by Etta Faire
I bit my lip, hardly able to believe I was about to fight to get my ex-husband back in my house. But since I was apparently in a crazed moment of helping out people I couldn’t stand, I grabbed a couple of fliers about Bobby on my way by the front counter.
I had no idea what a task force meeting was, but I was about to find out.
Chapter 18
Watchers
When it comes to my mediumship, there’s pretty much only one thing I never want my boyfriend to ever see me doing, and that is channeling. I am not a graceful channeler.
Channeling, on my end, is me living a memory through a spirit in real time, and it seems very natural and not at all weird.
What I look like to others is a different story. Apparently, I mumble out the parts while using different strange voices. And sometimes I even drool. I probably even fart. So there was nothing about channeling I wanted my boyfriend to see.
But I was desperate. I needed someone there in the room to wake me out of the channeling because I no longer trusted the entity I was channeling with. And Rosalie flat out refused to “be a part of my crack addiction.”
I decided to spring it on Justin after dinner a couple nights later. I even cooked.
Justin smiled at me from across my dining room table. “This is frozen pizza? I would’ve guessed you made it.”
“I did make it,” I said, pointing toward my kitchen. “I didn’t see anyone else preheating that oven.”
He nodded and leaned into me, kissing me lightly on the lips. I could tell the places he was expecting our evening to go probably didn’t include watching me drool and fart on the couch.
I decided I needed to blurt it out. Admitting your weirdness is best done like ripping off a bandaid. You have to do it fast before you chicken out.
“I need you to watch me channel with a spirit tonight,” I said, as matter-of-factly as I could, mouth half-full of pizza to make it seem that much more casual.
“I have no idea what that means. You want to have a seance or something?”
I took a deep breath. Justin knew I spoke to ghosts, lived with ghosts, and even helped them solve an occasional murder or two. But channeling with them was the weirdest part. It was also the part he didn’t really know too much about yet.
I think I muttered “band-aid” under my breath before going on. “Remember when I told you I sometimes solve ghosts’ murder cases?”
“Of course. You really helped solve the one with the partiers last month.” He adjusted the dark gray sweater I loved him in, his voice slower than normal, strained. I could tell he was nervous about where this was heading.
I went on anyway. “Well, I mostly do this in a particular way. It’s called channeling.”
He stared at me like ghosts weren’t real and like I was crazy. I could hardly believe I was receiving such skepticism from a shapeshifter, of all people.
“Channeling is when a ghost enters me. We combine energy, and I live out their memories step by step. I need you to watch me do it tonight.” There. Band-aid off. “Without recording me, of course, because I’ll probably mumble, fart, and drool. It’s not sexy or graceful at all.”
He took another bite of pizza and laughed. “You’re not serious.”
I explained about how I didn’t trust the ghost I was channeling with, but that I still needed to do it, and Rosalie wouldn’t watch me. “I only need to channel for half-an-hour, tops.”
Justin nodded, reluctantly. I’m pretty sure he only agreed because it was one of those “If she is serious, I need to see this” moments in life.
I also realized I could lose my relationship when he did see it.
“So I just watch you?”
“You don’t have to watch me. In fact, I would actually prefer if you didn’t. Maybe just get a book or play on your phone or something. But when the half an hour is up, and this is the important part, you need to shake my shoulders until I wake up.”
“After half an hour, shake your shoulders until you wake up. Got it,” he said. “Not exactly how I pictured us spending our Friday night.”
I studied his face a second for any traces that he thought this was a joke. He seemed serious enough.
I sat down on the couch and Justin sat next to me, already staring at my face.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, taking his phone out from his back pocket. I knew he was mostly talking to himself.
I nodded and tried to let my mind go blank. A really hard thing to do when your boyfriend is about three feet from your face, staring at you with his phone already out like he’s waiting for you to say “go” or something, even though you just told him to get a book.
I knew Feldman was here, lurking around, probably relishing the fact I had to wait on him.
There were so many things I wanted to confront that ghost about, but I couldn’t do it in front my boyfriend. I’d need to wait to confront him in the channeling about Jackson and what I suspected was a rooting problem.
“Timer’s all set,” Justin said tapping on his phone. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I took a deep breath and managed a strained smile. “Thanks. I’ve got to concentrate. So I won’t be able to tell you when to start the timer. Just do it when I start to look weird and out of it.”
His confused look was not making me feel confident about this. “All right, Feldman. Let’s get this show on the road.”
The ghost appeared beside me, his horse face right next to my cheek, teeth yellow and crooked. I almost jumped when I opened my eyes and saw him. He was becoming very lifelike.
“You look especially pale today,” he said. “Feeling up for this? Feeling weaker, maybe?”
I decided not to talk to the ghost until the channeling. That way, I could keep my weirdness with my boyfriend to one area tonight. I was just sad it was going to be a farting, drooling area.
“Let’s pick up right where we left off. I think we’ve just about got this solved,” I said, with what I hoped sounded like a positive, full-of-energy lilt.
“Brought your boyfriend, huh? You’re not the first to do that. Most ladies can’t trust themselves around me.”
