Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(5)

Those same two words were the last she ever said to him, holding both his hands in a hospital room. Her sturdy husband had grown so frail and exhausted, but he wouldn’t let go. Not until she’d promised to move on without him.

“You’ve always been so strong.”

“Because I have you. We’re strong together.”

He shook his head. “You can do anything.”

“Not this. Not alone.”

“You have Max. You have . . . me.” He was fading; every word was labored. “I’ll be with you, even when . . .”

“Sam . . .”

“Promise me you’ll . . . stay . . . strong . . .”

“I promise.”

Swallowing hard, she pushes away the memory. It’s time to go.

There’s just one more place for her to check: the hidden compartment under the second to the bottom tread on an old servant’s staircase that leads to nowhere. The top was boarded over years ago, probably when the house was transformed to apartments.

This is where Sam always left little gifts for her. He’d send her an e-mail or text telling her to check “our spot,” and when she did, she’d find something sweet: a box of her favorite chocolates, a book she’d been wanting to read, a piece of jewelry . . .

“I wanted to give you that pendant for Christmas,” he told her, near the end, and she didn’t have to ask what he meant.

She thinks about the pendant they’d found browsing in a jewelry store last spring, when they’d spent a glorious sunny Saturday in quaint Port Jefferson. Max was exhilarated by the ferry ride across the Long Island Sound, and Sam was still healthy then, not a care in the world other than the hefty price tag on the delicate blue tourmaline pendant. He said the gemstone matched her eyes exactly and wanted to buy it for her on the spot, but she wouldn’t let him.

“That’s a crazy amount of money to spend on a piece of jewelry, Sam. We have a million other things we need to buy right now.”

“Maybe right now,” he agreed, before adding with his dark eyes twinkling, “but you just wait. The necklace was meant to be yours, and it will be—when you least expect it.”

In December, near the end, he told her he’d planned on buying it for her for Christmas. “I really . . . wanted you to have it.” His voice was weak, his pale face clenched in pain.

“Next Christmas,” she said fervently, clasping his hand. “You can get it for me next Christmas.”

But she knew. They both knew. There would be no next Christmas for Sam—or even this Christmas. He passed away just a few days before.

The necklace was meant to be yours, and it will be—when you least expect it.

Those words haunt her now as she opens the stairway compartment. It’s empty, of course. She knew it would be. She checked it countless times since Sam passed away, hoping irrationally that she might discover some forgotten gift he’d left there for her—the tourmaline pendant, perhaps. But there are no miracles even today, the last day.

She closes the hinged stair tread and walks slowly to the door. As she steps over the threshold for the final time, she remembers how Sam carried her in the opposite direction a decade ago, champagne-giddy and tripping over the train of her wedding gown.

Oh, Sam. I never thought I’d be leaving here without you. I never thought we’d be leaving here at all.

She wipes her eyes, locks the door, and leaves the keys under the mat for the new owner.

As she crosses the grass to the waiting car, its passenger seat stacked high with everything that wouldn’t fit into the trunk, Max waves at her from the back seat.

When she sees the tears that have slid past the frames of his glasses to trickle down his little boy cheeks, a monstrous sob wells in her throat.

No. No, she can’t let herself cry in front of her son. She has to stay strong for him, for Sam. She promised.

She pastes on a smile, jauntily jangling the car keys as she slides behind the wheel.

“Here we go,” she says gaily, as if they’ve just lowered the lap bar on a ride at Disney World. “All set?”

For a moment, there’s only silence from the back seat.

Then Max pipes up: “Yes.”

Just one word—one tiny, tremendously brave word.

“Good.” She turns the ignition key with a trembling hand, shifts the car, and presses the gas pedal.

Too late, she realizes that she forgot to take one last look at the house before it fell away in the rearview mirror.





Chapter Two


The drive across New York State was surprisingly pleasant, carrying Bella and Max past majestic mountains, endless acres of farms and pastures, old industrial cities, and picturesque villages.

Seven hours into the journey, though, she detects a faint rattling sound coming from the engine. It isn’t steady, but every once in a while, it kicks in. Maybe she should get the car checked out at a service station—and pray it’s nothing she can’t afford to fix.

Which is pretty much everything.

Who cares about a car? Who cares about things? All that matters is the people you love.

People? There’s only one person left who matters in Bella’s world.

And I’m going to make sure he has a cozy, happy home again, she vows fiercely.

She swallows hard and clears her throat. “Should we find a place to spend the night now, Max?”