“I don’t think she will. Ever since mother died she’s been dead set against all of this.” Mom spread her arms to encompass the whole room and possibly all of Crystal Haven.
Just as Vi finished putting the dishes in the dishwasher, the lights came on and we gave my father perfunctory applause for saving us from darkness once again.
Since I wasn’t part of this conversation about my flaws, I went to the dining room to check on Seth and scan for any remaining dishes. I could still hear them in the kitchen.
“My cat clients have been very worked up about something. You know how they get when trouble is brewing. Whether it’s a storm, a divorce, or teenage angst, they sense it. The aloof ones get all sentimental and the affectionate ones withdraw. It’s like they can feel the emotional shifts and they don’t know how to deal with it. Plus, remember the robin that flew in here last week? It was a sign,” Vi said to my mother.
“I don’t know . . . ,” Mom said.
“And the bat this morning. And now this storm . . . ,” Vi said.
I lurked in the doorway, eavesdropping.
“Sara is trying to tell us something. Do you really think Tommy Andrews and Mac are going to be able to solve this?” Vi hissed.
“Why wouldn’t they be able to solve it?” I asked.
They both spun to look at me, and were not quick enough to cover their guilty expressions.
“They’ll be collecting evidence and samples and interviewing people, hoping to find a connection or uncover a lie,” Aunt Vi said, not bothering to hide her sarcastic tone. Vi’s opinion about fact-finding was almost as scathing as the rest of the world’s opinion about psychics.
I had a hard time keeping a straight face. “Well, that is normal police procedure: to examine the evidence and find out who might have wanted her dead and go from there. That’s how we solve crimes.”
Vi shook her head. She waved her hand to dismiss the whole process.
“We just feel that in this case they should be considering Sara’s talents and her unique connection to Spirit in their investigation,” Mom said.
“You think she was killed by a ghost?” I asked.
“No, of course not. But Spirit can act in strange ways when a person is as connected to the other side as she was.” Mom began wiping the counters.
“What do you want them to do? Have a séance and question whoever shows up?” I asked, willing my mother to turn around.
“Mac will never go for that, although it would be helpful,” Aunt Vi said, considering this idea carefully as if it were actually on offer.
“I think I’ve been away too long. Or maybe not long enough,” I said, and left them to their plotting. This was an ongoing battle where my resistance was equally matched with their persistence. Between the dreams, the touch sensitivity, and the occasional flash of premonition, they were convinced I could be as great a psychic as my grandmother had been. The fact that I wasn’t even a little bit interested in pursuing that career path did not deter them.
I found Seth in the room that used to be my sister’s until it was clear she was never coming back. Now it had an undecided air about it—no longer Grace’s room, not quite a guest room, but definitely gender confused. Her stuffed animals languished on shelves with her childhood books. Her various art projects and nature treasures that had been collected over the years decorated the walls and gathered dust on the dresser. Seth’s current possessions were of the small and electronic ilk: iPod, Nintendo DS, cell phone, laptop. They cluttered the small desk along with a collection of fantasy paperbacks featuring dragons and swords on the covers.
Seth was on the bed with Tuffy and Baxter. How they all fit, I had no idea. The twin bed was a mass of fur and boy. Tuffy seemed to have stopped shivering, and Baxter sat alert in his guarding mode.
“Hey, the rain’s stopped,” I said. “Want to get these guys outside before it starts up again?”
Baxter heard “outside” and leapt off the bed causing the springs to shriek in protest. Tuffy watched him leave and then stood at the edge of the bed peering down, waiting for someone to tell him what to do.
“Sure,” said Seth. “C’mon, Tuffy. You can do it.” He encouraged the dog to jump off the edge. Tuffy was not interested and had clearly been accustomed to more slave labor than I was willing to provide. He danced from one front paw to the other and fixed Seth with his imperious stare. It didn’t take a pet psychic to know what he wanted. Seth accommodated him and lifted him gently to the floor.
“He’s got your number,” I said.
“I s’pose,” he said and slumped out of the room, his two shadows padding softly after him.