Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(40)

“I suspect it’s because we look exactly alike,” Opal tells her as though they’ve never before considered the prospect, “and we’ve always dressed exactly alike. Remember, no one could ever tell the three of us apart.”

“The three of you? So . . . you’re . . . you were . . . identical triplets?”

Bella’s question is met with another shake of Ruby’s white bun. “Oh, no. We aren’t twins or triplets at all. Just sisters.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you said there were three of you who looked alike and dressed alike . . .”

“Yes, three. Opal, me, and Mother.” Ruby counts off on her fingers.

“And your mother is . . . here?”

“Where?” Opal looks around.

“I think Miss Jordan is asking whether Mother is alive,” Ruby tells her sister.

“Goodness, no. She’d be a hundred and twenty years old.”

“A hundred and twenty-two,” Ruby contradicts.

“No, a hundred and twenty.”

Eleanor diffuses the bickering. “I think it’s sweet that you still dress alike.”

“Well, it does get difficult at times, because Ruby is always much too warm, even in winter, and I’m always much too cold, even in summer. But Mother is always so pleased that we’ve continued the tradition.”

“And she taught us to dress in layers regardless of the season,” Ruby says. “Opal, I have a feeling that she’ll scold you for leaving your windbreaker in the trunk of the car so that your teeth chattered all the way from Akron yesterday.”

“Well, then, she’ll scold you for running the air conditioning on high,” Opal retorts.

“It was eighty-three degrees out!”

“It was eighty-one. And breezy.”

Again, Eleanor deftly jumps in to redirect the squabbling sisters. “I’m at that age when I’m too warm one minute and too cold the next. It’s all about the layers. Your mother is a wise woman,” she adds, clearly unfazed that the sisters are still in touch with their dead mother.

Such is life—and death—here in Lily Dale.

I wonder if I’d ever get used to it.

Maybe, if Bella stuck around long enough, she’d go around talking about Sam—talking to Sam—as if he were still here.

Maybe she’d even believe that he is.

Which is exactly why you can’t stay, she reminds herself.

It’s hard enough to get over losing the love of your life. If she allowed herself to start imagining that Sam isn’t really gone forever—or, even worse, if Max started to believe it . . .

Well, she doesn’t need Doctor Lex or grief counseling to grasp that such delusional thinking would be a major setback in the healing process.

I have to get us out of here. The sooner, the better.

She’ll make that phone call to Millicent, just as soon as it’s a decent hour in Chicago. She’ll start out by saying that she’s sorry for last night, even though she can no longer recall exactly what she said or did that demands an apology. Does it matter? If Millicent feels slighted—and Millicent always feels slighted—then Bella will make amends, because right now, she’s out of options.

If it comes down to either Millicent or Lily Dale, Millicent wins.

Or loses, as far as she’ll be concerned.

But it’s just until they can get back on their feet. It’s not forever.

Nothing is forever . . .

Except, she reminds herself, for death.

*

It’s long past nine o’clock Chicago time, but Bella’s planned phone call to her mother-in-law still hasn’t happened.

When she found a free moment to dial, she found two missed calls, both from western New York area codes.

There were two voice mails. The first was from Doctor Bailey, making sure she’d gotten the cat back where she belonged and asking her to call back to let him know.

That message was very short and straightforward.

The second one was anything but.

“Hi, Isabella, this is Troy. Troy Valeri. The mechanic? I’m just calling to let you know that I ordered the part, and it should be in first thing Monday morning, so I’ll get it fixed right away, and you’ll be all set, so . . . and if . . . um . . .”

She frowned, holding the phone against her ear, wondering why, if everything is on track with her car, he suddenly sounded so hesitant.

“If you need, uh, a ride anywhere this weekend while you’re stuck without a car, or if . . . if you, um, want someone to show you around the area . . . or you need . . . anything . . . just give me a call. In fact, why don’t you give me a call anyway, just so that I know you got this. Okay? Okay. Bye.”

Taken aback, she listened to the message again.

There was no way she was going to call him back. He should just assume she got the message. That’s what people do. They leave messages for people, and people listen to them. That’s how it works.

Besides, she doesn’t need to be shown around the area, she thought, irritated with Troy for no reason whatsoever. And if she needs a ride, she can just borrow Odelia’s car again, right?

Of course.

Why is Troy Valeri going out of his way to be so nice? What’s wrong with him?

Is he hoping to see her again for some reason? Is he . . . interested?