Excerpt of Stay Tuned For Murder by Mary Kennedy

You would assume that people who talk to the dead would be pale as vampires, their luminous eyes filled with unspoken secrets and timeless wisdom. You would expect them to speak in hushed tones, their voices floating like whispers on a tropical breeze as they invoke spirits from the beyond. You'd probably picture them as quiet and introspective, pondering the mysteries of life and what lies beyond the grave.

You would be wrong. Dead wrong.

Chantel Carrington, the new “psychic sensation” in Cypress Grove, is none of the above. Everything about Chantel is larger than life, strictly va-va-voom.. Think of one of those giant Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons bobbing over Fifth Avenue.

Big. Brash. Garish. Inescapable.

Oh yes. And full of hot air.

From her booming “Hello dahlings!” as she rolls down the WYME corridors to her eye-popping Hawaiian muumuus, Chantel steals the spotlight every time.

Today she was the featured guest on my afternoon radio talk show, On the Couch with Maggie Walsh. She's been on the show four times in the past two weeks and I hate to admit it, but each time the ratings have skyrocketed.

It seems that my entire listening audience is jonesing to communicate with the dearly departed, and Chantel does her best to accommodate them. Cyrus, the station manager, is so thrilled with her other-worldly chats that I'm sure he salivates, just thinking about all that extra advertising revenue pouring into WYME.

Vera Mae, my producer, and I are less happy with the arrangement.

When I first arrived in Cypress Grove a few months ago to host my own radio show, I'd been pretty naive about the topics I'd be covering. A former clinical psychologist with a cushy Manhattan practice, I'd gained quite a following for my work in what the shrinks call “behavioral medicine.”

Behavioral medicine is based on the idea that if you change your thinking, you can change your behavior, leading to a more positive mental outlook. No Freudian claptrap, no endless discussions of your dreams or Jungian archetypes.

But after a few brutal winters in the Big Apple I'd become sick of the city, frustrated by the skyrocketing real estate prices and worst of all, I discovered I was tired of listening to people's problems all day long. Yes, tired of listening to people's problems.

Some days I felt like I was trapped in a Jerry Springer marathon.

A shocking revelation, right? Practically career suicide to say it publicly, but there you have it. I was whipped, emotionally drained, with nothing left to give.

I had total burn-out.

So what did I do? I diagnosed the problem and wrote my own prescription. I made an executive decision as The Donald would say. I knew I needed a complete change of pace, and I made it happen. I closed up shop, transferred my patients to a trusted colleague, sold my IKEA furniture and moved to a sleepy Florida town.

Doctor Maggie, heal thyself.