A Medium Education (A Lost Souls Lane Mystery Book 6)

by Erin Huss

  “He must have a job here,” I whisper. I’m not entirely sure why I’m talking so quietly. It’s not like Arturo can hear me from the passenger seat of my car idling down the street.

  Arturo rolls down his window, types in the code on the keypad, and the gates part open.

  Mike releases his foot from the brake, and my car rolls forward.

  “Wait,” I say. “Hold back for a sec and let him go ahead. This is where Willie MacIntosh lived, and I remember the code. It’s a small community, and we should be able to find Arturo’s truck easily.”

  Willie was the first spirit that I helped transition. He’s the one who gifted me this BMW, the one who taught me how to be a medium, the one who challenged me to live, to stop dressing like an “old woman,” and to think for myself. Even though I can no longer see him, he has still managed to look after my family and me from afar. For example, he made sure my parents got the listing for his multimillion-dollar mansion here at Lakeshore Estates. It hasn’t sold yet, but when it does, the commission will be substantial. And my parents could really use substantial right now. Fernn Valley real estate isn’t exactly booming.

  “I knew Willie MacIntosh,” Connie chimes in.

  “You did?” I turn in my seat. “How did you know Willie?”

  “He was a patient.”

  “I didn’t know he had stomach problems.” Not that we discussed such things. He did brag about what a healthy ninety-three-year-old man he was, though.

  “I only saw him once for his colonoscopy. He was a nice man, very stubborn, and he had a lot of opinions about my Crocs, but nice.”

  Yep, that sounds like Willie. He had a lot of opinions when it came to footwear.

  Once Arturo’s truck is out of sight, we pull up to the gate. I dictate the code to Mike, and we’re granted entrance into the lavish Lakeshore Estates. There are no sidewalks or street lamps. Only houses that look more like hotels. We drive past mansion after mansion while we look for the big, white truck.

  “I don’t see him,” Connie says in a panic. “I don’t see the truck.”

  “There are only so many places he could be,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

  “This was the wrong choice. I should have checked on Russell, not gone hunting for an imaginary killer.” Connie goes back to wringing her hands.

  “There he is.” Mike points to a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Although smaller than its neighbors, this home is still dazzling. Single story with venetian plaster, simple and clean landscaping with flowerbeds filled with dark mulch, and bushes sculpted into perfect circles.

  Arturo’s white truck is pulled into the circular driveway behind a row of vans, the kind of van associated with kidnappers. Although in this case, I think the vans are used for the purpose of hauling around paint and not stealing children—at least I hope so.

  Mike parks down the street, and we get out of the car. “We need a game plan,” I say. “We can’t just march in and ask if he killed Connie.”

  “I’m remodeling my house.” Mike looks so excited you’d think this was new news to him.

  “Congratulations?” Connie looks at me uncertainly, as though she must have missed the punch line of a joke.

  No joke, but I see what Mike is thinking. “We’re here to inquire about hiring Painting by Arturo. It’s brilliant, actually. Really, all we need to do is get Arturo comfortable so I can get close enough to read his thoughts.”

  “What if he isn’t thinking about killing me?” Connie asks.

  “I’ve found that the murder is always on the killer’s mind whether they’re actively thinking about the crime or not. Although, based on the grandeur of this painting job”—I gesture to the mansion we’re quickly approaching—“I don’t think Arturo would be eager to take on a small home in Fernn Valley. We should tell him that we’re thinking about repainting Willie’s home. It’s been sitting on the market for a while. It’s reasonable to start thinking about doing upgrades to entice the buyers.”

  “Even better idea, Zoe.” Mike gives me high-five. “But if the vision doesn’t change after this, I’m locking you in a closet until sundown.” He winks, but I know he’s not kidding.

  “What vision?” Connie asks.

  “No vision,” I lie instantly, still unsure Connie can handle the truth about what is to come. It’s not like she’d believe me anyway. She still thinks this is all a dream.

