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

enter. “I only form the conduit.”
    As I stepped in, the rich, grilled smell nearly knocked me over. If this guy died with his sense of smell intact, he’d show up, and if I were him I’d be madder than hell that I no longer required food.
    Three women were seated at a round table, and as I walked in, one stood. I wasn’t sure what I expected of the person who was paying a psychic so she could talk to her late husband. Certainly not this small, scrubbed woman with shiny chestnut hair who seemed more inclined to light a candle in church for her dead husband than to pound on his door.
    “You’re the reporter?” Patricia said, making it sound like an accusation.
    “Yes.” I introduced myself.
    “Erika told you I don’t want my name being used. Our names.”
    “That’s not a problem,” I told her.
    I glanced at the other two women. One, I’d have bet, was Patricia’s sister—she was heavier but had the same close-set eyes and thin lips. In contrast to these two women, the other appeared somewhat disheveled, with her straight blond hair pulled back into a pony tail. I wasn’t expecting Patricia to bother with introductions, but she nodded at the one who looked like her and said, “This is Cynthia,” then at the other, “and that’s Laura.” Both women said “hi” but only Laura offered a smile.
    Then Patricia addressed me again. “I’d like to make one other thing clear. This is my séance,” she said. “If Daryl doesn’t show up it may be because of you.” Then she turned to Erika. “I don’t think I should have to pay if that happens.”
    “As I said before, Patricia, I will refund your money if your husband does not join us.” Erika pulled out one of the chairs and indicated for Patricia to plant her butt in it. “You will sit here.” She continued, placing us around the table so that I sat between Cynthia and an empty seat that I assumed was Erika’s. Laura was to Cynthia’s right.
    “Patricia,” I said, scooting my chair up to the table, “may I ask you a couple of questions?” I pulled a reporter’s notebook from my purse along with a pen.
    Patricia glanced toward Erika, who was closing the door. Then she said, “No,” and added, “I’d rather you didn’t. Maybe when we’re through.”
    Smiling, I nodded my understanding and shoved my notebook and pen back into my bag. Then I cleared my throat in order to mask the sound of me pressing the “record” button of the digital recorder I carried with me everywhere. I know I should have asked permission to do this, but I was certain Patricia would have said no to that as well. But recording an encounter I’m going to write about is something I usually do so I can make sure I’ve got the quotes straight, and I also like to listen for the things I didn’t pick up the first time. I setmy purse on the floor and pushed it beneath my chair.
    The room was small—the table just about filled it. A gauzy, lilac curtain hung over a shade covering the room’s single window. Beneath the window was a small, half-moon table on which a short candle burned atop a wrought iron pedestal. I thought I detected a whiff of cinnamon, but it was mostly masked by the burger’s smell.
    Five more candles—three white and two purple—were strewn about the table, and as Erika lit each one, she explained that spirits seek light and warmth. I studied the group with whom I would be reaching into the hereafter. Patricia and Cynthia had their gazes fixed on the table’s surface—not like they were praying, more like they were avoiding the rest of us. Laura caught my eye, but I couldn’t read anything in her expression.
    Erika crouched in one corner of the room, and with one red-shellacked nail, punched a button on a small CD player. The room filled with the sound of wind in trees and a gentle rain, and I hoped the ambient noise didn’t interfere with my recorder. With a click, Erika flicked off the light switch, and the room was illuminated only by