Micanopy in Shadow by Ann Cook Read Free Book Online

visual symbols. Sometimes the gift was simply a “knowing.” The aim of ethical ones was to disconnect from the subject and become a passive receiver. One candid medium admitted that her “spirit guide” might be part of her own subconscious. Some provided recognizable information; some produced a few facts on target but others that were not. A few—even with a skeptic as the subject—were uncannily accurate. For these, researchers had no explanation.
    At 9:00 Brandy shut down the laptop, put away her notebook, and began straightening up the living room. She was indifferent to disorder, as long as the house was clean. Not John. Even his shoes had to be lined up by the toes, and coat hangers all turned the same way. She tried to accommodate his quirks. A comfortable man was easier to live with.
    By 9:30 she stopped to check her e-mail. Adele Marco could see Brandy at 8:30 Sunday morning before the 10 A.M. Spiritualist Church service. After that she planned to leave for New England. Brandy considered the situation. She could drive to Cassadaga Saturday, stay overnight at the old hotel, and be ready for the early morning reading. With a few keystrokes she confirmed, signing herself only as “B,” and sending the e-mail from John’s account. No need to furnish the medium with information. She phoned and made a reservation at the hotel.
    After that call, Brandy decided to call Shot Hunter, the most important person to interview. She pulled his phone number from her bag and dialed.
    After a few rings, a gravelly voice answered, “Yeah, I’m familiar with the Ada Losterman inquiry. But I doubt I have anything for you.”
    Brandy had introduced herself as a journalist. Probably a mistake. She’d learned the hard way about the suspicion, if not hostility, law enforcement officers had for her profession.
    “I’m researching a book about Micanopy and the area.” Not the whole truth, of course. “The case could add human interest.” Better come clean about her connection. A former detective would
    I.D. her and be even more suspicious. “I’m Hope O’Bannon’s granddaughter. She asked me to look into her mother’s death again.”
    “Why you?”
    Brandy tried to picture the man she was speaking to. Healthy sounding. A strong voice. Must have retired early. “I had some success with investigations in the past—in the Tavares-Mount Dora area, in Cedar Key, and three years ago, on an island in the Homosassa River. Unfortunately, I’ll be in Micanopy a fairly short period of time, and I’ve got to be out of town late tomorrow.” She didn’t explain she had an appointment with a medium. He’d have the same reaction as John. “Could you possibly see me in the morning?”
    He paused. “I’ll check my calendar. Hold on.” A minute later he picked up the phone again. “Tell you what. I could see you about
    10:00. I’ll check Dad’s files. Don’t expect much.” “I’ll be there.” Actually, Brandy didn’t expect much, even if he had it. These guys liked to get information, not give it.
    She called Kyra, apologized for the lateness, and asked her to come in at 9:30. Kyra was glad to earn the extra money. “But I was planning to study with a friend,” she added. “She’s got another year, and we’re taking the same course next semester. Mind if I, like, bring her along?”
    “Fine, just take Brad outside for while.”
    Brad’s care settled, Brandy delved next into her two-drawer metal file and pulled out a manila folder labeled simply “Ada.” She wanted to re-read the verses etched on the monument, front and back. Both were excerpts from Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “Lenore.” As an English major, Brandy didn’t consider Poe in the first rank of American poets—too fixated on ghouls, horrific deaths, and the music of his verse at the expense on the sense. Yet his turn of mind suited the drowning of Ada Losterman. Someone else had made the same connection. Brandy settled back in an armchair