Of all of the houses we lived in while we were in Arizona, my favorite was on a cozy tree-lined street near downtown Mesa.  If you are at all familiar with Arizona, you’ll know that the most unique feature about this neighborhood was that it had trees—big, beautiful, leafy, shady trees.  Besides that, it was a safe enclave where kids could wander down to play with the neighbors and no doors were ever locked.

One morning I discovered that the radio had been stolen from my car, ripped right out of the console.  As my civic duty, I told our neighbors and one of them, Gary, started a neighborhood watch group, which was to meet that next Tuesday.  We all felt edgy.  What was happening to our tiny oasis of safety?

Stick with me here because I’ll come back to this.

As part of the research I completed for my debut novel, THE PERFECT FRAUD (published June 2019 by HarperCollins and available now for preorder from Amazon), I met with many, many psychics and mediums.  The first one I saw told me I wasn’t giving enough to my marriage. She also offered, for $450, to be my spiritual sister to help with this problem and, as a bonus, to guide my soul to a better place.

I turned her down but spent an hour crying and apologizing to Mike, my husband, for not being the wife he deserved.  He assured me this was not the case and that the psychic was an opportunistic fraud.

What better way is there to capture a woman’s interest (and her money) than by telling her she isn’t enough?

A few months later, a well-respected medium I visited said my deceased mother was coming through with a message about my health.  I hadn’t told the medium I was having a health issue and in fact, was scheduled to see the doctor the following week.

She told me my mother was urging me, over and over, to not let this issue go, that I would have to take care of it immediately and stay on it.  Basically, my mother was nagging.  Apparently crossing to the great beyond does not alter fundamental personality traits.  I asked the medium to ask my mother whether I was going to ultimately be okay if I took care of things.  The medium cocked her head, listened for a while and said, “She stopped talking to me.  She just refuses to answer any more questions.”  I replied, “Yup, that’s my mom.”

The medium then told me, “They all like your doctor.”

I said, “My doctor?  I haven’t seen the doctor yet.”

She said, “Who is Dominick?  They all like Dominick.”

I didn’t know anyone named Dominick and told her so.  Later, I asked Mike whether he knew any Dominicks in his extended Italian family but he said he didn’t think so.

It didn’t hit me until later that they, all my dead and interested relatives, probably meant Domtech, the doctor I saw the next week who has indeed been everything I needed health-wise.

So, what does this all have to do with a missing radio?

Turns out the radio was not stolen.  My kids were playing in the front seat and had taken off the cover plate.  I found this out while complaining to Mike that I was so mad the radio was gone, how could somebody come right into our driveway and do that, and it was so frustrating because all I got now was static.

After a long pause, Mike asked, “You’re getting static?”

“Yeah, it’s really annoying,”

“Ellen,” he explained gently, “If you’re getting static, then the radio is still there.”

I never told Gary, head of the neighborhood watch group, about this and fortunately, I had hesitated in contacting the insurance company so I didn’t have to call them again to retract a claim (and publicly announce my stupidity).

Do psychics or mediums actually have a connection to the beyond?  Are they a radio receiving signals their particular frequencies allow them to convey to those of us more earthbound?  Or, do we want to believe so badly that even in the absence of a discernible connection we’ll hear through the static and listen for the message we need at the moment?

I don’t know the answer but I’ve had enough spot-on readings to not dispute the possibility.  And, I did start locking my doors, if only to stop my children from dismantling my car.

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