  Will this decision not to tell her blow up in my face later?

  Possibly.

  We broach the magnificent home and step up to the entry. The front door is wide open, and I can hear the loud gurgling sound of a paint sprayer. The floor is covered in brown paper, and the walls are hidden behind plastic. The only exposed parts of the home are the baseboards and doorframes, which are covered in a gray primer.

  The scent is overwhelming, and I pull my shirt over my nose. We follow the sound of the paint sprayer into a sunken living room that overlooks the lake. There’s a mountain of furniture, pieces all stacked atop each other and covered in plastic in the center of the room. A person wearing what looks like a white hazmat suit is spraying the window frames.

  I see Arturo in the adjoining kitchen. He’s wearing a mask and talking to a man also wearing a hazmat suit. The two are inspecting a kitchen cabinet. Arturo is pointing to the hinges and moving his head and shoulder in a way that makes me think he’s yelling over the noise. My theory is confirmed when the spray machine switches off and Arturo yells, “The client wants us to replace these!”

  The hazmat suit guy yells something back, his words muffled by the suit.

  Mike and I step into the kitchen, and Arturo does a double take. “Can I help you?”

  “We need to paint a house.” I want to roll my eyes at how utterly robotic I sound. I am not an actress. What I am is a little high from the pain fumes.

  “Okay?” Arturo’s voice is echoed from inside his mask. “You two shouldn’t be in here. Let’s go outside.”

  Solid plan. My head feels a biz fuzzy.

  Arturo directs us to a back sliding door and into the fresh air and sunshine. The lake is glistening, and there is a flock of ducks paddling by. The serene scene reminds me of Willie, and I feel a pang of grief.

  Arturo pulls the mask off his face. “What can I do for you two?”

  Crap.

  Arturo did not kill Connie.

  I see it right away. He’s far too breezy to be a killer. Unless he’s a psychopath.

  He doesn’t strike me as a psychopath, but I guess psychopaths are good at hiding the fact that they’re psychopaths, otherwise they wouldn’t be very good psychopaths. So perhaps he’s an excellent psychopath.

  Or he didn’t kill Connie, which is bad because he is our only other suspect.

  Also, he’s talking to me.

  “Huh?” I look from Arturo to Mike. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  “You want to repaint the MacIntosh home.” Mike gives me an encouraging smile. “Right?”

  “Yes! I-it’s been on the market for a looonnnggg time. We think updating the outside will help it sell.”

  Willie MacIntosh would be howling in my ear if he heard me use the term “update” when referring to his home. He took great pride in all his possessions. The truth is the house is gorgeous. The reason it hasn’t sold has nothing to do with the paint and everything to do with the fact that there are only so many people in the area who can afford a seven-figure home.

  I can practically see the dollar signs in Arturo’s eyes. “I know that house well. Even updating the fascia color will give it more curb appeal. We have worked on many houses in this neighborhood.”

  “Including ours,” says Connie.

  Wait, what? “Russell and Connie Batch live in Lakeshore Estates?” I ask in shock.

  “Yes.” Arturo takes a long pause. He finds my question random and odd, but then he thinks that I must have heard about the argument between him and Russell. “The Batch project didn’t go as I intended. If you talk to any of
the other owners in the neighborhood, they’ll tell you we do excellent work.”

  My head is spinning. “I need to … uh … confer with Mike real quick.”

  “Uh …” Mike wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, we’ll be right back after we confer.” He gives Arturo an enthusiastic thumbs-up while I drag him across the patio so we can “confer” privately.

  I turn my back to Arturo so he can’t read our lips. “He didn’t kill Connie.”

  “Damn it. Why are we conferring then?”

  “Did you hear Connie say she lives in this neighborhood?” Speaking of which, I take a quick look around. Connie is standing at the edge of the patio, staring out at the lake with her hands clasped in front of her. I can’t get her attention without looking like a lunatic in front of Arturo.

