Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(10)

“I’m sorry,” he adds. “But I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be leaving here tonight.”

“It’s okay. We’ll take her. Let’s go, Max.”

“Can I carry Chance the Cat?”

“Sure, but be gentle.”

Max hoists her into his arms. “Come on, Chance the Cat. You get to go home now.”

His wistful tone tugs at Bella’s heart. Is he wishing he could keep the cat or wishing he, too, were going home?

Following him to the door, she turns back belatedly to ask Doctor Bailey, “How much do we owe you?”

“Not a cent. You did a good thing. Most people would have driven right by her.”

Bella gives a tight laugh. “Yeah, well, she kind of wouldn’t let us. Thank you, Doctor. Good luck with the puppy.”

“You, too. Good luck with . . . everything.”





Chapter Three


The rain started falling twenty minutes after they left the animal hospital. This little detour to drop off Chance the Cat, as Max insists on calling her, means they’ll be pitching a tent on muddy ground tonight. But at least the car sounds better after its brief rest, and according to a sign, Lily Dale is just a mile ahead.

The road winds past rustic homes to the right and Cassadaga Lake to the left, bordered by a narrow grassy strip with an occasional weathered private pier. The opposite shore, hilly and wooded, isn’t far off.

In the back seat, Chance is curled up on Max’s lap again. They’re such a contented pair that Bella aches every time she glances into the rearview mirror.

Maybe she’ll be able to get a cat for Max when they’re settled. She only wishes it could have been this one.

There’s something special about Chance. She’s dignified yet affectionate, and though she’s delicate in her fragile feminine state, she radiates a quiet strength. Bella is reluctant to part ways with her, but when she thinks of her mother-in-law’s sterile apartment, she knows there’s no other option.

Maybe if the campsite is affordable, they can put off getting to Chicago for another day or two. This is such a picturesque area, and she wouldn’t mind exploring a bit—as long as they’re at Millicent’s before the weekend, so that Max can see the fireworks at Navy Pier . . .

Sam used tell Max and Bella about the incredible Independence Day displays over Lake Michigan. He promised they’d make the trip now that Max was older.

“There are so many things I want to show him,” he told Bella last spring, when he first started feeling sick. “I think we should do a road trip this summer.”

He wanted to take his son to a Cubs game and the Lincoln Park Zoo. He wanted him to taste deep-dish pizza. He wanted to sit him high on his shoulders at the crowded Navy Pier beneath the rockets’ red glare on the Fourth of July . . .

The only thing that stopped them was the prospect of spending a precious holiday in his mother’s company. Bella wanted to go anyway and not tell her, but Sam pointed out she’d be hurt if she ever found out.

“I don’t know why she insists on our staying with her when she obviously doesn’t enjoy company,” Bella grumbled.

Max had been a toddler on their last Chicago visit. She and Sam spent the entire time worrying that he’d hurt himself in the apartment Millicent refused to childproof. Millicent fretted about the disruption and scolded her grandson every time he tried to touch—well, anything.

We thought there’d be plenty of time for a road trip when Max got older, Bella remembers, swallowing another bittersweet lump. We thought it would be easier in a year or two—on him, on Millicent, on us . . .

Tears well in her eyes. She reaches over to turn on the radio, needing a pleasant distraction. After scanning past enough static to let her know they really are in the middle of nowhere, she finds a music station.

Elton John is singing about the Circle of Life.

Terrific.

Abruptly, she silences the radio and swipes at her eyes with a fast food napkin from the console.

From the back seat: “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“I’m fine, sweetie.”

The highway blurs, and she wipes again with the soggy napkin.

If you don’t snap out of this, you’ll need to pull off the road for a good cry.

Saved by the GPS: “Turn . . . right . . . in . . . one . . . hundred . . . feet.”

Chance, whose reverberations of contentment have punctuated the drive from the animal hospital, is purring even more loudly now.

“Listen to her, Max. Maybe she knows she’s going home.”

“You said animals are psychic. And the cows were right about the rain.”

“They were. I wish they’d tell us it’s going to stop soon.”

“I don’t see any cows. All I see is a tiny house. What does that sign say?” he asks as the road opens up to reveal a little hut flanked by stone pillars, topped by an arched sign.

She reads it aloud: “Lily Dale Assembly.”

“What’s ‘assembly’?”

“I’m not sure.”

She hears a loud meow from the back seat and turns to see that the cat is up on her hind feet, paws on the window as she peers out.

“She knows she’s home!” Max exclaims, and Bella smiles as she turns right and drives slowly between the pillars, past the unmanned guardhouse.