Erin Huss - 05 The Mediums Tale by Erin Huss

Author:Erin Huss [Huss, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: EH Publications
Published: 2020-01-22T16:00:00+00:00

Eleven

Mrs. Ishmael has officially been charged for the murder of Mr. Sanders. The evidence is stacked against her. The only problem is, she didn't do it. Sure, my gifts are on the fritz, but I trust Sandy, and if he says Mrs. Ishmael didn’t kill him, then she didn’t kill him.

Wrapped in a large down jacket, Tanner is standing next to a police car, shivering in the rain as he watches his house be searched. We lock eyes. “You had one job,” he mouths. Or at least I think that’s what he is saying since he’s too far and the rain is too loud.

This is so beyond maddening that I feel like screaming.

So I do.

"She’s innocent!" I'm on my feet, wiping water from my eyes.

Note to self: Buy an umbrella already. Honestly.

Sheriff E looks heavenward. "Zoe, I told you to get out of the rain and go home."

"She’s been framed!" I'm feeling frantic. "Listen to me, I am telling you that Mrs. Ishmael did not kill Sandy Sanders. She was going to the pharmacy to talk to him about medication for her arthritis. She found him dead. The man with the white Nike shoes stashed the gun here!” I grab him by the shoulders. “She is innocent!”

For the record, putting your hands on an officer of the law is a bad idea.

Now I'm sitting in the back of a police car.

Sandy is wearing a black and white striped shirt—a nod to old-time prison uniforms. "Did you get a chance to look at the sheriff's thoughts when you were having your mental meltdown?" he asks.

"No, and I wasn't having a meltdown," I mutter under my breath. Detective Stewart, who is escorting me home, checks his rearview mirror to see who I am talking to. I smile an I'm-not-crazy-like-everyone-says-I-am type of smile, and the detective returns his eyes to the road.

"If you don't want people to think you're looney, then you need to stop giving them reason to believe it," says Sandy. "Shaking cops and standing in the pouring rain is not normal behavior."

I feel like rolling my eyes.

So I do.

Who is to say what's normal, anyway?

Whatever. I press my forehead against the plastic partition to get a better read on Detective Stewart.

"Think about how many strands of influenza are on that partition you're touching," says Sandy.

Gross. I sit back.

Detective Stewart's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, but he remains stoic and continues to drive. He’s thinking about what he’s going to make for dinner tonight and if the weather should be cleared up by the weekend.

"You arrested the wrong person," I say. "You need to find the white Nike shoes man. He has a dark blue umbrella. That’s your killer."

The officer doesn't show any hint of emotion. Not a blink of the eyes. Not a furrow of the forehead. Not even a twitch of the lip. Nada. But I did plant a seed of doubt. I can feel it worming its way into his subconscious.

When we get to my house, our van is parked in the driveway.

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