Elizabeth Basque - Medium Mysteries 01 - Echo Park by Elizabeth Basque

was thinking when I downed rest of the previous night’s drink.
    I knew that alcohol contributed to depression, but I didn’t care, probably because I was depressed. Just a little something to get me going, I always said. A temporary fix to a permanent problem.
    I spent the morning getting my place back to normal. I opened all of the windows, and turned on the ceiling fans. I emptied ashtrays of all cigars, and even vacuumed.
    I did feel a little better. At least my home was my own again. There was, however the slight lingering odor of vinegar I’d smelled the night before. I couldn’t trace it. Maybe it was from the generators or something. What did I know?
    When it cooled that afternoon, I took my laptop—and another martini—out to the patio. I couldn’t get that Michael kid out of my mind. I didn’t know when he’d died, so I searched backward in time, chronologically, using the same websites I had used to research Carla and her mom.
    Turned out I didn’t have to look too long. He’d died a couple of months ago. I drew a deep breath and held it, re-reading the obits from the very same day that Carla and her mother had died.
    I hated that my brain was saturated with liquor. It slowed my thinking sometimes. I was just putting two and two together when Mack showed up, making his presence known inside.
    I flew inside my apartment like the angry old goose that I was.
    “ Why didn’t you tell me who Michael really was?” I demanded.
    “ Nice bash last night,” he commented, hovering over the chair he’d overturned again. “Actually, I was impressed. As were my friends.”
    “ I asked you a question,” I spat. “Why did you bring him here? And why didn’t you tell me who he was?”
    “ And you, the savvy psychic,” he chuckled. I was drunk, and he knew it. “I thought you would have figured it out on your own.” He inspected his nails while I righted the chair. Again . “And look now, you did figure it out. So, what’s the problem, deah?”
    “ I trusted you. You know I would never knowingly let a murderer inside my home, living or dead.”
    “ I know nothing of the sort,” he replied lightly. “You’ve certainly done it before.”
    I gasped, thinking of only person Mack could be referring to. “That is none of your business! And it’s old history. Have the ghosts been gossiping about me?”
    “Hush, Pauline. Like you said, you can’t have a private thought with me around.” Mack followed me into the kitchen.
    It was time to lay off the hard stuff, just for a while. I needed to think. I downed a large glass of water and got myself a beer. “You do understand that I’m trying to figure out how to help Carla.”
    “Certainly.”
    I was frustrated now, and fuming mad at Mack, especially since he knew stuff about me that I never wanted him to know. Ever. Stuff about me and… James . Obviously, he was privy to my most painful and personal thoughts.
    He, however, was obviously enjoying my frustration. I thought about locking myself in the bathroom to get away from him, but I was sick of looking at the tiny octagonal floor tiles while I was drunk. My thoughts were a little foggy, and I had to figure out what to do.
    “You know what to do,” Mack said, quietly now, his face more serious.
    Sweat was beading on my forehead now, and my neck felt hot. It’s just a hot flash, I lied to myself, trying to dismiss my discomfort.
    I sat at my small dinette table and glared at the ghost, one of the few beings I could call a friend. Why hadn’t he told me about Michael?
    “I can’t do everything for you,” he said.
    Oh, his mind reading irritated me. “What the hell do you ever do for me, except make unreasonable demands and knock over furniture? You secretly pry into my private pain, Mack! And you haunt me until I think I’m going insane!”
    This did hit home for him, I could tell. His eyes were cold as they met mine. “One,” he stated, “the pahty wasn’t an unreasonable request. You have