Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(32)

“It was a labor of love. I do love to sew—I made these,” she adds, gesturing at her dress and hair accessories.

Bella politely compliments the ensemble but can’t help wondering if she used leftover curtain fabric.

“The point is, I was the one who made this decrepit rooming house into a home. And for most of the marriage, I was the one who lived here. Quite alone, I might add.” She pauses—for effect? For comment?

“I’m sorry.” Bella watches her run her fingertips along the dark wooden molding framing the archway between the hall and the parlor.

“It was a long time ago, luv. Naturally, the wanker got the house in the divorce proceedings, then sold it off to someone who wanted to turn it back into a boarding house.”

“Guesthouse.” It’s an important distinction, as far as she’s concerned.

Pandora ignores her, obviously not sharing her regard for semantics. “He did it just to spite me. But I got the last laugh, didn’t I? He’s long gone.”

“Did he . . .” Bella reaches for the proper Lily Dale lingo, settling on, “cross over?”

Pandora responds with a delighted laugh. “He ‘crossed over’ the continent to Hollywood. That’s where he lives now, with his third wife. He’s Orville Holmes,” she adds.

Clearly, the name should mean something to Bella, who’s growing weary of these significant pauses that make her feel as though she’s missing something—weary of Pandora herself, really, who chatters on:

“It was a beastly divorce, but it doesn’t matter in the end. I’ve a house of my very own right here in the Dale.”

“Wait—so you are a Spiritualist?”

“I have been for years. But don’t you go getting ideas about it, because it’s not something just anyone can do.”

Bella—who isn’t by any means getting ideas—feels compelled to mention, “Odelia Lauder told me that anyone can learn to communicate with the dead.”

“She did, did she?” Pandora’s eyes narrow shrewdly. “Then you are considering—”

“No! We were just talking about how it works.”

“Right. Just be aware that if you’re going to become a medium registered here in Lily Dale—”

“I’m not.”

“—you must be prepared to study for years and pass a series of tests. Which I did, with flying colors.”

“That’s great. Good for you.”

Now that we’ve established that you’re quite the sensation . . . why the heck are you in this house, and when are you going to leave?

As Pandora prattles on, telling her the entire history of the house, Bella makes a point of looking at her watch. Her visitor refuses to take the hint, telling her about the people who had died here a hundred years ago in the Spanish influenza epidemic and about a bootleg-running scandal a decade later.

“This is all fascinating,” Bella finally manages to break in. “Thanks for sharing. It was so nice to meet you . . .”

“And you as well, love.”

Making no move to go, Pandora wishes Bella luck getting the part for her car and mentions how lovely it is that her son has been playing with Jiffy Arden.

Disconcerted by how much this stranger knows about her, Bella merely smiles politely. Pandora Feeney may be clairvoyant, but Bella wouldn’t rule out that her knowledge comes courtesy of good old-fashioned small-town gossip.

Finally, as a car pulls up out front, Pandora checks her own watch. “I must go, or I’ll be late for my meeting.”

“The Mediums’ League?”

“How did you know?”

“I must be psychic,” Bella tells her with a shrug, and Pandora graces the quip with a delighted smile.

The car stops in the unloading zone, and Bella realizes it’s a taxi.

So much for Troy Valeri and his flying carpet comment. There are cabs around here after all. Why didn’t he tell her that? He could have spared himself the drive here to drop her off. Then again, he’s a nice guy, and he was probably trying to spare her the expense of a cab.

A man and woman climb out of the back seat. Both are pudgy, and both are wearing windbreakers, khaki shorts, and white sneakers with white crew socks.

“Ah, the Adabners have arrived,” Pandora comments as the driver helps them retrieve luggage from the trunk.

“You know them?”

“They fly in every summer from Des Moines.” She adds in a conspiratorial whisper, “Do be wary of the frisky old coot. I’m sure he’ll find you rather fetching.”

Terrific.

Pandora starts down the steps and then turns back. “I live in the little pink cottage over by the café, across Melrose Park. The one with the window boxes filled with red geraniums. Orville always said pink and red clash, but I find the combination quite smashing, don’t you?”

Bella assures her that she does, and Pandora tells her that she must “come ’round for proper tea” while she’s here over the weekend.

“Thank you. I’ll try,” she promises, with no intention whatsoever.

“Cheerio, then.”

The woman pauses to briefly greet the newly arrived couple before making her way down the leafy lane, carrying on an animated conversation with an invisible companion.