Free Pall in the Family by Dawn Eastman Page A

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.
    â€œWe just feel that in this case they should be considering Sara’s talents and her unique connection to Spirit in their investigation,” Mom said.
    â€œYou think she was killed by a ghost?” I asked.
    â€œNo, 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.
    â€œWhat do you want them to do? Have a séance and question whoever shows up?” I asked, willing my mother to turn around.
    â€œMac will never go for that, although it would be helpful,” Aunt Vi said, considering this idea carefully as if it were actually on offer.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œHey, 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.
    â€œSure,” 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.
    â€œHe’s got your number,” I said.
    â€œI s’pose,” he said and slumped out of the room, his two shadows padding softly after him.
    Outside, it had not cooled off but the rain left a clean smell behind. We’d forgotten to turn the lights on and stood in the semidarkness listening to the water dripping on the leaves overhead. The dogs seemed to be getting along. They made a funny pair, one so huge he could crush the other one. But Baxter was very gentle with Tuffy, almost as if he understood what a bad day it had been for the little guy.
    â€œI feel like Baxter really understands what Tuffy is going through,” Seth said, as if he had read my thoughts.
    â€œYeah, they seem to be friends already.”
    â€œI hope they find out who killed that lady. It’s not right. She was just