I ignored him and stared at the ceiling, giving Justin the thumbs-up to start the timer.
“You don’t seem out of it,” Justin said.
“Just start it now,” I replied.
Feldman mumbled something that sounded like “Time for the fun and games to begin,” then hovered next to me, waiting for the moment when he could enter.
I had no idea what he meant by fun and games. He was probably upset I was taking control by having Justin here. A human. There was no way I was channeling longer than necessary this time.
Game on.
Chapter 19
Game On
The bright lights of my living room faded into the dim lighting of the bar. The smell of smoke and booze filled the air, along with the smell of lingering burnt chicken.
It sounded like the whole gang was chatting and clinking glasses. The pain in my ankle was back as Feldman walked down the narrow closet-like staircase, more like stormed down them.
When I was sure I was in the channeling, I talked to Feldman in my head. “Look, If you want my help figuring out your murder, I demand you stop rooting and let my husband back into Gate House, or this is my last channeling with you.”
“Husband? Ex-husband, you mean. And no offense, it doesn’t at all seem like you are in the position to be making demands.” He chuckled in his head, which somehow took on a weird echo. “Especially not in my channeling. I have all the power here.”
“Then we’re done,” I replied, like that meant something. But I refused to be intimidated by him.
Feldman turned the radio down. The jazz song playing in the background abruptly ended and everyone turned to face him.
“Who thought this was funny? Putting this horse in the stairway? I almost broke my neck.”
The room went silent until Terry laughed. Flo looked at him and giggled
then the whole room laughed too.
I didn’t feel sorry for Feldman anymore. Not even knowing that one of these people laughing at him right now was going to cut his throat later. Like the rest of these people, I felt like he probably had it coming.
Drew rushed over and stroked our face, kissing his cheek lightly so she could whisper in his ear. “Someone’s just having fun with you, Feld. Let it go. You know how your friends are. You said so yourself.”
I felt Feldman’s jaw relax, his shoulders soften.
He spoke to me. “She knew tempers ran hot in my family,” he said, making me think of Mr. Winehouse, the most even-tempered man in Potter Grove. I could hardly believe that family was somehow related to this man.
I wasn’t about to talk to Feldman, though. I told him I was done, and I meant it. A silent observer. A person trapped in this channeling, in this murder mystery. I would solve it, but I was done trying to be civil about it.
Doc grabbed the bank from Feldman. “We were just talking about this. Remember the last time we all went to the races? Drew made Pam a hat just for the occasion. She still adores that thing. She predicted then you’d have your own shop by now.”
“That’s what we’re saving for,” Drew said, holding up crossed fingers. “Someday.”
“I tell you, my wife would buy everything in the shop,” Doc added.
“Pam’s the best,” Drew replied.
Blanche scowled.
“Pam’s the best wife,” Drew said, touching Blanche’s arm. “You’re the best girlfriend. Tell Pam to come on by the shop. I’d love to make her a new hat. The style is thinner now, smaller. She’ll love it. It’ll be the bee’s.”
“I’d like my wife to look like bees.”
Blanche’s scowl deepened, but Doc didn’t seem to catch on that he probably shouldn’t be talking about his wife with his girlfriend around.
“I lost a bundle that weekend,” Richie grumbled to the side. “Unlucky hat, if you ask me.”
“Everybody lost that weekend,” Feldman said. “Except Terry.”
“Probably why we don’t go back,” Richie chimed in. “Nobody likes it when Terry wins. That boy gets too much in life as it is.”
“Said the man on the take,” Feldman replied under his breath.
“This reunion’s all nice and chummy and all…” Everyone turned toward the deep, gruff voice coming from the back of the room. It was Chance. “But we playing cards or are we gonna fancy dance and reminisce all night?”
“Depends on if you brought your money,” Doc said.
“Come on, Felds. Let’s get the table,” Richie said as he went down the hall with Feldman following. Was I really about to sit through a half an hour of card playing? I almost wanted to slit my own throat.
It didn’t take long to get the table set up, which was a heavy extra one from the kitchen, long enough for the seven of them to sit around: Feldman, Doc, Terry, Richie, Boyd, Flo, and Chance. Blanche and Drew sat off to Feldman’s right at the bar.
I had a great location, actually. I could hear pretty much all the conversations around me, if I concentrated on them hard enough. I’ve done enough channelings to know that even though my energy was meshed with the spirit’s, I could still separate my observations from theirs, hear and see things they might have missed.
“I’m in,” Terry said. The bet went to his girlfriend, who was sitting by his side.
Flo practically fell into him, laughing like she was drunk. I tried to remember how much each person had to drink, and I didn’t think she could possibly have been anywhere close. Was she playing these men, or just one man? I couldn’t wrap my mind around any motive the woman would have had for killing Feldman, but I also didn’t dismiss the thought. She was the Donovan in the room. She was the one with the famous quote on her Wikipedia page that was almost exactly like the one in the horse.
She shrugged. “Sure, I’m in. Why not?”
“If I remember right,” Feldman said to me, interrupting my thoughts. “Flo cleaned up that night. But then, when you don’t have to worry about money in life, it makes you a better poker player. You can afford to take chances, distance yourself from the money part of the game.”
