Search for the Dead Page 4

  Ellie shrugged. “Some, maybe. Mom keeps saying they’re good for me.”

  “She’s right. Besides, they taste good. And the farmers’ market season is just about over, so you have to enjoy them while you can. Let’s see . . . there are green beans and squash—there’s always squash—and carrots. That’s about it.”

  “I don’t like squash,” Ellie said.

  “You’ve never had it the way I fix it. Try it once. If you hate it, I won’t make it for you again. And if there are foods you do want for our Thursdays, just let me know. Deal?”

  “Sure. Can I help cook?”

  “You know how to handle a knife?”

  “Keep the sharp parts away from my fingers.”

  “That’ll do.” Abby handed Ellie a bundle of smallish zucchini, the last of the season. “Wash these and slice them—carefully!—about half an inch thick. Think you can do that?”

  “Of course I can.” Ellie took them to the sink and scrubbed them vigorously, and when she returned to the table, Abby set her up with a cutting board and a big knife.

  Ned came in about fifteen minutes later, and stopped in the kitchen doorway and leaned against the jamb. “Now this is a nice domestic scene.”

  “I’ll remind you of that next week, when it will be your turn to cook,” Abby said.

  “Hi, Ned,” Ellie said. “Abby told me not to ask how rich you are.”

  Ned quirked an eyebrow at Abby. “Really?”

  “Not exactly,” Abby retorted. “We talked about how it was rude to talk about how much money anyone makes with other people.”

  “But Ned’s not other people,” Ellie protested.

  Ned and Abby exchanged a look. “That’s true,” Ned told Ellie. “How about this? I’m pretty rich but not very rich, okay? And I’m not going to tell you numbers. Let me add, don’t judge anybody by how much money they or their family makes, okay?”

  “Was Olivia rich? The human one, I mean?” Ellie asked unexpectedly.

  Where did that question come from? Abby wondered. “Actually, she was. Her father made a lot of money, and she was his only child and inherited it. It kind of bothered her, because after her husband died, she was worried that somebody would try to get her to marry him for her money.”

  “She was sad. At the house, I mean. Wasn’t she?”

  “She was.” Psychic or otherwise, Abby thought, Ellie was pretty good at picking up human emotions. Time to shut down the discussion, at least for now. “So, who’s ready to eat?”

  • • •

  After dinner, Ned drove Ellie home. Abby was upstairs in bed, reading, when she heard his car pull into the driveway and the engine stop. She followed him in her mind when he opened the front door, tossed his keys into a bowl on the table next to the door, plodded up the stairs. Finally he came into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed, leaning against the headboard, his hands linked behind his head.

  “That kid is wicked smart,” he said.

  “Of course she is. She’s your daughter. But I know what you mean. She’s, what, eight? But she asks some really good questions, and I had to think carefully about how to answer some of them without opening up a can of worms.”

  “You mean, with Leslie?”

  “Yes, at least indirectly. Leslie’s a good person and a good mother, but nobody’s equipped to deal with what Ellie’s got. Talk about ‘special needs’!” I have to keep reminding myself Ellie’s still a child. And she still thinks Leslie and George are her biological parents. When are we going to sort that out?”

  “Back in the good old days, people could wait for the ‘birds and bees’ talk until puberty. Or later—poor kids. But Ellie is too smart and notices too much. I’ll have to have a talk with Leslie.”

  “Please,” Abby said, settling against him. “By the way, are we going to do any research on which fabrics or other substances mute our connection? I hate not touching you, but you know what happens when I do. And don’t tell me willpower will be enough to control it.”

  Ned laughed. “Believe me, I wasn’t going to. How’s this shirt working?”

  Abby laid a hand on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. “It’s less charged, but still there. Mmm.”

  “You could wear gloves?”

  “That’s ridiculous. And I’d have to wear socks, and a full-length long-sleeved nightgown, preferably flannel. Maybe that would work in winter—and save a lot on heat—but I don’t think I’d like it.”

