Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(47)

Going . . . fleeing? Out the back door? Ignoring her when she called out?

That’s furtive. Lurking.

Then again, maybe he—she?—had on earbuds, listening to music, and didn’t hear.

That makes sense. It just happened with Eleanor when she came in from her morning run.

That no guest had on a dark hooded jacket upon returning last night doesn’t mean someone hadn’t worn one earlier.

No, but why take it off? And if you did take it off—wouldn’t you be carrying it?

Besides, the guests were all in the message service when she saw the person in the hoodie. She watched from the porch as they approached the house in dribs and drabs, all coming from the direction of the auditorium.

Was one of them carrying off a charade? Had he or she been prowling through the house and then doubled back to the auditorium and changed clothes?

Why?

It doesn’t make sense.

Unless you throw in the fact that Leona might have been murdered. In that case . . .

In that case, I should get out of here right now, shouldn’t I?

“I really think we should call the police,” she says again. “Nothing against you, Mr. Ragland, but if—”

“Call me Luther,” he says. “And we’ll involve them just as soon as we know whether there’s reason. Right now, we don’t have much to go on.”

“Not as far as they would be concerned, anyway,” Odelia says. “Trust me. I’ve been there, done that too many times to count.”

Bella grasps, then, what they’re up against. Most law enforcement officials probably wouldn’t consider a little boy’s comment or a medium’s dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream—much less her contact with a restless spirit—sufficient evidence to open a murder investigation.

But what about the person I saw in the house last night?

She needs to tell Luther and Odelia about that and about the missing page in the appointment book. Then of course they’ll agree to involve the police.

And the police will note that you’re new in town, skittish, and utterly inexperienced at running a guesthouse, which is . . . well, it’s not as if this is a private home. It’s not as if you found someone ransacking the place or carrying a weapon.

Still, the person’s furtive movements had made her uncomfortable. Her gut instinct told her something was wrong.

If she were the one to go to the police, they wouldn’t lump her in with Odelia, who’s probably always calling to report crimes based on psychic hunches.

She opens her mouth to point that out, but Luther’s next comment stops her cold. “No law enforcement agency would be so quick to dismiss you as a suspect, Bella, if it turns out Leona’s death was no accident. You’d have to be prepared to be front and center in a full-blown, dragged-out investigation, and I’m not sure you want to put yourself—or your son—through something like that.”

She shakes her head, sickened by the thought of further upheaval for Max after all he’s been through. What if they decided to detain her for questioning?

That happens all the time, doesn’t it? People are falsely accused, arrested even, for crimes they didn’t commit. She can’t afford a lawyer and . . .

And who would take care of Max if she went to jail?

I’m all he has. I can’t let that happen.

She swallows a rush of panic along with any intention of telling Luther and Odelia about last night’s intruder. Not yet, anyway.

“Where did you find Leona’s cat the other night?” Luther asks her, getting down to business. “Odelia mentioned that it was out on the highway. I understand that you’re not from the area, and you probably can’t tell me exactly, but . . .”

It’s Luther Ragland’s lucky day, because her answer isn’t going to be nearly as vague as he might anticipate. She clearly remembers watching the odometer as she drove . . .

Yes, because you were following the directions on a billboard that doesn’t exist to find a campsite that doesn’t exist.

She can’t tell him that, can she?

Maybe she can. It might sound nutty, but it’s the truth.

Looking from Luther to Odelia and back again, she decides that he’s used to nutty. Besides, every detail she can provide will take him one step closer to figuring out what happened to Leona—and will take the police, should they need to get involved, one step further from suspecting her.

So she tells Luther exactly what happened, and he nods and takes notes, writing down the mile marker location. She doesn’t feel ridiculous; she feels smart and helpful . . .

And very glad she didn’t mention the part about an identical pregnant gray tabby showing up on the doorstep back home. Because he might think that she thinks it was Chance, and of course it wasn’t. It just looked like her.

Exactly like her.

Luther opens a map in his cell phone and checks the milepost number she gave him—the one she’d noticed right before she saw the cat in the road. “That’s pretty far from here.”

“Cats can wander miles away from home,” Odelia points out, adding, for Bella’s benefit, “Luther’s a dog person.”

“I have three,” he says with a nod. “All rescues. An old guy, a middle-aged gal, and a pup.”

Bella can’t help but think again of Doctor Bailey. Maybe, since she’s here for the weekend, she and Max should stop in to thank him again for helping Chance and see if the injured puppy pulled through. She forgot to ask him that when he was here this morning.