by Erin Huss
“Oh.” The judge shifts in his seat. “Bailiff?”
The bailiff retrieves the gavel, stepping around the poor court reporter who looks a bit pale.
“Wait!” Portia says. “I have important information on a murder!”
Those who are still in the courtroom gasp.
The judge bangs his gavel. “Quiet! Everyone, settle down!” He talks as if he’s addressing a large crowd. “Quiet down!”
“You don’t understand. Zoe Lane was only running for her life, not from the law,” Portia says.
There’s another round of gasps as more people trickle into the courtroom.
The judge bangs his gavel. “Quiet! Bailiff, please take Mrs. Pepper to meet with a—”
“Sheriff Vance was drunk and committed manslaughter!” Portia blurts out.
Drew throws his head back. “Uh-huh-huh-huh-hey-hm-hm-hm-hm. He was drunk! Did you hear that, Zoe? The sheriff was drunk. Do you know how many times that walrus busted me for drinking in public?”
Nope. But I suspect it was quite a lot.
“And I have proof!” Portia holds up a small tape recorder. “I recorded all our conversations from the days after Brenda’s death. When I threatened to expose Vance, he said he could make it look like it was me, not him. Since the car was registered in my name!”
The judge bangs his gavel so hard I fear it will split into two. “That’s enough!”
“Holy hell,” Jackson says, shaking his head.
“He needs to be stopped!” Portia’s turns her head and looks me straight in the eyes. Thank you, she mouths.
I don’t know what she’s thanking me for, but I mouth back, You’re welcome, just as my escorting officer guides me out the side door.
Chapter Nineteen
And just like that, I’m vindicated.
Well, not just like that. I had to spend another forty-eight hours in jail while the whole possessed courtroom, manslaughter accusations, and proof was sorted out.
The good news is Sheriff Vance admitted to drinking while driving.
As the story goes, he’d been drinking, hit a deer, overcorrected the wheel, and veered into oncoming traffic. Brenda swerved to get out of the way and rammed into a tree. Sheriff Vance called Handhoff, offering him immunity, as he was currently under investigation, if he towed Portia’s truck from the accident. Then he returned to the scene in his own car and called for backup. Which explains the gap in time from when Margo thought the accident happened and when it really happened. He thought he had gotten away with the accident, until three years later, when Margo confronted him, claiming Mike had the ability to speak to the dead and he knew the truth. When Portia called Vance about the break-in, he didn’t immediately respond because, well, he didn’t like Margo.
The bad news is Drew is still solely responsible for Margo’s death.
Part of me hoped when the full truth came out, Drew would be vindicated. But, nope, the story goes just as he said it did.
The other bad news is since the charge isn’t first-degree murder, the statute of limitation has expired, and Sheriff Vance gets nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Well, nothing except for the fact he officially resigned as sheriff. Handhoff admitted he burned down the storage unit, and Mike and I are now free to do as we please.
My parents pick me up first thing in the morning. I’ve never been so happy to see them before. We hug and hurry into the van. I’m tired, and hungry, and dirty, and ready to put as much distance between me and the jail as possible.
I’m not cut out for prison life.
The drive home is nice. There aren’t any spirits here, and I can breathe for what feels like the first time in days.
“Be sure you take a nice long shower,” my mom says. “There’s no telling what germs are inside that place.”
“Don’t worry. I plan to take a nice, long, private shower as soon as I get home.”
“I picked up your car yesterday from impound,” my dad says. “Cleaned out the garage and parked it right inside.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
“Honestly. I can’t believe what a horrific week this has been,” Mom says. “What with your arrest, and Sheriff Vance, then the earthquake. My nerves are still shot.”
Dad and I share a look.
Mom isn’t the only one who claims the incident in the courtroom was an earthquake. The judge said the same himself. I’m not a seismologist, but I am fairly certain earthquakes don’t strike one room of a building. But whatever. Denial can be a powerful thing.
When we pull up into our driveway, Drew and Mike are waiting outside.
“Aww, look who is here,” Mom practically sings.
“It's not happening, Mom.”
“Oh, come on. He’s so handsome.”
Oh, geez.
She opens the passenger door and waves. “Mike. How are you doing?” She gets out and approaches him with open arms.
“Anyone else here with you, kiddo?” my dad asks before he exits the van.
I nod. “Drew is waiting for me.”
“Be careful,” he says.
Will do.
I get out and wait for my mom to stop hugging Mike before I do the same. “I’m so glad this is all over.”
“Me too,” he says and squeezes me harder.
“Let’s go inside, Mary.” My dad places a hand on my mom’s back. “Come on.”
“But they’re so cute together,” I hear her say.
I release Mike and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I need to deal with something real quick. Then we can … catch up.”
“He’s here, right?”
“If by he you mean Drew, then yes.”
Mike clenches his jaw. “He killed Margo.”