  “I know I wouldn’t.”

  Abby inched farther away. “So, before anything else happens, have you made any progress?”

  “I called Kevin, and he’s coming to dinner on Saturday.”

  “Your pal with the mind machines? How much did you tell him?”

  “They’re not actually his machines, but he knows the right people so he can get access to them. All I told him was that I was interested in doing some brain scans and I wanted his input about what I needed.”

  “Can you trust him?”

  “I think so. I told you before, he’s kind of a maverick and doesn’t like playing by the rules. I think he’ll be fascinated by this whole idea. Why does that worry you?”

  “I suppose because it’s still new to me, and I’m afraid what other people will think if they find out I have this ability. Living people, that is. The departed ones I’ve met or seen don’t seem to have any problem with me. And again, I need a better word. ‘Dead’ sounds wrong, because I’m seeing them, or Ellie is talking to them, so they aren’t really completely dead, are they? But half dead sounds silly. ‘Departed’ makes me sound like a Victorian. I know most people these days kind of dance around the whole idea, saying ‘passed on’ or ‘gone.’ Actually, passed on kind of works, because they’ve passed to a different dimension. Sort of. The nineteenth-century spiritualists thought like that, and seemed to have believed that all they had to do was to bridge the gap between the here and now and that next level, and they could chat with their forbears. Sorry, I’m rambling. Are you going to pay Kevin? Or is that a crass question? And I have no idea why Ellie was asking about money, by the way.”

  “No, he’s got plenty of money. I told you, he invented and patented a couple of things right after grad school, which is why he can pick and choose his projects now.”

  “So he’ll be here Saturday?”

  “Yup. You learn anything new, before you picked up Ellie?”

  “Too much. I think I’ve finished with the basic reading. I don’t mean I’ve read everything, but it’s too much information, all at once, and I’m getting confused. I need to focus on a few phenomena and see where that takes us. I can always go back to the books and articles.”

  “Were you surprised by what you found?” Ned asked.

  “Yes and no. I was definitely surprised by how much information there was, and how long people have been interested. And also by how little we hear about it now. Well, maybe I take that back. There were two comics in the paper this morning that included some kind of psychic reference. Like a Ouija board. Did you ever try one?”

  “No. That was kind of a girl thing, if I recall. The boys were supposed to throw things at each other and practice belching.”

  Abby gave him a shove. “And you must have fit right in.”

  “Is that sarcasm I hear? Anyway, I’m told there are television shows featuring psychics,” Ned commented, his eyelids drooping.

  “Sure, and there are television shows featuring guys who wrestle alligators or eat weird food. That doesn’t make those activities legitimate, just good entertainment. But a lot of people have taken spiritualism and psychic phenomena seriously. I just never happened to run into them, until now. Ned?”

  Ned’s only response was a light snoring. That was okay—there was nothing else she needed to tell him now. She slipped her hand under his shirt carefully: yes, the electricity was there, maybe a bit dulled because his consciousness was somewhere else at the moment. But it didn’t disappear when he was asleep. Then the surge in its strength a
lerted her that he wasn’t asleep anymore, and he rolled toward her. No more talk tonight, was Abby’s last coherent thought.

  Chapter 5

  Abby overslept the next morning, no surprise. Ned was already gone when she peeled her eyes open. She stretched and punched up the pillows, then lay in bed trying to sort out what she planned to do for the day. Kevin was coming for dinner tomorrow night—a genuine guest! Who wasn’t related to her or Ned!—so that meant some shopping. She had no idea what Ned’s friend would like to eat, so she figured she’d cook something safe that she liked both making and eating, and he could take it or leave it. Maybe she should stock up on more wine. Oh, and she’d have to clear off the dining room table, which still held all her research materials. This visiting guest gave her a good excuse to take a break, and she could sort out piles by priority while she cleared up. And then there were other, more mundane issues to consider for the longer term. Did she need to make sure the furnace had been checked out for the year? She’d have to ask Ned. Had he sorted out the storm windows yet? Where were they? How many new ones would they need? Another Ned question, although in the past he’d probably been more likely to put on another sweater than to climb on ladders installing storm windows. Should they hire someone to do that? She didn’t think she could wrestle with storm windows, and Ned was pretty busy all the time.