“So she’s a skilled player with money. A threat,” I said, kicking myself for talking to the ghost after I swore to myself I wouldn’t.
“Sure, if threats are ditzy and clueless.” He was almost mocking her. “She didn’t know the game. She got lucky because she’s rich.”
I watched as Flo revealed her cards. A full house. She raked the chips over to her side of the table.
“Looks like she knows the game to me,” I said then added. “Tell me about the affair you had with her.”
“I’m pretty sure one of the people has to be married in order for it to be considered an affair.”
“She was going out with Terry and you’d been going out with Drew for seven years. I consider it what it is. An affair.” I was in no mood to sugar coat things for this man. It wasn’t my job to make him feel better about cheating on his girlfriend.
Terry called for another round and Feldman looked to Drew. “Honey,” he said, just short of snapping his fingers. “The guys are thirsty. Another beer for everyone?”
She got up. “The guys are thirsty, but what about the lady? You seem to have forgotten the rule, ladies first. Flo, what would you like?”
Flo held up her glass. “I’ll have another one of these. Gin and tonic. Thanks, sugar.”
Feldman threw his girlfriend a look as she went behind the bar.
And Feldman went back to explaining his non-affair to me. “Flo wasn’t anything special. She was a bored socialite who’d do anything for a kick. I was worried she was going to hurt my brother.”
“So you slept with his girlfriend to protect him?”
“I knew she was a whore and I proved it.”
“My mother used to say ‘you can only prove your own character in life, not that of others.’”
It was Doc’s deal. He passed out the cards as Feldman continued talking to me in his head. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. She was slumming it with my brother and everybody but that poor slob knew it. Rich, beautiful women don’t go out with people like my brother.”
I didn’t respond, so he went on. “Drew was working late at the dress shop. It was a few months back. And I was hanging out here with Terry and Flo, drinking. Terry got so drunk he puked then passed out, like usual. And I began telling Flo how worried I was about him.”
“This is so touching.”
While Feldman talked, the Drew in the channeling handed out drinks. We looked at our cards. Feldman had two pairs: twos and threes. He called the bet.
“I told her about how Terry used to paint. How he was a good artist. Won a prize in the fair and everything. This was also the night when she told me she would help me find an art studio if I was serious about selling my part of the bar and buying the studio. She told me it was sweet how I wanted to help Terry. One thing led to another…”
“So you pretended to be the nice guy, and even sold the bar so you could impress Flo with what a nice guy you were to your brother. Then, you slept with her and called her a whore.”
Feldman didn’t say anything to me. I could tell he was pissed, but I hardly cared.
The sounds of chatter, clanging chips, and glasses clinking against the table rang through the night. I listened in on the conversations around me because I was done with the one in my head.
Blanche had a high, shrill voice that seemed to rise above the others. Plus, she was drunk. And there aren’t too many quiet drunks in life.
“I don’t know how Flo does it,” she said.
Flo looked over at her. “How I do what, darling?”
Blanche’s face went red. Apparently, she hadn’t known her voice was loud enough that others could hear it. “I don’t know. Be so crazy. Dance on tables. Go with so many different men.”
“Which of those parts bothers you?” Flo’s voice was the op
posite of Blanche’s, low and confident.
“None, I guess. It’s just so exciting and dangerous. I could never do it.”
“Then I suggest you don’t.” Flo lit a cigarette, and puffed on it quickly until the end grew bright orange, blowing the smoke high above the heads of the men sitting at the table with her. She crossed her legs, her hemline inching up just enough to catch the attention of the others. “My parents made me see a shrink in Madison once. Supposedly, a good one because he was terribly expensive. After three sessions, including one where I paid the guy to bark like a dog just to see if he would, I came to the conclusion I’m one of those creative types who’s never sure if she cares too little for life, or too much for it. But danger definitely makes me feel something. And sometimes it’s even enough.”
Blanche looked down at her drink. “Jeepers. Did he really bark like a dog?”
“Even wore a leash and a collar. Everyone has a price.”
“Did you… you know, get in trouble for it?”
“I wish. Trouble’s glorious when you’re rich. It’s always accompanied by the best prescriptions. I have pills to die for.” She looked around the table. “Did everyone fold?” Once again, she raked the money over to herself, tossing her cards into the pile in the middle.
Feldman picked them up, but before he shuffled them into the rest of the deck in his hand, he checked them. She’d been bluffing. I felt him mentally kicking himself for folding his two pairs.
“I gotta take a leak,” he said to the group, getting up.
“Fast forward,” I quickly added. “I don’t need to see this.”
“Yes, actually, you do.”
Feldman looked around the table as he got up, and I noted how everyone was doing. Richie’s chips were almost gone. Boyd probably had half his original stack left. Chance had bought in for more. And Feldman and Doc were pretty much breaking even, more or less.
I closed my sight the whole time I heard Feldman doing his business in the bathroom (and it was a very long time), which made the Feldman in my mind laugh. “You’re a regular goody-two-shoes, huh?” he said.