Believing (Lily Dale #2)(47)

Evangeline smiles. “See? The kid definitely lives in a fantasy world. He probably overheard his parents talking about some guy who was snooping around here looking for you, and turned him into a bad guy.”

“Yeah. That’s what I keep trying to tell myself.” Calla hesitates. “The only thing is, Paula said Marty just overheard that comment today, but Dylan said Kelly told him about it last night.”

“So what? He’s a little kid. They don’t keep track of time. He’s just confused.”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “What really matters is that someone was looking for me. Right? Which is freaking me out a little. Okay . . . a lot.”

“It was probably just another reporter.”

“But what if Dylan really did have some kind of premonition?”

“Come on, Calla.” Evangeline touches her arm reassuringly. “Even then, so what? What are the odds that it’s not just some snooping reporter?”

“Why would Dylan call a reporter a bad guy, though?”

Evangeline snorts at that. “Because not everyone likes reporters. Look at the paparazzi. They’re really nosy, and brazen, and—”

“And Dylan is five,” Calla points out. “What does he know about the paparazzi? You’re really stretching it, Evangeline.”

“I know. I’m trying to make you feel better. Guess it’s not working?”

“Guess not,” she says flatly, wishing she could snap out of this dark anxiety.

“Just hang in there until Saturday morning. You’ll come to my class with me, and you’ll learn how to meditate and—”

“Meditate? Evangeline, how’s that really going to help me? Dylan said the man is dangerous. That he wants to hurt me, and—”

The front door creaks open. She promptly clamps her mouth shut and looks up to see Evangeline’s aunt framed in the doorway.

“Dinner’s read— Oh . . . Hi, Calla.” Ramona peers more closely at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re not fine.”

Calla and Evangeline exchange a glance.

“What makes you say that?” Calla asks Ramona, who shrugs.

Okay, stupid question. Duh. She’s a psychic, remember?

“Want to talk about it?”

“No thanks,” Calla says quickly. “I’m good. Really.”

Not really.

But Ramona and Paula are friends. Calla doesn’t want Ramona to let Paula know how rattled Calla is by what Paula, and Dylan, said. Because, really, it’s probably no big deal. Her overactive imagination is just trying to make it into one.

Or maybe your own sixth sense is telling you something is wrong, a little voice whispers.

“Well if you change your mind . . .”

“Yeah. Thanks, Ramona.” Turning to Evangeline and wishing they could have finished their conversation, Calla says, “See you in the morning.”

“Oh, wait, Calla?” Ramona stops her as she turns to leave. “Before I forget, I talked to your grandmother earlier about taking you with Evangeline and me when we go to the mall one day next week. I was thinking you might want to shop for some new outfits, maybe stop in at the salon for a haircut, my treat. Want to come?”

“Do you really have to ask? Of course she does!” Evangeline answers for her. “Right, Calla?”

Actually, shopping and salons are the last thing on her mind right now.

Then again, she does have babysitting money to spend, and she really does need warmer clothes and a haircut.

Plus, shopping with Ramona and Evangeline will definitely be more fun—and more productive—than shopping with Dad.

Still, it won’t be the same as shopping with her mother.

I miss you, Mom. I miss you so much.

Aloud, she tells Ramona halfheartedly, “Thanks. That would be fun.”

“Good.”

Looking at her, Calla has another flash of some inexplicable link to her father.

Come on. Dad and Ramona?

No way, she tells herself again, and heads back toward her grandmother’s house.





Strolling to Willow’s after one of Odelia’s creative stir-fry dinners—this time, a surprisingly good mixture of pork, peanut butter, rice, and bean sprouts—Calla’s feeling much better.

She just spoke to her father and mentioned to him that she’ll need computer access for a school project.

“Cal, I can’t afford to buy—”

“No, Dad, I know,” she cut in. “I have an idea, though. What about Mom’s laptop?”

He was silent for a minute.

She held her breath, willing him to agree.

“It’s back in Florida,” he said slowly. “Even if you wanted to—”

“Lisa wants me to visit her. She even sent me an airline voucher. I can go down, and get the computer while I’m there,” she pointed out. “You left the keys to the house with the Wilsons.”

He didn’t argue. He just said he’d think about it, and she left it at that, not wanting to push too hard.

But something tells her she’s going to get her hands on her mother’s computer files in the near future . . . and that somewhere among them, she might find a clue.