Glass Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective

Chapter 40

Coaxing her body from the cushioned seat takes some doing, but Zandra manages to beat her stiff joints into submission one more time. The clop-clop-drag of her boots turns to drag-drag-drag as her weary frame lumbers out the shed.

The squad car is gone, but Zandra suspects the police will soon be spilling onto the property from the woods behind her. The cool wind carries the sounds of shouting from the direction of the park.

Zandra strains to pluck two grape-sized rocks from the ground, then hides behind a tree not far from the front door of the house. Peering around the thick bark, she hurls the rocks, one after the other. Then she waits, hoping the sound of them hitting the door mimics a knock.

The door opens a crack. Hesitates. Zandra tries to steal a look inside.

Please be Abby. Please be Abby.

She can't make out the face. The door starts to close.

No.

Zandra hears the voices from park again. They're getting closer. She has no choice but to call out from the tree.

"Abby. Hey, Abby, open the door," Zandra says from behind the tree. For all she knows, it's Gene on the other side of the door. She clenches the bark until it stings her hands.

The door opens. Zandra reveals her red face from behind the tree to get a better look.

"Zandra?" Abby says from the doorway.

Warm relief revives Zandra's body. She nearly shouts from the feeling.

"Oh, Abby, child, please, I need to talk to you," Zandra says. She motions to the lawn care shed.

Abby checks to make sure no one else is watching. She can't see anyone, but the sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway is as clear as the bluebird sky.

"You'd better hurry," Abby says as she shuts the door and bounces down the steps.

They meet up in the shed just as a luxury sedan pulls past them in the driveway. It's not the police, but it's not much better. Gene tips his hat to the driver and hurries inside the house. Zandra waits until the front door is closed again before talking.

"What did you want to tell me last night? It was about Elle, right?" Zandra says.

Abby's more aloof than Zandra expects. Puts a couple extra steps between herself and the lawnmower Zandra sits on.

"How did you find me?" Abby says with a look on her face that's frightened, curious or both. "The police told me to lock the doors because you might be around. They said you were armed and dangerous."

The desperation returns to Zandra's eyes, creasing her brows upward like a beggar's hands.

"There's no time to explain all that, child," Zandra says. She plays her ace card in hopes of getting Abby to talk. "Look, I know you were the one who broke into my apartment and planted those...things...into my filing cabinet."

It works. Abby breaks down, hiding her face against the dank, plywood wall. Zandra slips off the lawnmower and places a hand on Abby's shoulder.

"It's OK. I'm not here to accuse you of anything," Zandra says. "Just tell me what happened, child."

"How did you know it was me?" Abby says from behind her tear-soaked sleeve.

"I'm a psychic, child. I know a lot of things," Zandra says. It feels good to put her persona back on. She nurtures the spark and sets a fire in Abby's mind. "I even know that Gene manipulated you to plant that evidence to frame me for the murder of his daughter. I know how he convinced the police to tap me for help with finding Elle, bringing me into the orbit of this case so he could set me up. Why Gene would want to do this, I don't know yet. When I find out, Abby, I'll make him and everyone else in his pocket pay dearly."

Abby looks up at Zandra. The expression on her face changes. "I thought you said you were a psychic," she says.

Zandra isn't expecting that. She takes her hand back.

"What do you mean, child?" Zandra says.

"Don't child me. What you just told me, that isn't right at all," Abby says, her voice cracking with a sudden burst of hostility. "I knew you were a fraud the minute you sat down for that séance."

"So you didn't break into my apartment?" Zandra says.

"Oh, I did. But what you said about Gene and Elle and everything, you're way off," Abby says. "Gene's a lot of things, but he's not what you make him out to be."

Zandra's been wrong plenty of times before, but she could usually hide it beneath 50 feet of supernatural bullshit. Frank conversations like these have a habit of exposing the weaknesses in her mental powers. It's why she wears that purple gown and avoids getting too close to anyone.

For decades, Zandra painted pictures of things that weren't actually there into the minds of the gullible. Had she fooled herself this time?

Is Abby setting me up? Is Gene really behind this like I thought?

The questions make her dizzy. Her heart still wants Gene to fit into the narrative she's crafted. But her guts, they roll with the thought he might not be the monster she wants him to be. And then what would become of her revenge, the one she's waited decades to bring down? Where would she put those feelings of hate and retribution if not outward? Inward? Would she hold that lawnmower knife to her own throat?

No. It must be Gene. For my sake. Please.

"Then what happened?" Zandra says.

Abby smiles in an unnatural, almost otherworldly way, like someone painted on the creases around her mouth. "I think you'll like my version better. It'll be easier to show you than tell you. Follow me," she says.