  Mike tenses.

  “Zoe,” Mom scolds. “Don’t pry.”

  Maybe that was insensitive. I’m not sure how else to phrase it, though.

  “Did Margo ever talk about moving?” I ask.

  Mom kicks me under the table. She thinks I’m being rude, which I suppose I am, but this is important. If Mike’s dad caught wind Margo was planning to move, then he could have staged the break-in, killed Margo, and pinned it all on Drew.

  Dang, I may have just solved the case.

  Mom puts her cookie down. “Do you have the go to the bathroom, Zoe?”

  I cannot believe she said that out loud.

  “When Zoe was a baby,” Mom says, “she used to make that face whenever she had to go number two.”

  Now it’s my turn to kick her under the table.

  “I think it’s time for me to get going.” Mike sets Jabba down on the floor. I pat my lap and hold out my arms. Jabba just stares at me and walks away, which about sums up our relationship.

  “You don’t have to leave so soon,” Mom says.

  I check my watch. It’s almost nine.

  “It’s getting late.” Mike shakes my parents' hands and thanks them for dinner.

  “I hope you’ll come back.” Mom stands and urges me to do the same.

  “Thanks, Mike. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.

  “Bye, Zoe.” Mike gives me a hug. At first, I don’t know what to do with my arms. Then I pat his back using the tips of my fingers.

  Dad opens the front door. “If you hear of anyone in the market for a home, let me know.”

  Mike releases me and shakes my dad’s hand again. “Give me another year, and I’ll be ready.”

  “Where are you living now?” my mom asks, doting on him.

  “I’m renting a room right now from Sheriff Vance.”

  It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room.

  “But don’t worry,” Mike says, as if reading our thoughts. Or maybe he’s reading our facial expressions as we each share concerned looks. “I know there’s history between you guys, but Vance and I rarely talk. I mostly stay in my room.”

  “Why would that be a problem?” Mom says with a forced smile.

  Chapter Five

  “That’s a huge problem! He lives with Sheriff Vance!” I’m pacing my room.

  Drew is sitting on the floor, playing with his hair. Twisting strands between his fingers. “I don’t understand why you’re tripping out.”

  I ignore him. “Sheriff Vance doesn’t li
ke my family and now Mike lives with him!” I rub my chest. It’s quite possible I’m having a heart attack. “Margo told me I was in more trouble than I even knew. She could have been talking about the sheriff. The thing is … Margo was like me.”

  “Neurotic?”

  “No!”

  “Gangly?”

  “What? No!”

  “Talked too much?”

  “No! She could connect with the dead.” Which reminds me. I go outside and grab my bag with Margo’s belonging from the trunk of my car. When I return, Drew is lying on his stomach, talking to Jabba.

  “… my cellmate was able to hook me up with bats before he chatted out …”

  “What the heck are you talking about?” I ask.

  “We’re swapping stories.”

  Jabba looks up at me then leaps onto my bed and curls up, seemingly uninterested.

  “This is what I found in Margo’s box.” I dump out the contents of my purse onto the floor. “Two journals and a book about mediums. This is before she requested Reaching the Other Side from the library.” I flip through the pages. “She’s highlighted passages, dog eared pages, and this is where I found the bank statement and plane ticket confirmation.”

  “Why does it matter if she was a medium like you?”

  “Because she warned me about not telling my secret to anyone and to be careful who I trusted. I think she’s speaking from experience. So what we need to do is find out who she was afraid of, who gave her the money, where she transferred it to, and why she was flying to San Diego.”

  “Why don’t you ask the Handhoff kid?”

  “Because I need to be careful who I trust. Mike lives with Sheriff Vance, and I don’t want anything getting back to him,” I say.

  “Handhoff’s kid doesn’t seem like a snitch.”

  “You never know what goes on behind closed doors.”

  Drew blows a strand of hair from his eyes. “Do you know what you need?”

  “What?”

  “You’re right, this does help.” I throw my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling fan.

  “Huh-hey-hm-hm-hm-hm.”

  “The thing is, Margo wanted me to make sure you knew that she knew it wasn’t your fault she died. All I can come up with is Hanhoff, who seems to be the prime suspect. There’s Sheriff Vance, but I don’t have a motive for him. I have no idea who this mysterious Mercedes Man is.”

  “Huh-hey-hm-hm-hm-hm.”

  “I kind of forgot about him, and it’s too late to call Linney.”

  “Huh-hey-hm-hm-hm-hm.”

  “Okay, I’m done.” I leave Drew to enjoy his fan high alone and go out to the garage.

  Above the dryer hangs a whiteboard. I don’t know what its purpose is or who put it there, but for the last ten years, MILK has been written in red marker on the upper right corner. I unhook the board from the wall and take it to my room. There are way too many moving parts, and I’ve found writing everything down allows me to organize my thoughts.

  I can’t erase Milk—it’s become a permanent part of the whiteboard. I use a black marker and scribble over it. I draw a circle in the middle of the board and write Margo inside. Then I draw another circle and write Handhoff, and connect the circles using a line. In the next suspect circle I write Sheriff Vance and connect him to Margo. In the third circle I write Mercedes Man, and in the fourth I write burglary gone wrong.

  Under Handhoff I write Mike and custody. Under Sheriff Vance I draw a big question mark. Under Mercedes Man I write mysterious. Under break in, I write cash. It’s possible someone knew she had made a big withdrawal, and they were there looking for the money with no intention of killing her.

