Connecting (Lily Dale #3)(63)

“It’s not that I’m letting him bother me, Blue, but he warned me.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says flatly. “He likes to be dramatic. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“But it might. He’s not the—”

She breaks off.

Blue’s father isn’t the only one who’s warned her, but she doesn’t want to bring up Jacy right now.

“Would you mind . . . can you just take me home?” she asks Blue instead.

“Leave it to my father to be a total buzz kill,” he says with a good-natured sigh, but reaches for his crutches. “Sure. Come on. I’ve got an early doctor’s appointment tomorrow, anyway, before school.”

They make the quick drive to the Dale in silence. Now isn’t the time for Calla to address the future of their relationship, or nonrelationship.

Calla is glad to see that her grandmother’s home; the flickering blue light from the television is spilling out into the night from the living-room window.

Blue leaves the motor running as he walks her up the steps. “Listen, I’ll be pretty busy this week tomorrow and Friday, so we might not have much of a chance to talk until you’re back from your trip, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, okay.” Is he blowing her off?

Maybe. Because when he kisses her good night, it’s just a quick peck on the cheek. Nothing like last time.

Problem solved. It seems like Blue, too, wants to be just friends. And she didn’t even have to address the subject. She can’t help but wonder whether he’s read her mind. Everyone says he’s a powerful psychic, just like his dad—not that Calla has seen any evidence of that until now.

Maybe he just took his cue from her. It’s not like she acted the least bit romantic toward him. Or maybe he heard about her and Jacy. Or maybe he really is a player like everyone says, and he’s simply moved on.

Whatever, she’s totally fine with his losing interest in her. Or so she tells herself, trying hard not to feel the tiniest hint of wistfulness. For some reason, it isn’t as easy as it should be.

“Thanks for tonight,” she tells him as he heads down the steps.

“No problem. See you.” Backing down the walk, he gives her a two-fingered salute. Then he climbs into his car and is gone.

Calla locks the door behind her, sliding the deadbolt—a new habit. Until last week, Odelia never even bothered to lock the door.

Her grandmother is in her usual chair in front of the television. Surprisingly, she’s actually awake for a change, and sets aside her knitting the moment Calla enters the room.

“There you are!” she exclaims as if Calla’s late.

Which she isn’t, since Odelia doesn’t give her a curfew.

“How was the movie?”

“It was okay.” She debates mentioning that she finally met the enigmatic David Slayton but decides against it. Not only because Odelia isn’t crazy about the man, but also because she doesn’t seem all that interested in the details of Calla’s evening.

“What?” she asks Odelia.

“What do you mean, what?”

“Something’s up, Gammy. I can tell by the look on your face.”

Odelia wags an index finger at her. “Good. Very good.

Something is up.”

“What happened?” Calla wonders if she should be worried despite her instincts telling her not to be.

“You remember Betty Owens and the stock certificates?”

Calla nods. Uh-oh after all.

“I didn’t want to say anything to you until I had something specific to report, but . . . I went to see her the other day.”

“Did you tell her about me?”

“No. I told her I was a medium and that I wanted to help her find her lousy crook of an estranged husband. I told her he had come to Lily Dale looking for a psychic who could help him track down those hidden certificates in her house.”

“What did she say?”

“Well, at first she assumed I was a crackpot—imagine that.”

Odelia offers a wry smile and eyeroll, and Calla can’t help but grin. “But then she must have figured she had nothing to lose. I asked her to let me hold a shirt he’d left behind when he took off, and I did some meditating, and long story short, I figured out where he was.”

“Where?”

“Mexico. I even got the right airport he’d flown into, and that he was staying in a pink stucco hotel near the beach. How do I know it was the right place, you’re wondering?”

Calla nods, holding her breath.

“Because they found him there this afternoon and arrested him. With the stock certificates.”

Calla throws her arms around her grandmother. “Oh, Gammy . . . you’re amazing.”

Odelia pats her wiry red hair and bats her eyes. “I am pretty amazing, aren’t I? The police agree. Of course, when I first called that viewer hotline to tell them where to look for Henry Owens in Mexico, they thought I was a crackpot, too.”

She laughs. “I can’t believe you got all of that by holding his shirt.”

“It’s called psychometry. Basically, you make physical contact with something that belonged to someone, and you get psychic impressions. Patsy will cover it in your class, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure.”