Getting Sassy by D C Brod Read Free Book Online Page A

at today’s entry: “Patricia Melcher, 7 pm” it read. Not that I’d ever use it for the article, but I liked knowing a person’s name.
    A certificate from the Psychic Institute of Cambridge hung on the wall above a metal bookcase. Closer inspection revealed its location to be the Cambridge in England, although I saw no claims that it was associated with the university. On top of the bookshelf, a short row of volumes shared space with a photo of a pretty young girl—maybe twelve—with long, dark hair and a sweet smile. She stood in front of a wooden bridge, and orange and gold leaves covered the ground.
    I had just picked up the photo for a closer look when something touched my shoulder. I jumped and spun around for my first eyeful of Erika Starwise.
    “I startled you.” She retracted her hand and folded it into her other.
    “I didn’t hear you,” I said, thinking she might have cleared her throat and at the same time sensing she’d known exactly what she wasdoing. I replaced the photo on the bookcase, adjusting it so the angle was as I remembered. “Your daughter?”
    Her gaze wandered toward the picture, then back to me. “Yes,” she answered.
    She was a tall woman, around fifty. Her conservative beige linen jacket and slacks contrasted with her short, spiky red hair and penciled-in eyebrows. Bright red lips curved into a cool smile, and she said, “I am assuming you’re Robyn Guthrie.”
    “I am,” I replied, then added, “And you’re Erika Starwise,” feeling the silliness of the name as it tumbled off my tongue.
    She assured me that she was, then said, “We first must settle a few things.”
    I nodded, noting the precision in her speech, almost as though English wasn’t her first language. But I detected no accent.
    Sure.
    “This is an intimate experience you’ve been invited to share. My client was not at all eager to have you here.”
    “I thought you okayed this with her.” I hooked my thumb around the strap of my shoulder bag.
    “Of course I did. You see, when she told me she had two friends who wanted to share the experience, I asked if she could find another. I explained to her that an odd number of participants is the most welcoming number for spirits. Five is an especially meaningful number.” She paused, then added, “As in the five points of the pentagram.”
    “Of course,” I said, not sure if I should be playing it straight here. Did she really believe this or did I detect a wink and a nudge in her delivery? “So she was willing to let me join the group.”
    “Correct.” She hesitated. “Although she was not pleased to have a journalist among us.”
    “Is that going to be a problem?” I was on the verge of adding: because if it is, I’d be more than happy to go home and scrub grout.
    She sighed deeply, but I had the feeling this sigh wasn’t aimed at me. Then she said, “I convinced her that you would follow the termsI mentioned, and I have promised to return her money if we are unsuccessful.”
    “Okay,” I said, hitching my purse strap up on my shoulder. “Let’s do it.”
    “Yes,” she said, eyeing me up and down. Then she walked to the back door and opened it, allowing me to enter the sanctum of her offices, which, until only a month ago, had been the Embroider Me Emporium.
    I stepped into the narrow hall and said, “Do I smell hamburger?” The aroma was undeniable back here.
    “Whopper with fries. It was the deceased’s favorite.” Then she added, “We must make his spirit welcome.”
    I looked at her, trying to decide whether to ask her how ghosts ate. She must have picked up on the question, because she said, “Scents are highly evocative.”
    “Of course,” I said.
    “Patricia is asking her late husband for permission to remarry.”
    “And she’s going to do what he says?” I found myself whispering.
    “That will be her decision.” Erika reached in front of me to open the door to the room on the right then gestured with a nod for me to