  I shove the whiteboard under my bed and take out Margo’s journals. Guilt worms its way through my mind, and I don’t know why. Margo came to me for help, and if I want to help, I need to know more about her. Who better to tell me more about Margo than Margo?

  Why do I feel guilty?

  Probably because Mike told me not to look through the journals, and these technically do belong to him.

  Stupid moral compass.

  I set them aside for now.

  While I work through my guilty conscience, I decide to look for more information on Brenda, Mike’s mom, and Handhoff. Using my phone, I Google Brenda Handhoff, and nothing appears. Which means she had a different last name—one I’m not currently privy to. So I try Margo Stolper murder instead and find an article from the local news station.

  FERNN VALLEY, Calif. (KNABC) -- the woman who was found slain in her home late Monday night has been identified as Margo Stolper, 30. An arrest has not been made.

  Police believe Stolper walked in on a robbery at her home. “We found signs of forced entry, items missing, and multiple areas of the house had been rummaged through. Mrs. Stolper sustained injury to the back of the head and was confirmed dead upon arrival,” said Sheriff Vance.

  Police were first notified of the possible break-in when a neighbor called to report a suspicious man walking around the perimeter of Stolper’s residence. The police were called a second time when the same neighbor saw the man climb through Stolper’s window. By the time the authorities arrived, Stolper had already returned home and walked in on the robbery.

  A child was also found at the scene and reported that he'd heard a loud scream and witnessed a man wearing a dark mask running from the home.

  “This is the first crime of this nature to happen here in over sixty years. We urge anyone who has information regarding this case to contact the Sheriff's Department immediately.”

  Three pieces of information stick out to me:

  One: The police had to be called twice before they showed up—and when they did show up, they were too late. I’ve called the police before, and it took Sheriff Vance five minutes to arrive.

  Two: Mike was there. He saw the killer leave. If he was present, and there was police activity, could he be the child in Sheriff Vance’s thoughts? However, Mike was nine when Margo died, and the child in Sheriff Vance’s thoughts appears younger. I need to find a picture of Mike at nine to be sure.

  Third: I want to talk to this neighbor.

  But first I want to try and connect with Margo one more time.

  I turn off the lights and sit with my legs crossed and close my eyes. I clear my mind and picture a door. Then I ask for Margo.

  She doesn’t respond.

  So I try Brenda.

  She’s not available either.

  Shoot.

  I grab Medium Mind: A Step-by-Step Guide to Connecting with the Dead and start reading. Much of the information is the same as in Reaching the Other Side, the book Margo requested. It’s interesting to see what Margo marked as important. Most all of the chapter titled Different Kinds of Psychic Abilities is highlighted.

  I read through the different gifts often accompanied with mediumship. Margo put a star beside three: clairvoyance, clairaudience, and clairsentience. These abilities deal with being able to see the future, whether it is conversations or events that will transpire.

  If Margo had the gift of seeing the future, then maybe that’s why she bought the tickets to San Diego and moved the cash around. She knew she was going to die in Fernn Valley. But if that were the case, then she should have known not to go home on that Monday night.

  Chapter Six

  I’m up before the sun, on my phone, wanting to get as much work done before I have to go to work and do work.

  Here’s what I’ve come up with: nada.

  All news reports on Margo read the same. I was able to track down information on Brenda after I remembered someone mentioning she'd worked at The Gazette. Her last name was Johansson. Her obituary was a short and sweet tribute, referring to her as “passionate and a good mother.”

  Then I found an article about the crash in 2001.

  One person is dead after a collision in Fernn Valley early Tuesday morning.

  Sheriff says the crash occurred around 10:30 PM on the frontage road between Cr
awford Street and Lynwood. Twenty-seven-year-old Brenda Johansson was driving westbound when she struck a deer in the roadway and drove down the embankment, crashing into a tree.

  Sheriff says Johansson was pronounced dead at the scene.

  The report doesn’t say if Mike was in the car with Brenda, and I hope he wasn’t. To witness both his mother’s death and be on the scene when Margo was murdered is a lot for a kid to handle. Heck, it’s a lot for an adult to handle. Yet Mike emits mostly positive emotions and seems like a well-rounded, decent human being—which is why I feel so crummy about what I have to do next.

  I still haven’t read Margo’s journals, but I no longer have a choice. The lock is easy enough to pick using a bobby pin, and I flip to the first page.

  Grandma May’s Jalapeño Pepper Jelly.

  2 large red bell peppers

  1 can of jalapeños, chopped

  1 1/2 cups white vinegar

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  5-6 cups granulated sugar

  I turn the page.

  Aunt Leah’s Lemon-Rosemary Cake.

  I turn the next page.

  Triple Berry Freezer Jam

  And the next page.

  Molasses Cookies

  Hold on … I flip back three pages. Aunt Leah’s Lemon-Rosemary cake?

  Aha!

  “Leah Sanders makes a lemon-rosemary cake every year for the Spring Festival,” I say to Drew, who is on top of my dresser.

  “So?”

  “This recipe says Aunt Leah’s lemon-rosemary cake. Mrs. Leah Sanders isn’t old enough to be Margo’s aunt, but this is too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. What do you know about Leah Sanders?”

  “She was Handhoff’s baby momma’s cousin.”

  It takes me a second to make the connection. “She was Brenda’s cousin?”

  “Yep. And she was Handhoff’s girlfriend.”

  I drop the journal. “Stephen Handhoff was dating Brenda’s cousin?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why didn’t you say this when we were at the park?”

  “Because everyone knows that.”

  I clasp my hands together. “Okay, from now on, assume I don’t know anything about anyone who lives in Fernn Valley. Got it?”