Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(49)

She was standing in the bathroom brushing her hair . . .

The wind was blowing . . .

Bella’s own dream comes back. The face in the mirror . . . the face, Leona’s face . . .

“Were there wind chimes?” she asks, her pulse racing. “In the dream? Could you hear them?”

“I don’t remember anything specific, but there are always wind chimes in the Dale. And there’s usually wind.” Odelia’s tone is matter-of-fact, but her gaze is fixed on Bella’s face. “Why?”

“I just . . .” She shrugs, not wanting to think . . . anything like that. “I dreamed about wind chimes, that’s all. It reminded me—” She breaks off, looking expectantly at the closed French door as a floorboard creaks on the other side.

“Max!” Bella stands abruptly, realizing how much time has gone by. “Sorry, but my son was looking for the cat, and now he’s probably looking for me.”

She quickly crosses the small space and opens the door.

She fully expects to find Max standing there, with or without the cat. But the parlor is empty.

“Max?” Poised, she listens and hears nothing but the ticking clock. “Max!”

“What?” The reply is far off, coming from upstairs.

It wasn’t him.

Then who was it?

Odelia and Luther are beside her, Luther’s deep voice calling, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Silence.

As Bella wonders if she—if all three of them—might have imagined the creaking sound, she looks down at the floor.

There, directly in front of the door, are the faint remnants of a wet, muddy footprint.

Someone was eavesdropping.





Chapter Eleven


“Wait here,” Luther warns, holding up an arm to keep Bella and Odelia safely behind him, in the study.

Ignoring him, Bella pushes past and races to the stairs, frantic to get to her son. Her foot catches on a step halfway up, and she falls forward, slamming her knee. Heedless of the pain, she gets up and keeps going.

“Max! Where are you?”

“I’m in here,” he calls from behind the closed door of the Rose Room.

Reaching it, she tries to turn the knob. It’s locked. Of course it is—she’d told him to always keep it locked when he’s inside, now that there are guests in the house. “Max!” She bangs on the door. “Max! Open the door!”

After a long, heart-stopping moment, he does. “Did you find Chance the Cat?”

“Chance? No, I—” She grabs him and gives him a swift, hard hug, relieved that he’s okay.

Behind him, she can see papers scattered all over the floor in front of the closet, where the door is ajar. Before she can ask him what happened, she hears Luther calling from downstairs.

“Everything okay up there?”

“Yes,” she calls back, and locks the Rose Room door before hustling Max back downstairs.

Luther and Odelia are in the parlor, Odelia sitting on the sofa with her injured leg propped on the coffee table beside the stack of photo albums.

“Did you find . . . anything?” Bella asks, resting a protective hand on Max’s shoulder.

Luther shakes his head.

Max, assuming she’s asking them about the missing cat, says, “I didn’t know you were helping, too.”

“Yes,” Odelia says quickly, “and I’m sure Chance is just fine, wherever she is. She probably got out of the house and is hiding someplace dry until the rain lets up. She does that sometimes.”

“But how did she get out of the house?” Max asks.

“She’s a little escape artist, Max, believe me.”

“But Mommy locked her into the bedroom with me, and she can’t unlock doors.”

Though the missing cat is the least of her concerns right now, that comment gives Bella pause.

Max is right. There’s only one way the cat could have gotten out of the room: through the door. Certainly Chance couldn’t have unlocked it, and Bella didn’t unlock it, so . . .

Who did?

She shudders and pulls her son even closer.

“You know, cats like to hide indoors, too,” Luther tells Max, pulling a small flashlight from his back pocket and clicking it on. “Why don’t you take this and check underneath all the furniture?”

Max brightens along with the flashlight’s narrow beam.

“Downstairs only, though,” Bella says quickly.

“Yes, stay right with us for now.” The avuncular Luther gives her son a pat on the head.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Max calls, crawling around the room, shining the light along the floor as, in a low voice, Luther tells Bella he’d swiftly and thoroughly searched the first floor. It was deserted with the exception of the St. Claire sisters, who are reading in the cozy library nook off the dining room.

“It must have been one of our own footprints outside the door,” he concludes. “My feet were wet when I walked in. I guess I should have done a better job of wiping them.”

As if to prove it, he aligns his own large loafer next to the barely visible traces of mud on the hardwood.

Finding it impossible to tell whether it’s a match, Bella says, “But I didn’t imagine that the floor creaked outside the door, did I? You guys heard it, too?”