Séance

“I require down payment.” The black veil over the woman’s face obscures her eyes, but I hear the deception in her nasal voice.

Janet drops the thick envelope onto the table with a thud. Her last paycheck, about $800 in twenties, sealed inside.

“This won’t give you closure,” I whisper, but she sits in front of the crystal ball.

“Extra for her.” The woman flicks her wrist in my direction.

“She’s a scam,” I plead.

“What’s your dearly departed’s name?”

“I’ve got to know,” Janet says. She’d rather a county fair psychic tell her that her husband’s finally at peace.