  A nice, simple, ordinary day, assuming there were no surprises. She hadn’t “seen” any of her relatives for a while, since Cape Cod, actually, but she hadn’t visited any old buildings or cemeteries recently either. It was a relief to know that they didn’t come looking for her, much less with some dire message. What difference would there be between those she saw—like a movie from the past, as she kept describing it—and the ones who arrived and wanted to communicate, according to some stories? Well, to be strictly honest she had in fact run into one of them, and held a lengthy conversation with her. But it was only after the fact that someone had told her that the woman had been dead for some time. The psychic community would no doubt have a description for that woman’s in-between state, and an explanation for why she was still hanging around and talking to people, particularly those who were receptive—like Abby. But Abby didn’t want it to happen often. The woman had seemed quite real and present, and had actually been quite helpful.

  She climbed out of bed and went to shower. An hour later, fortified with coffee and breakfast, she set out for the local market. As she’d told Ellie, the farmers’ markets were winding down, except for a few offerings like local apples—she should make an apple dessert—and butternut squash, which she didn’t really care for. You could do almost anything with it or to it, but why bother? It still tasted like nothing in particular.

  She was waiting in the checkout lane when her eye fell on a flyer tacked on the Community Information board on the nearest wall. Once she’d collected her bags, she went over to read it. Apparently there was going to be a Psychic Faire in town the next day, Saturday, featuring some thirty people who were willing and able to read your mind, your palm, your cards, and any number of other things. It must be a sign: she could go and talk to a range of practicing psychics, and if they were too busy during the fair, she could arrange to meet with them one on one at some other time. Would they be willing to talk with her? Well, the ones attending the fair would, because she’d be paying for her “reading.” General conversation might be another matter. But she wasn’t looking to debunk them; she only wanted information. What (if anything) or who (if anyone) did they “see”? How had they gotten started? Did they recruit new psychics or jealously guard their small community? Why did they offer their services to the public? Well, to make a living, or at least earn a bit of money, no doubt, but why did they believe that anyone would pay for what they had to say? Did they believe in what they were saying? How many would be outright fakes, how many sincere but lacking in any gift? And how many might actually have the capability to see the past or the future? It was worth exploring, especially since the event was happening in her own backyard.

  Which meant she’d better finish her errands and get home and start cleaning the house.

  She’d managed to clear her materials off the table, into a couple of Bankers Boxes, by the time Ned came home. “I was going to do some of that,” he said when he saw Abby retrieving a vacuum cleaner.

  “Don’t worry, I saved plenty for you. It’s just that I found something I wanted to do tomorrow during the day, so I figured I’d better get a head start.”

  “Am I not invited on this thing?”

  “If you want, but I don’t think it’s your kind of activity. It seems there’s a kind of paranormal fair in town tomorrow—I just happened to see a flyer for it at the market. It sounds as though there’s a real range of talents on display, if you want to put it that way, so it’s kind of one-stop shopping. I thought it would be efficient to stop by and sample the wares.”

  “Are there no male psychics?” Ned asked. “Or are males not welcome, either as practitioners or seekers?”

  “Not as many as women, I’m guessing, on both sides of the table. I promise I won’t take all day, if there’s something else you need to do. I’ve got everything we need for dinner tomorrow. Oh, I forgot to ask—is your friend allergic to anything, or does he have some moral issue about eating anything with eyes?”

  “No, I don’t think Kevin even notices what he’s eating—it’s just fuel. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but his mind is going in all directions, all the time.”

