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  A Medium’s

  Thanksgiving Table

  Becky Tibbs: A North Carolina Medium’s Mystery Series

  Chariss K. Walker

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2018 Chariss K. Walker

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10:

  ISBN-13: 978-

  A Medium’s Thanksgiving Table

  Science cannot solve the ultimate mystery of nature. And that is because, in the last analysis, we ourselves are a part of the mystery that we are trying to solve.

  – Max Planck

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Excerpt from Book 1

  About the Author

  Other Books by Chariss K. Walker

  Connect with Chariss K. Walker

  Chapter 1

  It was only Monday of the Thanksgiving week, but as the owner and sole employee of a popular antique store located in the River Arts District, Becky Tibbs had to take every opportunity to prepare and plan the upcoming family dinner she would host on Thursday evening.

  She was also a medium. Sometimes it seemed she was on call twenty-four-seven. Ghosts and the people they haunted needed her help around the clock.

  Becky softly hummed a tune while she waltzed around her kitchen in the inherited family home. She was both eager and reluctant to prepare the traditional dinner for her family. A small family to be sure, but the only family she had left.

  Her twenty-eight-year-old brother, Bobby, lived in Asheville, only a few miles away. And her thirty-year-old sister, Barbara, lived in Raleigh, a few hours away. Each of their lives had been so busy lately that it had been a while since they had gathered for a meal.

  Becky had thought that Barbara would move back to Asheville at some point, but apparently she was happy maintaining a perpetual student’s lifestyle. Bobby had threatened to move away a few months earlier, but so far, Becky’s pleas had halted his plans.

  The Tibbs siblings, although very close, were still young and it was a terrible blow when they had gotten the news that their parents died in a horrible accident on I-40. It was nearly six years ago, but Becky remembered it well as the worst night of her life – it was also the night she discovered she was a medium. It was the night that all three of the Tibbs children discovered their unique, mystical abilities.

  Although unusual, but not unheard of, all of the Tibbs children had special talents and abilities. They simply handled their gifts in different ways. While Bobby drank himself into a stupor so he wouldn’t have to deal with his psychic abilities and the ghosts in Asheville, Barbara, the oldest sibling, regularly went to a psychiatrist for medication to ensure her gifts stayed firmly locked away. Neither Bobby nor Barb was happy about their special talents. But, Becky… well, Becky embraced her ability and made a living from it.

  It was well-known in certain small circles that Becky Tibbs was the real-deal. Residents of Asheville and its surrounding areas knew who they could count on when they were haunted. Nearby towns and cities often called Becky to eliminate their pesky ghost problems as well.

  An irritated ghost could cause a lot of problems for anyone, but if their annoying behavior cut into tourist revenues or scared shoppers away during holidays, local businesses would band together and ask for her help.

  Becky had taken something that her siblings despised and turned it into a profitable business. She’d made lemonade out of lemons.

  Still, overall, the Tibbs children were a tangled-up mess, an emotional disaster. Amazingly, none of the siblings were aware of their special bequests – a gift passed down to them through the family tree – until the night their parents died.

  As she recalled that terrible night in vivid detail, Becky’s soft tune halted momentarily. The gentle movements of her feet also stopped as she became lost in the remembrance.

  In the antiques business, Justin and Joyce Tibbs had regularly scouted several nearby southern estate sales and auctions to pick up new-to-them merchandise for their successful store in Asheville. Justin and Joyce had been on their way home from Alabama when it happened.

  A close-knit family, Barbara and Bobby had joined Becky at the family residence for the weekend and to await the return of their parents. Justin and Joyce were always home by Sunday evenings in time for a family meeting and dinner. It was a tradition,

  At the time, Becky still lived at home with her parents. Bobby had his own place in West Asheville not far from the family home. Barbara, a student at North Carolina State University, had lived just off campus in Raleigh.

  Justin and Joyce had returned all right, but certainly not the way they were expected. They had arrived only moments before the North Carolina State Police had shown up at the family home to deliver the bad news.

  It was devastating news.

  Everything that happened that night felt noisy and confusing. It was pandemonium to their three children.

  When Justin had arrived, he’d boisterously exclaimed, “Kids, it’s good to see you all here together. Boy-oh-boy! Am I glad to be home or what? It was a rough trip and the traffic was obscene, especially once we got back on I-40. The last twenty minutes were the worst. Traffic was like trying to crawl on your belly through quicksand.” He’d prattled on for several minutes, oblivious to his children’s shocked faces.

  “I don’t know how we got here, Justin,” Joyce had haltingly said. She looked around confused, noticing that her children seemed stunned to see them, but her husband was still unaware of that.

