Free Broken Souls (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 2) by D.W. Moneypenny Page A

deaf, and her emotional reaction to the healing was award-winning.”
    “Reminds me of tent revivals back in Georgia. My dad was a preacher, but he didn’t do healings like that.”
    “The wife claims to be able to read souls, whatever that means. She grabs a person by the side of the head, her eyes flutter, and then she counsels them about what will make them happy. She told the Channel 2 reporter to leave her husband and take up pottery.”
    “You think it’s a scam?”
    “Of course I think it’s a scam. See the fine print at the bottom of the flyer?”
    “So I should contact them? See what is going on?”
    “Go to the gig down on the square and see what’s up. Talk to them if you can get close enough. Eavesdrop a little. See if they mention the airplane accident or any of the other passengers. Real subtlelike. Consider it a little intelligence gathering. You might get lucky and learn something that could help.”
    “I’ll do my best.”
    “Don’t go looking like a cop. Try to blend in.”
    “Don’t look like a cop?”
    “Look like you belong there.”
    “Well, I do have a broken leg.”
    “I’m not following you.”
    “Maybe I’ll get Proctor to fix my leg while I’m there.”
     

CHAPTER 13
     
     
    Mara snapped out of the static-induced trance brought on by the voice from the radio and reached for the telephone on the counter. She stared down at the face of the rotary dial and paused for a second. Placing a call on this thing drove her crazy. She glanced around the counter for her cell phone and didn’t see it. It was probably across the room in her jacket pocket. Too flustered and frustrated to get it, she stuck a finger into the dial and tried to remember Ping’s number. She pulled her finger in a semicircle and released the dial. Clickity-clickity-click . The dial spun back up so the finger holes lined up with the numbers on its face. Mara groaned. One number down, only nine more to dial. How did people live like this? She poked another number and dragged the dial down. Clickity-clickity-click .
    Behind her the static from the radio continued. The little voice called out in a whisper, “Mar-ree, Mar-ree!” With a trembling hand, Mara fingered another number and pulled the dial downward. Before she had fully rotated the dial to the finger guard at the bottom, her finger slipped, thus entering the wrong number. She slammed down the receiver with a loud clang. At least hanging up these old phones is more satisfying . She ran for her jacket and grabbed her smartphone from the pocket. Holding it up, she tapped the surface and held it to her ear.
    “Ping! Thank God! Listen to this,” she said, tapped the Speakerphone icon and held the phone out toward the Philco 90 radio on the shelf behind the counter.
    There was silence.
    “Mara? What am I listening to? I don’t hear anything,” Ping said, his voice broadcasting from the phone in Mara’s trembling hand.
    Mara shouted toward her hand, “There was a voice! It was coming out of the Philco radio you gave me!”
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the voice. Can you still hear it? Maybe the phone isn’t picking up the sound.”
    “No, it’s gone. There was static and a voice, but it’s gone now.”
    “I wish I could discuss it right now, but I’ve got a line of people in front of the counter here, and I can’t stop to talk, at least not until Sam gets back from tutoring later this afternoon. I’ll give you a call when he gets here.”
    “No, that’s okay. Just come over this evening like we agreed. I’ll try to not go psycho until then.” She hung up and headed over to the counter.
    Abby and Bruce walked into the front part of the store. Bruce was pulling on a jacket.
    “Who are you yelling at?” Abby asked.
    Mara took a deep breath and hoped her face wasn’t too flushed. “Oh, I was talking to Mr. Ping next door on the speakerphone. Checking to make sure I hadn’t caused a power surge that blew his breakers.”
    Bruce smiled.