Free The Straight Crimes by Matt Juhl

business.”
    Mindi gasped. “Y’all just love makin’ up stories ‘bout how awful I am, don’t ya?”
    “Oh please, your reputation speaks for itself. Why don't you actually go to work instead of lyin’ about it? Maybe you could really pitch in around here, so I don’t have to keep coverin’ for you with Auntie. The only person you're convincin’ is yourself.”
    “Girl, you’ve got it all wrong—”
    “Aren’t you tired of lyin’ to everyone? I have to hear it every day and I’m exhausted, but I can’t even imagine how wore out you’ve gotta be from tryin’ to keep all those lies straight in your head.”
    Mindi pursed her lips together and looked down at her feet. “I’m doin’ the best I can. I wish y’all could see that, but you don’t. It’d be nice if someone believed me.”
    Harper groaned.
    “And for the last time, I ain’t skippin’ work. I swear to God, himself.”
    She rolled her eyes again. “You’re impossible. I ain’t listenin’ anymore.”
    “Well fine, get the hell out. I don’t need you hangin’ around here, makin’ me feel like shit.” Mindi's face immediately grew expressionless. She sunk into the chair and began fishing around for her cigarettes.
    “Bye Mama.” Harper threw her pink bag over her shoulder and stormed out of the house.
     
    The chilling wetness of the rain cooled Harper’s fuming skin as if to extinguish the burning fire of her boiling flesh. No one could set her off more than Mindi.
    Harper trudged down Hunter Road and passed the Old Winter Cemetery, sifting through her pocket with one hand while holding Nik's hoodie over her head. She tried to keep dry while searching for the cash from Mindi.
    She straightened out the crinkled bill and held it to the gray sky.
    “Damn!” she shouted in disbelief.
    Mindi, in her drunkenness, inadvertently handed Harper a one hundred dollar bill.
    She considered returning the money until the disastrous image of Mindi, wasting it on another bender, eclipsed her morality.
    Instead, she decided to do something she’d been thinking about since the night of the carnival, something that may help make sense of her confusion. She decided she was going to have a reading with the psychic.
    Harper made her way there in no time. As she stood on the property line of Brielle's historic home, her blood ran cold. It was as if her feet were planted in cement, stopping dead in her tracks.
    The rain began to fall heavier. Her wet hair blew in the wind while she slowly whispered the words on a weathered sign that read: ‘Alvarado House, Est. 1891.’
    Every window of the tall, Victorian-style home was covered in black bars with heavy curtains drawn. Two ominous gargoyle statues sat at opposite ends of the high-pointed rooftop. They appeared to be staring at Harper as if they were about to swoop down and attack.
    As she approached, apprehension slithered through her body, thick as the distinct smell of soaked wood emanating from the foreboding forest behind the estate. Her body was completely drenched and her heartbeat slowly strummed with her uneven breaths.
    The front doorsteps were battered and the gray paint had mostly chipped away. The porch itself was wide and long, stretching around the corner of the house. It was nearly empty, aside from two old wooden rocking chairs that slowly swayed with the breeze.
    Before Harper had an opportunity to knock on the front door, it slowly cracked open on its own. She stiffened her back, and cautiously made her way inside.
    “Hello?” her drowned echo vanished into the drafty room.
    No one answered back.
    The house was as cold as death, worse than the damp chill outside. As she exhaled, she could see her breath in the air.
    In the front window was a grand piano with three tall candles atop it, lined with cob webs.
    A round table was positioned in the middle of the room with a heavy cloth draped to the floor. Harper cautiously stepped forward and ran her fingers along the black fabric. Its