  “Where is she?” Mike asks.

  “By the pond. She’s not paying attention to us.”

  “Ahhh!” Mike yells.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss under my breath.

  “I got stung by a bee.” He holds up his finger. “Go with it,” he mutters.

  Oh. He’s acting. Got it.

  The commotion grabs Connie’s attention, and she rushes to Mike’s side. “Don’t pull out the stinger,” she says.

  Arturo approaches. “You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, we’re fine,” I say. “False alarm. Can you give us a minute?” I flash him a we’re-not-crazy-just-trying-to-solve-a-murder type of smile, and he backs away while giving me a you-are-crazy-but-I-really-want-your-business type of smile.

  “How can you have a false alarm with a bee sting?” Connie asks.

  “There is no bee,” I say under my breath. “We had to get your attention. Arturo did not kill you, and why didn’t you tell us that you lived here?”

  “You already knew the gate code, and I didn’t want to distract you with too many details at once. I’m concerned you both have a mild to moderate case of ADHD.”

  “No, we do not,” I say in a huff.

  “I like those hedges.” Mike points to a red bush growing alongside the edge of the patio. “I wonder what species that is.”

  “Take a picture and do a reverse image search on Google when you get home,” I say then return my attention to Connie. “Yeah, okay maybe we do. Where is your house?”

  “We live one street over.”

  “Dude, that’s perfect,” says Mike. “Let’s go check on Russell now.”

  “But what about Arturo?” Connie asks. “We can’t forget about him.”

  “I already told you, he did not kill you,” I say. “I saw it in his thoughts.”

  “It’s just …” She glances over her shoulder at Arturo, who is checking his phone. “I guess we should just leave then?”

  “Yes, let’s leave,” says Mike sternly. “This is taking too long. We’ll check on Russell, make sure Elijah is okay, and then we’re going back to Fernn Valley.”

  Connie digs her toe into the cement and bites her bottom lip. Her mind is moving fast, lots of graphs, lots of words, and a whole lot of overthinking. I feel a tiny spike of frustration.

  “Stop overanalyzing and just say what you’re feeling.”

  “I feel like we need to talk to Arturo,” she says.

  “But he didn’t murder you,” Mike says a little too loudly, and I shoot him a look of warning.

  I know he’s scared for my life. I felt the same way when the roles were reversed. But the situation is what it is. I’m not going back to Fernn Valley so he can lock me in a closet—as fun as that sounds. There is still a third spirit accompanying Connie and me in Mike’s vision, which means someone else is going to die. I can’t risk doing nothing.

  “Let’s go talk to him,” I say. “It’s not going to hurt anything.”

  “Yes, it is,” Mike grunts.

  “We have to trust Connie’s feelings, Mike.”

  “I have a hard time trusting someone who doesn’t trust herself,” he says.

  “Please stop talking about me like I’m not here,” says Connie. “Mike is right. I don’t know what I’m doing. I probably got this all wrong.”

  “Excuse me,” says Arturo. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I couldn’t help but overhear you say Connie. If this is about what happened at the Batch property, I can assure you that I’ve never had a problem before. Like I said, we have an excellent reputation here at Lakeshore Estates, and I stand by my work.”

  “Uh … we’re friends with Connie Batch.” I clear my throat. “I heard you were at her house yesterday yelling at Russell. I … uh … just want to make sure we don’t have problems at the MacIntosh home.”

  “I hear ya.” Arturo splays his hand over his chest. “Yes, I did lose my temper last night, but it’s complicated. The problem has nothing to do with Dr. Batch and everything to do with Russell. I’ve been in this business for over twenty years, and I’ve never had an issue with a client before. I can promise we’ll be completely professional.”

  I was hoping if I got him talking, he’d play out the complicated issue with Russell in his head so I wouldn’t have to ask for details. Sadly, he is only thinking about how badly he needs this MacIntosh job. I feel a horrible pang of guilt. He has no idea we’re only using him for information.