  “What do you mean, Joyce? We’re home. We know where ‘home’ is, for goodness sakes!” Justin had snarkily remarked. “I tell you, Joyce, the older you get the less sense you make at times.”

  “No, now hold on, Justin,” Joyce had shot back. “We were just on the highway… in that awful bottleneck on I-40, remember? We were watching all the craziness. Some poor fools were…,” her voice had trailed off, just as a fist loudly hammered on the front door.

  In shock, Bobby went to answer the door; Becky and Barbara crowded close behind him all-the-while staring at their parents in disbelief and alarm. Something was terribly wrong and they knew it. They simply didn’t know what to say or do about it.

  “Are you next of kin for Justin and Joyce Tibbs?” the tall uniformed officer had asked.
/>   “Yes,” Bobby had replied, holding his breath. He looked at Barbara and Becky, shaking his head in sadness and then he pulled both of his sisters close, holding onto them securely in his strong arms.

  In the meantime, although, she hadn’t known it was fatal, Joyce had excitedly tried to explain their traffic accident to her husband. She talked nonstop while the Trooper had given the death notification to their children. Becky was twenty-one at the time. Bobby was twenty-three, and Barbara was twenty-five.

  When Justin and Joyce had heard the officer’s bad news they began to realize they were no longer among the living, but Justin didn’t take the news very well. He stood toe-to-toe with the man in uniform arguing that they were very much alive. The officer was unaware that a six foot man was shouting in his face and continued to give his rehearsed speech. It was the only way he could do it without crying too. It always broke him up to have to give the death notification.

  Joyce finally pulled Justin away and they sat at the dining room table for a while as they accepted the truth of their situation.

  They were dead.

  They considered their fate and the future of their children. They were rattled and confused, but nonetheless very dead, and the acceptance of that was difficult and dreadful. Their biggest surprise, however, was that their children could see them even though the police officer could not.

  “What the hell is going on?” Justin had demanded. “How come the kids can see us but no one else can?”

  “Wait just a minute,” Joyce had interjected, talking loudly over everyone else. “It skips a generation. My mother had the gift just like her grandmother before her. It missed me, but I suppose it’s genetic.”

  “What?” Justin had argued. “What the heck are you talking about, Joyce?”

  “I’m talking about the gift of sight. Our children, all three of them, have the gift now. It was passed down to them from my side of the family,” Joyce said, feeling as much pride as she could under the circumstances.

  “You’re talking crazy, Joyce. Absolute craziness! Something like this isn’t inherited… it can’t be. It has to be learned. What are these kids going to do without someone to teach them?”

  “Oh shut it, Justin. They’ll manage. We reared good, strong children. And, they’ll handle it. They always do,” Joyce had retorted. Her voice softened as she looked at her children, “Bobby darling, the will is in your father’s desk, bottom drawer on the left. You three take care of each other and never forget how much we love you,” she’d said as a final remark, and escaping the insanity of the moment, she disappeared right before their very eyes.

  Shouting a goodbye to his three children, Justin had quickly followed his wife’s example.

  The State Trooper had hemmed and hawed for a few more minutes and then he left as soon as he could. He’d felt awful. Notifications were the hardest part of the job. He hated telling folks their loved ones were dead.

  At that time, everyone had thought that was the end of it. That once a departed spirit accepted their death and their circumstances, they crossed over into the afterlife. They’d thought that death was final. However, the Tibbs children were in for a huge surprise.

  It wasn’t the end as they soon discovered.

  Although it was true, Justin and Joyce had gone into their afterlife, the Tibbs children soon learned that each thought or mention of their names brought their parents back to check-in on their loved ones. It was instantaneous and instinctual which worked well for most folks, but not so well for mediums. And, it soon became a problem for their living children.

  Chapter 2

  Becky pushed the sad thoughts away and silently continued her menu preparations as she sipped a fresh cup of coffee. She knew that Bobby would want her to prepare his favorite potato salad and Barbara would want candied yams and green bean casserole.

  Becky wanted to make the meal special with their favorite dishes, but being vegetarian for the last few months in an effort to get her weight under control, she didn’t relish cooking a turkey or hen, or even a goose. She didn’t think either Bobby or Barbara would mind forgoing meat for one meal, especially if she did the rest of the dinner right.

  Unnoticed by her preoccupied daughter, Joyce entered the kitchen and poked her head inside the freezer compartment of Becky’s refrigerator. Without physical barriers or limitations, it was an easy thing for her to do. She critically looked at the items inside and then excitedly commented, “Where’s the turkey? You know you have to cook a turkey for the Thanksgiving meal.”

  Becky, startled by her mother’s sudden appearance, nearly dropped her coffee cup. “Fudge, Mama!” she yelled. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. You nearly scared me to death!”

