The Message: The Dead Are Talking. The Living Are Lying by Sandie Baldry
Detective Inspector Nick Lewis is a rational man—he doesn’t believe in ghosts, spirits, or anything that goes bump in the night.
Nick shifted in his seat, searching for a scrap of comfort on the rigid plastic chair. The heat in the community centre didn’t help; he’d already shed his jacket, draping it behind him, but the warmth wasn’t the real source of his discomfort. A slow flush crept up his neck, the kind that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with being there, of all places. He dreaded someone recognising him as a detective. He’d never hear the end of it.
When Kerry first invited him, he’d pictured a handful of curious locals turning up. Instead, the hall was crammed, and more people were squeezing through the doors, scanning for empty seats. His sixteen-year-old daughter sat beside him, bright-eyed, vibrating with anticipation. At the same time, he quietly regretted every life choice that had brought him to this moment.
He glanced around, genuinely baffled that so many believed Mystic Jenny, the woman standing at the front, could communicate with the dead. To him, the whole thing ranged somewhere between wishful thinking and outright fraud. What unsettled him more was seeing his daughter so invested, so sure. The growing murmurs of excitement around him pressed in from all sides.
