Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(21)

“They’re all his all-time favorites,” she tells Bella, rolling her eyes. “Especially when the alternative is to hang around with me here in ‘Silly Dale.’”

“I don’t call it that anymore,” he protests.

“No, but plenty of people do. And sometimes I think you’re as skeptical as they are.”

Who can blame him? Bella wants to say, relieved to have found a kindred spirit among . . . well, the spirits and the spirit whisperers.

But now isn’t the time to engage in a debate about the dubious nature of the local industry. Instead, she asks the logical question.

“What, exactly, is a message service?”

“It’s a very large group reading, really. The mediums face the audience and take turns standing up and delivering messages.”

“From?” she asks, though she has a pretty good idea.

“From loved ones.”

“And they give messages to everyone in the room right there in public?”

“Well, not to everyone. Just to a few people. It’s basically the ones whose loved ones are the pushiest.”

“Which is why I’m shocked that your mother doesn’t come through to you every single time,” Steve says with a laugh.

On that note, Max thrusts the plate into Bella’s hands. “I have to go get dressed. Jiffy’s waiting.”

“Jiffy . . . what?” Great. Now even Max is speaking the inscrutable localese.

“Jiffy. He’s my friend. He came over for breakfast, too, and we’re going to play Candyland. He lives next door to Odelia on the other side.”

For a moment, Bella is so taken aback by the realization that Max made a friend—a friend at last!—that she forgets the rest.

Then it comes back to her: we’re leaving, and these people are waiting, and they need to be told that Leona is dead, and . . .

Wait a minute. What if . . .

What if Jiffy isn’t real? What if he’s an imaginary friend, or even . . .

A ghost?

“Max, listen . . .”

He’s already on his way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “I’ll be right back! I have to get dressed, Mom!”

Feeling helpless, she turns back to the strangers on the doorstep. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I kind of have my hands full here and I’m just a guest myself, but I think that Odelia can—”

“Steve! Eleanor!”

Odelia comes limping across the lawn as if summoned by the mere mention of her name—and who knows, maybe that’s precisely the case, considering the circumstances. Chance trails behind her, belly swaying just above the grass.

“Odelia! What happened to your leg?” Eleanor asks as Steve descends the steps to take the older woman’s arm.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just took a spill.” She brushes off the help, gripping the railing tightly and joking about her clumsiness as she makes her way up the porch steps to greet Eleanor with a warm hug.

“I can see that you’ve all already met, but I’ll do the formal introductions. Stephen and Eleanor Pierson, meet Bella Jordan.”

Noticing that Odelia has once again used her nickname, Bella shakes their hands. She’s about to excuse herself to go find Max when Odelia asks if she’s told the Piersons about Leona.

“No, I was about to . . .” About to send them over to Odelia’s so that I wouldn’t have to break the bad news myself.

“Tell us what?” Eleanor asks.

“What about Leona?” Steve looks from Odelia to Bella and back again.

Odelia sighs. “There’s no easy way to say this. I’m afraid she’s passed on.”

Eleanor gasps, clasping her hands to her mouth with a jangle of gold bracelets. “But I just talked to her last week!”

“It was very sudden.”

Steve settles a protective arm around Eleanor. “What happened?”

As Odelia explains quickly about the freak accident, he shakes his head grimly.

Tears fill Eleanor’s eyes. “She was always afraid of the water. She couldn’t swim.”

“How do you know that?” Steve asks.

Odelia answers for his wife. “I’m guessing everyone does.”

Even I know it, Bella thinks.

“It’s a good thing we got here so early in the day.” Steve takes the car keys out of his pocket, and Bella notices a keychain imprinted with the comedy and tragedy masks dangling from the ring.

That makes her think of her own key ring, still safely tucked under her pillow upstairs. She hopes.

“We can go over and see if we can get a room near Chautauqua and see the play tonight,” Steve tells his wife, “and then head back to Boston first thing in the morning.”

“What do you mean?” Eleanor asks.

“We’ll go to the Cape, like we had talked about. It’s been years since we’ve been there, and you said yourself you miss it.”

“We can’t get a place on the Cape at the eleventh hour on a holiday weekend. And probably not tonight near Chautauqua, either.”

“Maybe there will be a last-minute cancellation. If we can’t find a place to stay, we’ll just go home and do some day trips.”

“You have a place to stay,” Odelia speaks up. “Right here.”