  “It’s not easy to sneak up on you, Becky. Lost in thought, hmm?” her mother acknowledged. “Thinking about all those family dinners and missing your old mom and dad? I get it. We miss you too.”

  Becky missed her folks; that was true. But, she missed their physical presence… she missed them being alive and involved in her daily life. It was getting more and more difficult to miss their spirit presence. They weren’t gone long enough to be missed.

  Ignoring the truth her mother spoke, Becky defensively replied, “I don’t want to cook a turkey and I don’t need any help.”

  Sometimes, she wished her parents’ ghosts weren’t around all the time constantly interfering. She immediately felt guilty for those unkind thoughts and her freckled cheeks flushed bright pink at her own rudeness and tone. Becky softened her voice, “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just that I’m out of sorts lately. You startled me and those feelings came rushing out.”

  “Well, I heard you humming and I knew you were in the kitchen. You always hum when you’re in the kitchen. I didn’t think I would be interrupting anything if I dropped in,” Joyce meekly replied.

  Each of them clearly remembered the painful conversation several months ago when all three Tibbs children had told their parents that their constant visits were annoying. It had become clear to Justin and Joyce that they were driving Bobby to drink and Barbara to the numbing effects of Xanax.

  Has our frequent visits caused so much stress that Becky overeats? Joyce silently wondered as she critically examined her daughter’s lovely appearance. Even though it was obvious that Becky had put on a few pounds, she certainly couldn’t be considered overweight. Damn distorted self-image! Joyce heatedly grumbled.

  Having fallen prey to it herself when alive, she remembered it all too well. Even at her best size six, she’d always looked in the mirror and thought she was fat. It was a human condition common to many women and fueled by media coverage of size two, undernourished models and movie stars who looked like toothpicks. It was also apparent to the observant ghost mother that Becky had switched to a vegetarian diet in an attempt to combat that weight gain. She’ll make herself sick on some stupid diet just to fit someone else’s idea of beauty, Joyce silently worried.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, Becky. And I didn’t want to interrupt anything either, honey. I’ve noticed that you’re on a vegetarian diet lately. I have to say that eating meat two or three times a week would balance out your emotions.”

  “No, you really didn’t interrupt anything,” Becky replied, trying very hard to ignore her mother’s meddling.

  “I didn’t see a turkey in the freezer or a hen? Don’t tell me you plan to cook a goose for Thanksgiving dinner!” Joyce exclaimed.

  “I wasn’t planning on serving meat this year. There are plenty of vegetable dishes that will fill out a lovely Thanksgiving table, Mother.”

  Becky couldn’t help herself. She’d gritted out the last word with resounding bitterness, making it two grating syllables, Muh-ther.

  “What!” Joyce screeched her reply.

  Becky couldn’t tell if the response was feedback to the way she’d said the word or the fact that there would be no meat dishes for Thanksgiving. Joyce’s high-pitched voice caused the lights to flicker erratically. The vibration
and off-key staccato rattled the glass coffee pot against its burner.

  Becky covered her ears and gasped, “Mother, please! You know your voice is already gyrating and loud. Please don’t yell or scream at me.”

  Alarmed by Becky’s reaction, and feeling entirely ashamed of herself, Joyce disappeared in a flash and Becky looked around the empty kitchen feeling quite miserable that her retort had sent her mother packing.

  “Drats!” Becky exclaimed. “What in Betsy’s name is going on? Can’t I do anything right?”

  Chapter 3

  Becky felt terrible, but the misery she felt wasn’t entirely due to the altercation she’d just had with her mother. Something was in the air; something else was niggling at her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason that she felt disillusioned and lost. Was it the time of year for lonely, confused thoughts? Was she caught up in a holiday melancholy? Or was she suffering from seasonal affective disorder (SAD), a type of depression that begins and ends most likely during the winter months?

  It’s still fall, Becky silently lamented. How can this be?

  Scalding tears streamed down her freckled cheeks as she briefly allowed the misery to wash over her. It wasn’t often that Becky allowed herself to get caught-up in self-pity, but she couldn’t stop the emotions at the moment. Now, in frustration, she jerked a paper towel off its rack and haphazardly wiped at her face. The rough surface scratched her delicate skin, reminding her that she had intended to place a box of tissue in the kitchen, but she hardly noticed the discomfort. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, and as she did, she heard Zetmeh say, Count your blessings, my dear child. Always, count your blessings.

  Becky recalled the exact moment when she’d met Zetmeh. It had been several months ago… she’d crashed Bobby’s house-warming party. He’d just moved in two weeks earlier and she hadn’t made time to see him or his new residence. Certain he’d be happy to see her, she didn’t even bother to call ahead.