  “Okay, I promise I won’t be insulted if he doesn’t notice my exquisite cuisine.”

  “Why don’t you ask Mom along?”

  “What, to the psychic fair? Do you think she’d enjoy it?”

  “You had a good time together in Salem, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘good,’ but I was glad she was there. I’ll call her and see if she’s interested. If she comes it would mean that we could sample even more offerings, and then pool our observations. Should we ask her to come back for dinner, or is this strictly business?”

  “You can ask, certainly. She should know what we’re exploring, because she shares some aspects of it. I’m glad you asked, because we do kind of need to vet whoever we bring in, but Mom should be on the short list.”

  “I agree. Let me call her now, since dinner’s just about ready.”

  She went into the kitchen to use the landline, and Sarah Newhall answered on the second ring. “Hey, Abby, what’s up?”

  “Are you busy tomorrow?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. You know, pull all the dead stuff out of the flower beds and other exciting chores like that. Why?”

  “There’s a psychic fair here in town and I wondered if you’d like to tag along with me.”

  Sarah laughed with delight. “Ooh, count me in. I’ve always wanted to go to one, but I felt too sheepish. I assume you want to try more than one, um—what are we calling them?”

  “Mediums, I think. I’m still working on labels for a lot of items. We can run through the options tomorrow. You want to drive over here and leave your car? Oh, and stay for dinner, too, if you like. Ned invited a friend to talk about a new project we’re cooking up, but you’ll be part of it too, sooner or later, so you’re welcome to sit in and add your comments and poke holes in our ideas.”

  “Yes to the first part, and I’ll check with Edward to make sure he can survive one evening of his own cooking. What time?”

  “Say, eleven?”

  “Great. Is there a dress code for this event?” Sarah asked, and Abby could hear the laughter in her voice.

  “Don’t wear a turban and lots of loopy beads. Other than that, whatever you like.”

  “Got it. See you in the morning!”

  Chapter 6

  Abby wasn’t really sure what she was expecting from the event on Saturday. She hadn’t wanted to get there too early, although it was hard to say why. Maybe she didn’t want all those mediums sizing her up as she walked it.
That’s why she’d set the time for eleven—and drafted Sarah to ride shotgun for her. She hadn’t bothered to ask Sarah what her attitude toward psychic phenomena in general was. Given her capabilities, at least with her son, she couldn’t be a naysayer, but how open was she to new ideas?

  She felt like a fake. So she’d done a little reading, either in books she’d downloaded or using online sites. She knew the bare outlines, but not enough about any one thing. She wanted to be open-minded, because she knew just how real her experiences—and Ellie’s—had been, but she really didn’t trust a group of people she didn’t know, and who seemed to be set up in competition with each other. How many other curious people would show up? A horde or a scant few? It was prime sports season, so that might eliminate some parents of school-age kids.

  Why on earth was she dithering? Abby busied herself with a few last swipes at housecleaning (why was it things always looked worse in bright sunlight? or hadn’t those cobwebs been there the day before?) and doing as much prep for dinner as she could. She wasn’t sure what had inspired Ned to suggest adding Sarah to the mix, since she didn’t know Kevin. But Ned hadn’t objected, and if she was going to go to all the trouble of fixing the place up and cooking, the more the merrier. It hadn’t occurred to her that she wanted another woman present so she wouldn’t be outnumbered by the Science Guys. The whole point of starting this project had been to explore both the intuitive side and the analytical science side and see where (if at all) the two intersected.

  Sarah arrived a few minutes before eleven, looking eager. Each time she saw Sarah, Abby was struck by how strongly Ned resembled her—the same aquiline features, the same way of considering any statement or question before speaking. “Coffee?” Abby offered.

  “If it’s made. I’m really kind of excited about this whole thing. Is that silly?”

  “Not at all. Just natural curiosity. I guess my feelings are more mixed.”