  “This listing is very important.” I assume a businesslike tone. “I’m going to need more specifies about what happened at the Batches’ house before I feel comfortable hiring you for the project.”

  Arturo’s face falls, and he makes a clicking noise while backing up. “I don’t talk about my client's personal problems with anyone. Now that is unprofessional.”

  Shoot.

  “Look, I’d love your business, but I do need to get back to the job,” he adds.

  Double shoot.

  Arturo is a man of integrity in both his speech and his thoughts. It’s admirable. Frustrating given the circumstances, but admirable.

  Crud.

  Eight

  “That was a total waste of time,” Mike huffs on the walk back to my car. “My vision hasn’t changed, and now we have zero suspects.”

  That’s not entirely true. I think it’s time to see what Russell is really up to. I’d also like to find Charleyhorse99.

  “I’m so sorry,” Connie says. “I should have let you two handle everything. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.”

  “We’re going back to Fernn Valley.” Mike presses the key fob, and the doors to my car lift open. “I’m not waiting for something to happen.”

  I stop in the middle of the street. “I am not going back to Fernn Valley. We’re going to talk to Russell, and we’re going to find Elijah, and we’re going to find out who killed Connie before anyone else dies. Including me.”

  “Why are you going to die?” Connie asks.

  “It’s not important,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand as I keep my eyes on Mike. “Talking to Arturo was not a waste of time. Now we know that he didn’t kill Connie.”

  “Then who did?” Mike outstretches his arms. “It’s like you want to die!”

  This is the first time Mike has ever yelled at me.

  For the record: I don’t like it.

  I yank my keys from his hand and push past him.

  “Zoe, wait.” He runs after me. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

  “You think I like this situation? All I wanted to do today was find my cat, and now we’re in Trucker chasing an unknown killer.”

  Mike grabs my elbow and spins me around to face him.

  I refuse to make eye contact and put all my focus on his clavicle.

  “Zoe, please look at me.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “No. Say what you need to say to my forehead.”

  Mike gives a surrendering sigh. “Zoe, we both know what happens after this life, and I know you’re not scared to die. I’m not scared to die either. I am scared to live without you, and it feels like you’re not taking the possibility of your death seriously.”

  Well, when he
puts it like that.

  I lift my eyes to meet his, and he leans down to kiss me. “I love you,” he whispers against my lips.

  “I love you,” I whisper back and wrap my arms around his neck and hold him close. “Please trust me. We can do this.” I’m sounding braver than I feel, but that’s what you do for the people you love. Pretend things are okay even when they’re not so they don’t worry.

  Granted, everything I know about relationships and love comes from hot romance novels—specifically the entire Hot Baby Daddies series—so it’s possible that I’m a wee bit misguided.

  It takes longer for the three of us to pile into my car and get situated than it does to drive to Connie’s home. The house is two stories with white siding, green shutters, a wraparound porch, and a red brick chimney. It reminds me of the type of home you’d see smack dab in the middle of flat green fields on a Mississippi farm.

  I love it.

  I’d love it more if the trim were fully painted. As it currently stands, the fascia is green in some parts, white in others, and there are a few shutters missing.

  Connie is silent, and her thoughts are jumbled. I wish she would stop overthinking and start listening to her gut, start listening to me when I tell her she’s dead, and trust the signs that there is something not quite right with her husband.

  For example, sign number one: no one is home.

  How do I know this?

  As soon as we step up to the front door, my phone pings with an incoming text from Mrs. Batch.

  Found Russell!

  I immediately call her.

  Mrs. Batch picks up on the first ring. “Hello, Zoe dear. We haven’t found the cat yet. We’ve had a few sightings. May Mackley said she saw him over by the library, and Rosa said she saw him near the old junkyard.”

  The library and the junkyard are on the opposite sides of town. Either Jabba can now teleport, or these are false sightings, which is a wretched thought. I do desperately need to find Jose.