Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(77)

Like the weather—today, anyway—and the easy, indoor-outdoor lifestyle. Open windows, screen doors. When it’s this warm back in the New York City suburbs, you seal off the house and turn on the air conditioning. Here, nobody seems to bother with it, thanks to a perpetual breeze off the lake.

Okay, maybe not perpetual.

It wasn’t blowing the other day in the yard when you heard the wind chimes clanging.

Bathed in golden light, the rows of Victorian cottages that seemed so foreboding in the rainy fog the other night now look like a perky storybook village. Everywhere she looks, there are vivid splashes of color, from the bright exterior paint palettes to the lush foliage and flamboyant blooms that fill garden beds and borders, pots, planters, and window boxes.

Her gaze lands on the red geraniums that fill the scalloped white window boxes of a cozy pink cottage.

Pandora Feeney’s place?

As if summoned by the mere thought of her name, the woman emerges from the front door in that very instant. As before, a straw sunhat sits atop her head, and a flowing floral dress does little to enhance her bony frame. She has a canvas tote bag over her shoulder and is holding a large key ring similar to the one in Bella’s pocket.

As she watches Pandora insert one of the keys to lock her front door, Bella can’t help but wonder about the others. Pandora had mentioned she still has a key to the front door of the guesthouse. What if she’d kept all the rest as well?

She turns away from the house and looks squarely at Bella, as if she’d had a preternatural awareness of her presence.

Maybe that isn’t the case. Or maybe Pandora simply spotted her from inside.

She beckons to Bella, who reluctantly walks over.

Pandora greets her with an air kiss. “How delightful that you’ve accepted my invitation to come ’round for tea!”

“Actually, I’m just waiting for my son.” She holds up the pair of helmets. “He’s in the café getting ice cream with his friend.”

“Jiffy Arden.”

Bella nods, though it was hardly a question. No secrets in Lily Dale.

“I do wish you’d stay for a short visit.”

“Thanks, but I really can’t right now.” She glances at her watch.

“Keeping a tight schedule, are we?”

She finds herself irritated that Pandora pronounces the word with a sh sound instead of a sk, even though she knows that’s the British way.

It’s the attitude, not the accent. It’s as if she’s questioning that Bella might actually have something better to do than sit around sipping tea in the little pink house.

“I’m sorry,” she says tautly, “but it’s been a crazy day.”

“I can imagine.”

“Anyway, you seem to be on your way out,” she tells Pandora. “Are you going to the speaking event at the auditorium? Everyone else seems to be.”

“I was just about to stroll over, yes. But now I’ve thought better of it. It’s bad form to show up late for these things. People do talk around here.”

Oh, really? People other than Pandora herself?

“You should go,” Bella tells her, but she’s shaking her head, her mind made up.

“I rather don’t feel like it. My timing is simply off today. I’m afraid I was so knackered this morning that I didn’t get up until noon.”

Why, Bella wonders, would she bother to share that bit of information? Why mention where she was all morning unless she’s attempting to subtly let Bella know where she was not?

As in driving down Bachellor Hill Road in the car that’s parked in her driveway.

She dismisses the notion as farfetched the moment it enters her mind.

Pandora is simply the kind of conversationalist who overshares everything. She chats on about having eaten eggs for lunch and the delightful weather and invites Bella to admire her geraniums and various delights in her yard. An avid gardener, she insists on identifying flowers by their botanical names, presuming that Bella will appreciate them because she’s a science teacher.

Did I tell her that? she wonders. Or did she find out on her own?

Why would she care?

For that matter, why is Bella bothered by it? She’s met plenty of people like Pandora, who have nothing better to do than concern themselves with other people’s lives. Irksome but harmless.

As Pandora chatters on, she casually twirls one of her braids. Both are once again accessorized with a pair of scrunchies that match her dress.

Bella keeps an eye on the screen door of the café and is grateful when the boys emerge at last.

“Max!” she calls. “Jiffy! Over here!”

They come toward her, licking their ice cream cones and chatting as if they’ve known each other all their lives. Max is starting to fit right in with his ragamuffin pal, from his unkempt hair to knees that are dirty and scraped from a few early falls off the scooter. He’s hardly become proficient at steering, but at least he’s no longer crashing to the ground after managing to hit every pothole on his way over.

And he’s wearing shoes She insisted on that. When she suggested that Jiffy do the same, lest he step on broken glass or a yellow jacket, he proudly showed her the scars on the bottoms of his filthy feet from having done both.

“Pandora, this is my son, Max, and this is Jiffy.”

“Oh, I know Jiffy. It’s good to see you again, young man. And it’s lovely to meet you, Max.” She shakes their sticky hands, which wins her a slight reprieve from Bella.