“I know. It was an accident, and he’s never forgiven himself,” I say, reading Drew’s thoughts. “He’s very sorry.”
Mike grunts. “What’s done is done. I’ll be inside.”
I wait for the door to close before I turn to Drew. “Well?”
“I’m done here.” He removes his hat and holds it with two hands, studying the long, fluffy tale.
“At least you got your hat … well, I guess technically it’s not your hat.”
“I’m going to give it back to Margo.”
“Good idea. She wasn’t throwing it away, she’d put all her stuff into trash bags because they were leaving town.”
“I’m going to make it right,” he says.
“I’m not sure how, but I wish you the best.”
Drew gives a solemn nod of his head. “I am sorry for everything. I’m a bad decision maker.”
“Yes, you are. You should work on that in the afterlife.”
“I think I will. And if you ever need a spirit to come to the rescue, you know who to call.” He winks.
“Probably not you.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t call either,” he says and fades away.
I have mixed emotions about Drew. There is a part of me sad to see him go. Despite his horrible decisions, he did have a light spirit. I’m not sure what will happen to him next, but I sure hope he has a chance to redeem himself.
Inside the house, Mike and my mom and dad are sitting around the kitchen table. Jabba is curled up on Mike’s lap, purring.
Guess Mike does have a way with animals.
“You’re not going to believe this!” My mom is staring at her phone. “We just received an inquiry about Willie MacIntosh’s old house. Betty is finally ready to sell, and she want us!”
My dad moves to the end of his seat. “She sent that right now?”
“Yes, Betty, Willie’s widow, said she had a dream last night that Willie wanted her to sell their Trucker home, and she should hire us to do it!”
Oh, Willie. I look up and whisper, “Thank you.”
“Should we go?” my mom says. “I mean, we don’t want to appear too eager, but if we start driving now, we could look at the other houses for sale in the area …”
Dad has already put his shoes on a
nd grabbed the keys.
“You’ll be okay?” Mom asks me on her way out the door. “I know it’s your first day back, but we really need this.”
“Of course. Go, go.”
Mom and Dad scurry out of the house, their relief and excitement overwhelming. As it should be, Willie’s house is worth a whole lot of millions.
“Guess I’m going to need a new place to live, too,” Mike says.
“I know a good agent who can help you.” I gesture to the living room, and Mike follows me, bringing Jabba with him, and takes a seat on the couch.
“Sheriff Vance was always nice to me,” Mike says. “Checked in when I was away at school. Offered me his spare room when I moved back … he did all that so he could keep an eye on me. I can’t believe it.”
I curl up in a blanket beside Mike and reach out to pet Jabba. “If it makes you feel better, an image of you as a little boy at Brenda’s car accident haunts his thoughts.”
“Why would that make me feel better?”
“I don’t know. Sorry. I’m not used to socializing with humans.” Jabba stands and hisses. A cold shiver goes down my spine, and I close my eyes to connect with the spirit. “Margo is here.”
Mike scoots closer.
“She wants to clear up a few things,” I say, Margo’s words appear in my head. “First, her death is absolutely not your fault. Please stop blaming yourself. She’s sorry she wasn’t able to get out of Fernn Valley faster.”
“What about the private investigator?” Mike asks.
Margo’s presence is growing stronger. I can almost see the outline of her spirit in my mind. “He wasn’t able to find much, because he refused to believe you had the ability to speak to the dead. She’s the one who found the blue truck at Handhoff’s tow yard. She’s the one who confronted Vance. She’s the one who told him about your gift. The biggest regret of her life. She’s so sorry.”
“She doesn’t need to apologize,” Mike says. My eyes are closed, but I can hear the emotion in his voice and feel his mixture of grief and relief.
“She’s proud that you persevered, went to college, overcame your anxiety, and made friends. And she wants you to know there’s an account in your name at Wells Fargo in Trucker. After you told her about the break-in, she began transferring money from her trust fund into a separate account for you. Please use it to buy a home, make good investments, and travel.”
Aha! So that’s where the money was transferred. Another piece to the puzzle.
“Dude, I will so travel,” Mike says. “Vegas, baby!”
“Margo says anywhere but Vegas.”
“Dammit.”
Now it’s my turn to ask her a few questions. “Why didn’t you just tell me Mike was a medium?”
You had to make the discovery yourself.
“Why?”
To better appreciate him.
Perhaps she’s right. “Why did you have an article about me when I was a child?’
Mike told Brenda he had imaginary friends who were dead, and while doing research she found the article. The similarities were uncanny, and that’s why she put him in behavioral therapy. So he wouldn’t eventually burn the house down.
At least my bacon incident helped someone else. “When you warned me, were you talking about Drew?”
I knew what was about to happen with Drew, Handhoff, and Sheriff Vance. You need to be careful who you trust.
Ain’t that the truth.
“Can I tell her one more thing?” Mike asks.
“Of course.”
“Tell her to say hi to my mom and that I love her.”
