When The Spirit Moves You (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

going to seem like years. I just hoped he had things cleared up before my court date or I might find myself in jail—or doing community service. Maybe digging holes in parks for new trees instead of digging in yards looking for bodies.
    But I didn’t have to wait those two days because Madam Zahara called me. After all, I didn’t have an unlisted number and she did know my name.
    “ Mr. Resnick?” she asked. “The one who visited a psychic on two occasions this past week?”
    “ That’s me,” I said as a chill ran up my spine.
    “ It seems as though we have more business to conduct.”
    “ How so?” I asked.
    “ You want to know about Fred Butterfield, right?”
    “ Yes,” I said.
    “ I’m prepared to tell all. And if you want to call the police after you’ve heard my story, I won’t try to stop you.”
    Boy did that sound like a trap, or what? But she had me pegged and I did want to hear her story.
    “ I’m not prepared to go back to the house on Main Street. Can we meet on neutral ground?”
    The connection was silent for long seconds. “I’m open to that. Where?”
    Someplace crowded. “How about Eastern Hills Mall?”
    “ Where will we meet?”
    “ By the food court. Tomorrow afternoon. Is five thirty all right with you?”
    “ Perfect,” she said. She sounded smug, which made the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.
    “ I’ll see you then,” I said.
    “ Damn right you will,” she answered and hung up.
    #
    I was antsy at work all the next day, watching the clock and messing up drink orders. My boss is pretty forgiving and just chalked it up to me having a bad day. I was worried that the bad element was yet to come. I still wasn’t sure what I had gotten myself into, but meeting Madam Zahara in a public place was the prudent thing to do.
    I arrived at the mall’s food court fifteen minutes before the agreed-upon time. Madam Zahara was already seated at a table near Subway, fidgeting. She was dressed in the same outfit I’d seen her in two days before. She adjusted her shawl, looked around, adjusted it again, looking decidedly nervous.
    I scoped out the place, didn’t see anyone who looked like a long-distance trucker hanging round, and walked up to her table. “Mind if I sit down?”
    She waved a hand at the chair opposite her.
    I sat down and folded my hands on the table before me. “You called me,” I reminded her.
    She sighed and leaned closer, keeping her voice low. “First, let me apologize. I shouldn’t have taken any money from you, but old habits die hard.” She reached into her skirt pocket and withdrew the ten spot and the ones I’d given her the previous times we’d met. She pushed the bills across the table, her bracelets rattling at the movement.
    “ Any other old habits you’d like to disavow yourself from?” I asked.
    She ignored my question, studied my face, and finally spoke. “You were right. There was a horrific murder in my house.”
    “ Fred Butterfield’s house,” I reminded her.
    “ It didn’t always belong to him.”
    “ Are you saying he bought it from you?”
    “ Cheated me out of it, more like.”
    “ How?”
    She sighed. “The bastard married me.”
    “ How long ago was that?”
    “ The years aren’t important. In fact, now they mean nothing.”
    Maybe not to her . . . .
    Her mouth drooped. She reached into her pocket once more and withdrew a slip of paper, which she set on the table. On it was written a name: Gary Madison.
    “ Who’s this?”
    “ Our son.”
    I’d never had a kid with her, so I assumed she meant Butterfield. “Is this the long-distance truck driver?”
    She nodded. “I was hoping you might try to get a message to him from me. Despite all my best efforts, I haven’t been able to contact him.”
    “ What makes you think I can?”
    She laughed. “Mr. Resnick, we both know what you are.”
    “ And what’s that?”
    “ Somebody like me. A psychic. Only you’re much better than I ever was.”
    “ It wasn’t