Free Bad Hair Day 7 - Dead Roots by Nancy J. Cohen Page B

impression that Charlene means to quit her job, especially when Jacob is in kindergarten and Rebecca is almost old enough for preschool. You want her to stop working because it’ll make you feel more manly. It’s merely another status symbol for you to be the sole breadwinner.”
    Like Stan, my dear ex-husband. The jerk couldn’t understand why I wanted to go to cosmetology school. No way I’d ever burden myself with another controlling male. Marla didn’t like to see her brother in that role, either.
    “I don’t know how we got down this road,” Michael said in a morose tone.
    “Speaking of roads, remember when you told Daddy about your car accident and he loaned you the money to fix your car?”
    “I should have dealt with my own problems instead of burdening him. Pop had his fatal attack not long afterward.”
    Old resentments surged from an inner well she hadn’t known still existed. In her heart, she’d blamed him for their father’s death. If Michael had stayed home during the rainstorm like Mom had insisted, he might not have skidded on the wet road and hit that other car. His disregard for safety could have led to worse, but enough stress came from the incident anyway.
    Hadn’t the psychic said her brother had to move past his emotional difficulties? Reverend Sherman’s insights revealed that Michael had meant to apologize to their father, but he hadn’t been able to do so before the man died. Her dad had made his peace; now it was her brother’s turn. She had to offer forgiveness, too, if she meant to help him.
    Besides, Marla had taken out a loan recently, and she hadn’t told Michael about it. True, Miriam Pearl had offered the funds after Marla had solved the murder of the old lady’s granddaughter. Marla needed it to buy some rental property from her ex-spouse. But from the rent received plus her income from work she’d been able to make the payments to Miriam each month.
    “At least tell Charlene about your situation,” she said. “It’s better to forewarn her instead of surprising her if you run into a snag. She’s smarter than you think. I’ll bet she’s already guessed what you’ve avoided telling her.”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I have a plan to set things straight. But I do appreciate your listening.” Tapping her under the chin, he grinned. “I’m always here for you, too, sis.”
    In another instant, he’d turned on his heel and left.
    Marla stood alone with the buzzing insects and steady rhythm of the waves. Troubled by their encounter, she watched her brother’s retreating figure until the dark night swallowed him.
    She’d stepped forward a few paces, intending to return to her hotel room, when a moving shadow on the rear veranda caught her eye. Changing direction, she climbed the stone stairway to the Grand Terrace.
    Dr. Rip Spector faced Oleander Hall, holding some sort of device in his hand. Marla cleared her throat, startling him because he jerked upright.
    “Sorry, I didn’t hear you approach.” Lamplight gave her a glimpse of his stark white hair, curious hazel eyes, and surprisingly young face. She’d put him in his mid-forties.
    “I’m Marla Shore. My family is here for a reunion this weekend. Mr. Butler told me he hired you to chase away the ghosts,” she said, cracking a grin.
    “Indeed. I’m attempting to get a base reading on the EMF fluctuations.” He spoke stiffly, as though used to people’s skepticism.
    “Pardon me?” Her glance fell to the instrument he held.
    “Electromagnetic field. Spirits produce a disruption of energy in the area, but so do many of our common household appliances. This EMF field meter measures readings, but I have to locate normal sources before I can detect unusual spikes.”
    “I see.” She noted the open canvas bag on the ground displaying an array of other equipment. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”
    “Oh yes.” His voice filled with enthusiasm. “This place abounds with spiritual