Charlie saw his hesitation and put a hand on his forearm before leaving. “I’m just kiddin’.” Her expression softened, eyes smiling.
Clay smiled back. “You had me there for a second.”
“I can stop by later, after my shift.” She raised her eyebrows, searching for a response.
“I’d like that. Thank you again for...”
“Just doin my job.” With that, she walked out, graceful as a lynx.
A few minutes later, two nursing assistants entered the room with a wheelchair for Clay. He sat up and regarded the chair with disdain as they pulled it up next to him. Recognizing that look, one of the nursing assistants said with a flat stare that warned, ‘Don’t mess with me’. “Free ride up to the second floor, my man. We can’t let ya walk.”
Clay smiled back. “Fine, let’s roll.”
They all chuckled as they headed out. After a smooth ride, they arrived at Clay’s new room in a matter of minutes. No one occupied the other bed. Sean sent the room information to Jackie and his brother as they settled into Clay’s new digs.
Chapter Seven
Officer Street glanced down at his phone when he got the notification from Sean with the new room number. He sent a thumbs-up emoji as he walked up to the address the medium had given him. The property was located on the fringe of town, not too far from the hospital. A good location for a home-based business.
The ordinary one-story sat on a corner lot with two mature trees in the yard, one on each street, providing shade for a weedy low-cut lawn. A cracked concrete driveway ran down the opposite side to a garage. A spacious porch wrapped around the front and side facing the road. A wrought iron bench stood sentry by the front door. Martha sat there with arms tightly crossed, one leg over the other. She wore a dark earth-tone pants suit with a faded blue shawl drawn over her shoulders. Even in a seated position, Officer Street could see that her outfit looked a little big. She wore black leather short pumps with a wide heel. A pair of rounded wire-rimmed glasses rested on her nose. Long graying hair tumbled down from a tousled-looking half-up top knot. She regarded Officer Street as he walked up. “Ma’am, I’m Officer Michael Street. Thank you for seeing me on short notice.”
She didn’t move from the bench to greet him. “I’m Martha Klar. Glad to help when I can, Officer.” Martha raised her eyebrows and looked at him over the top of her glasses. “What’s this about? You mentioned a video?”
“That’s right. The video captured something unusual. I need your opinion.”
Martha loosened her arms a little. “What do you think this ‘something’ is, Officer?”
“I hesitate to say. I brought a copy of it. I thought we might play it on your computer.”
Martha considered him for a moment, then looked over to his squad car. Something shifted in her demeanor, and she stood, more relaxed. “Okay, come in.”
Officer Street noted that she stood effortlessly, turning for the door with a grace that belied the slightly frumpy way in which she dressed. He wondered how a woman of her apparent age kept in such good shape. As they entered the home, she explained that she always met new clients on the porch so she could prescreen them before letting them inside. There had been a couple of bad experiences with a few college kids who had tried to test her.
“Smart,” Officer Street said as he surveyed the front room, an intentionally ordinary space with just the basics. Along the far wall, a sensible three-piece couch, loveseat, and chair set surrounded a coffee table with a few magazines fanned out. A large rectangular mirror hung on the wall above the couch. A dresser along the front window next to the door had a tray with bottles of water and clear plastic cups. The space had the feel of a waiting room.
Martha walked through an archway that led to a kitchen. “Something to drink, Officer?”
“No, thanks,” Officer Street said, following her. The kitchen was a cheerful sunlight yellow with white speckled Formica countertops. A counter extended from the wall and had a few stools scattered around it. Martha stopped in front of the stove and pulled a paper-wrapped tea bag from a small shelf on her right. Her dexterous fingers unfolded the paper with ease.
“So, how long have you been a medium?” Officer Street asked as he walked up and took a seat on a stool. He dug out his interview pad, settling in to make notes.
“Most of my life, I suppose,” Martha said with a reflective tone. She poured water into a mug from a warm teapot, then dropped in the teabag, bobbing it up and down by the string until it sank. Officer Street watched her with fascination. Everything appeared so ordinary. There wasn’t any of the mystical décor he expected. This woman wasn’t dressed like he had envisioned a psychic with flowing robes, dark mascara, and an ethereal vibe. But she did possess an unmistakable gravity that served to draw you into the details of her persona.
“Have you always made a living this way?”
“Heavens, no. I went to college and worked in the same office for 26 years until my husband died.”
“Did that inspire the career shift?”
“In a way, yes. We had no debt. He left a modest inheritance. Combined with the sale of our old house, it enabled me to buy this place.”
“But that’s not all?” Officer Street asked, fully in his element.
“No,” Martha chuckled. “I kept my ability to myself most of my life. I would occasionally help a friend or coworker, but I didn’t come out about it until my husband passed away.”
Avoiding the obvious question, he continued the interview. “I can understand why you would hide your... ability, but why come out after all that time?”
“My husband, he... visited me after his death. He explained that he regretted not encouraging me to embrace my talent, told me the time had come.” Her eyes teared up a bit and she reached for a paper towel from the roll hanging under the cabinet. “Then he crossed over.”
Officer Street gave her a minute while he tried to absorb that bit of information without judgment. “I appreciate you telling me that.” Tucking the pad away in his shirt pocket, he placed the thumb drive on the counter. “When you’re ready, can we play the video?”
She lifted the tea bag, gave it a squeeze, and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. “Of course. Right this way.” Grasping her mug, she picked up the thumb drive with her free hand, walked back out into the waiting room, and turned down another short hall with two closed doors, one on either side. It dead-ended at a wall with a small window that lit the space. She entered the door on the left. Officer Street followed her in.
The spacious corner room had two wide windows on each outer wall. The inside walls both had a single painting, each of a landscape vista. One wall had a low bookcase with stacks of dusty old books. She plopped down with a huff at an L-shaped desk situated in the corner under the two windows. The bookcase behind her coughed out a little dust as she took another pull from her mug, motioning with it for Officer Street to take a seat across from her before setting it on the desk. On her cluttered desk, one item stood out. The light of her lamp danced off a round glass set in the top of a small square wooden box. Through the glass, what looked like an antique coin could be seen. Upon first glance, Officer Street didn’t recognize it.
“A gift from my late father,” she said.
“Sorry?”
“The coin you were regarding. It was the last thing my father gave me before passing.”
“It’s unusual,” he said. Officer Street watched as she inserted the USB drive into a hub. “Open the file folder and then play the file labeled Video 01.”
She brought up the file and double-clicked it, then turned the monitor so Officer Street could see it.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Fine, thank you.”
