After being instructed to do so, they all wrote down their questions. Jake had given his question some thought, and he scribbled Why did you do it? on the paper. It was, he believed, vague enough so he was unlikely to get a specific answer and yet dramatic enough to keep Madame Ophelia interested. He folded it carefully as the others were doing to theirs and dropped it into the bag Persephone passed. He gave her an apprehensive glance as he did so, and she responded with an encouraging smile. She must have thought he could bring them a lot of money.

He had to admit that burning the papers that supposedly had the questions on them was a pretty impressive trick. He even managed a gasp, much to the amusement of the ladies.

Then Persephone left the room and Madame Ophelia asked them to concentrate so she could contact the spirits. Jake didn’t bother to concentrate. He was too busy watching the other people around the table. Madame hummed for a while, swaying slightly in her chair to give Persephone time to unfold all the questions and start reading them to her through the telephone line.

One of the middle-aged ladies needed some advice. Would her late husband approve of her selling their house? Of course, he would, because then she would have a nice sum of money to be conned out of. The two old ladies wanted their late brother to guide them in deciding to whom they should leave their fortune. The spirits promised someone would appear to help them.

As he had expected, Madame Ophelia had saved him for last. “John. John,” Madame said in a new voice, which was weak and whispery.

“Yes,” Jake said uncertainly. “I’m here. Who’s there?”

“It is I, your mother,” Madame said.

Even though he knew it was all fake and the voice sounded nothing like his mother’s familiar screech, he still felt a chill go up his spine. It was all rather thrilling. No wonder people did this. “Mother?” he tried.

“John. My sweet boy. I’m sorry.”

Jake had never been a sweet boy, and he doubted that his mother had ever been sorry about anything, but it was certainly nice to hear. “Are you?” he asked a little skeptically.

“Soooo sorry,” the voice wailed. “Can you forgive?”

“I . . . don’t know,” he decided.

Another wordless wail that made everyone jump and Madame threw her head back in reaction. Her turban must have been very securely fastened because it didn’t fall off.

“You should forgive her,” the old lady on his left said urgently. “Give her some peace.”

“She still hasn’t told me why she did it,” he replied. “If she tells me that, then I’ll know if I can forgive her.”

Madame moaned and bowed her head, her shoulders slumping wearily. Plainly, she was finished delivering messages.