Glass Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective

Chapter 20

25 Years Earlier

"You want to play hero with your employer, fine, but save it until after the honeymoon," a much younger Zandra said. She wore a black dress and an updo, a far cry from her fashion sense later in life. More like a Midwest Jackie O. A time when she went by her nickname, Ann, instead of her given one.

Zandra sat opposite her fiancé at Char, the swanky Stevens Point restaurant she wasn't sure they could afford. But David insisted. Tonight would be a different kind of celebration ahead of their nuptials.

David gnawed over a piece of fried calamari. "I've got him by the balls," he said.

Zandra wished he didn't talk like that in public. David's upbringing in the locker room came out at the worst times. Working as an adjuster at Gene Carey's insurance business tempered it a bit, but it still came through. "What I found out today seals the deal."

Zandra played around with the red potatoes on her plate. Thought about how irritating David's distractions at work were given the stress of planning a wedding.

"I just don't understand why you have to be the one to do this now," she said.

"I didn't pick this thing, Ann. It picked me. If those files hadn't accidentally routed to me instead of Mr. Carey, this whole thing would never have come up," David said.

Zandra started to say something, but David cut her off.

"He's cheated damn near everyone who's ever filed a claim with his insurance company. Doctors who don't exist offer medical opinions. Mechanics in his pocket write out estimates. Police officers right here in Stevens Point write reports he dictates. He even comes up with phony witnesses. Everyone gets a kickback. Half the damn town is guilty. It keeps the cost of his company's claims down and profits up. And I've got the proof," David said, his voice hushed behind a dinner roll. His face turned the shade of crimson it usually does when he's worked up.

Zandra reached across the table and put her hands in his. Felt the rough edges and the smooth ones. She loved him for both.

"Hearing you talk like this, I remember why I wanted to marry you in the first place. You care about doing the right thing," Zandra said. "But, please, honey, just for me. Save this for after the honeymoon. Once we're back from Florida, you can pick this up again. Deal?"

David resisted at first, but relaxed after Zandra sent a meandering foot up his leg under the table. He closed his eyes and exhaled, "Deal."

David didn't mention it again in the weeks leading up to the wedding, although Zandra caught him up at night a few times organizing paperwork. The wedding went off without so much as a spilled drink. David slipped out the next morning to grab a few last-minute things before their flight to Florida.

"Sun tan lotion. I totally forgot about it. Guess you don't think of those things living in Wisconsin and all," David said before driving away.

Zandra slipped in an "I love you" before David hopped into the car parked outside their tiny rambler, but he didn't hear it. It's the last thing she ever said to him.

When an hour passed, Zandra became irritated. After two hours, she felt concerned. After three, she called her mother in Rhinelander. Not sure why. The two hadn't spoken ever since Zandra revealed her pregnancy ahead of the wedding. It didn't matter anyway. No one picked up.

After four hours, Zandra strapped on her shoes and started walking. The drug store sat about a mile down the road.

Even nearing the end of the first trimester, she could feel it. As real as the sidewalk under her feet. Her doctor, a burly man in his 60s, had scolded her. Babies conceived out of wedlock make it harder on the mother due to some sort of womb-guilt connection. Expect buckets of morning sickness. Complications. Maybe even a C-section. And statistics show C-section mothers lack the emotional connection of traditional deliveries.

Bullshit. Zandra felt fine. She wondered how two letters and a dot before a person's name allowed the right to talk to people like that. Illusions and delusions. Perception and reality.

Zandra checked the parking spaces outside the drug store. No sign of David's car. She went inside and asked if he'd stopped by. No David. A little faster in her steps, she checked the businesses near the drug store. No David.

Her watch told her they'd missed their flight to Florida. She hurried back to the house. Time to call the police. She swallowed her panic and dialed the station.

"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic, miss?" came the baritone on the other end. "He hasn't been gone for that long. Call back tomorrow."

Zandra sucked in a scream. "Please, something awful happened, I just know it. We were married yesterday, please help. This isn't like him," she said instead.

"What're you, some kind of psychic? Maybe he got a flat tire. He'll be home in a little bit."

That marked the first time Zandra heard someone call her a psychic. Delivered on a hot needle of condescension, the word never left her mind. She'd return to it later.

"I don't have a car. I can't go looking for him," Zandra said.

"Yeah, well, neither can I, lady. We can't go out investigating every time someone misses a flight."

Zandra's eyes fell to her stomach, then to the stack of paperwork on the kitchen table.

"I'm pregnant," Zandra said, surprising herself.

"I thought you said you got married yesterday," the voice said, now even more irritated.

"Yes, that's right."

"Oh, I see. It makes sense that you'd be a little unreasonable. It's not your fault. Women get like that. Lordy, don't I know it. My wife was the same way. Try some tea or a nap, that helps sometimes."

Zandra ended the call. No sense continuing with that prick.

She noted the time. Six hours since David went missing. Her eyes meandered to the paperwork again. If the throbbing boil in her gut was right, keeping those in the open could be the worst thing to do right now. She opted to scoop everything into folders and place them in a fireproof filing cabinet under lock and key. Years later, they'd be joined by other secrets in Zandra's apartment.

She tugged at the hair next to her temples and stood at the living room window. Her heartbeat raced and braked with each pair of passing headlights.

Twenty-four insomnia-wracked hours later, Zandra finally convinced the police to start the search. And 48 after that, it happened.