Melt my heart. Finally, a spirit who wants to connect with a loved one. This is the type of medium I want to be. No more murder!
“Margo loves you too,” I say.
With that, she’s gone. I open my eyes and blink to focus. Mike wipes the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I’m not crying. I have allergies,” he says.
“Sure you do.”
“Whatever.” He uses the sleeve of his shirt as a tissue. “Dude, that was pretty cool. We should open a medium business.”
“I don’t think Fernn Valley is ready for us.”
“Dude, what if we did it online? I could contact people’s pets, and you could contact their loved ones. Come on. You promised to say yes to more things, remember?”
“It’s not a terrible idea.” Not at all, actually. “We could use different names so no one knows our secret.”
“Lane, get real. Everyone knows your secret, whether they choose to believe it or not is a different story. And I’m not using a fake name. My gift is freaking cool. I can speak to dead animals, and I can see the future.”
“How powerful is this future gift? Like how far ahead can you see?”
“It varies. I’ve spent the last sixteen years trying to ignore the glimpses into the future, I’m not sure what will happen when I try to use it.”
I shift around in my seat to face him. “So, tell me what’s happening next.”
“We work a missing person case together ... A spirit comes to you. She recently died. Her daughter went missing twenty years ago, and she’s never found her. Thinks she might be alive … that’s about all I can see. Looks messy, but so fun.”
“Ugh, really? Come on! Why do I only get spirits in distress?”
“Why do I only speak to animal spirits?”
Good point. “I guess we all have different talents.” Why my talent revolves around murder is beyond me. Anyway. “What else happens?”
“You end up with Brian.”
“What?” I choke out.
“Okay, maybe not end up with him. But he’s going to come over and say, ‘I’m so glad that you’re okay,’ and you’re going to say ‘Um … um … um … um …' Then he’s going to say, ‘Your job is waiting for you,’ and you’re going to say ‘um … um … thanks … um …'”
“Hold on,” I interrupt him. “Your Brian voice sounds like a little girl. Can you please narrate this better?”
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Then he’s going to say, ‘I don’t know about you, Zoe Lane,’ in a super masculine man-voice. Then you’re going to do a nervous laugh. Then he’s going to kiss you.”
My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. “What happens next?”
“A spirit appears.”
Great! Story of my life. “When does this all happen?”
There’s a knock on the door.
Mike gives me a sad little side smirk. “Right now.”
The End
The Marvelous Ms. Medium
Zoe and Mike are in for one wild ride!
The Marvelous Ms. Medium (book #4) coming soon.
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Read on for the first chapter from the award-winning, French Vanilla & Felonies, the first book in the Cambria Clyne Mystery Series.
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Hello!
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About the Author
Erin Huss is a blogger and a #1 Kindle bestselling author. Erin shares hilarious property management horror stories at The Apartment Manager's Blog and her own daily horror stories at erinhuss. com. She currently resides in Southern California with her husband and five children, where she complains daily about the cost of living but will never do anything about it.
French Vanilla & Felonies
PROLOGUE
Here's the thing, we
are all varying degrees of crazy. You know it. I know it. If aliens are in fact spying on us like every bum on Sunset Boulevard says they are, then they know it too. When in public, you hide the crazy in order to conform to what society deems "appropriate" behavior. Some are better at this than others. When you get home, within the confines of walls and away from watchful eyes, you can let your crazy run free without worry of judgment, public persecution, or jail time. Home is where you can dance naked. Safely satisfy your strange fetishes. Where you can role-play or engage in conversation with yourself, out loud, about Star Wars or Harry Potter or The Real Housewives of Orange County and no one will judge you for it.
It doesn't matter if your home is rented or owned. If your home is an apartment in Compton, a mansion in Beverly Hills, or a cardboard box under a freeway overpass— home is where your secrets are held. It's where you can let your freak flag fly high and proud!
This is what keeps my job interesting.
As an apartment manager, I'm privy to all of it—the freak flags and the secrets. Whether I want to be or not.
Trust me. It's not a job for the thinned-skinned, weak-stomached, or easily offended.
It's a job for me...or at least I thought it was. Until I stared down the barrel of a gun and was arrested for a murder I didn't commit.
Now, I'm not so sure. I hear accounting is nice.
CHAPTER ONE
Seeking an on-site Apartment Property Manager for a charming 40-unit community. Applicant must have excellent organizational skills and a calming demeanor.
"Calm down!" Honk. "You're not the only one in a hurry." Hooonk. "Go around!" The silver BMW roared past me. I turned to deliver a mad glare, but Captain
Douche was too busy looking at his phone to notice. "Pay attention to the road!" I yelled to his rear bumper. "Honestly, no one can
drive in this city." I flipped down my visor. The zit in the middle of my freckled forehead pulsed in the tiny mirror. "You really couldn't have waited until tomorrow?" I asked the zit.
