Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(87)

Steve has driven beyond the gravel lot and out across the grass, rolling the car to a stop at the edge of the tree line. “Let’s go take a look.”

Bella sits motionless in the passenger’s seat, her mind flying through the possibilities. Searching the woods is going to take a long time. Precious time wasted if the boys don’t turn up.

But if they are, and they’re in trouble . . .

What do I do?

Sam would know. If he were here, he’d know exactly what to do.

Useless thinking. Sam isn’t here, despite what the residents of the Dale would like her to believe. Despite the bluebell, even. She has no one to count on but herself.

And in this particular moment, Steve Pierson. She turns to him, grateful she isn’t alone out here. “What if they didn’t come this way?”

“Then they went somewhere else, and we’ll find them there,” he says logically, turning off the car and removing the keys. “But right now, we’re here, and hopefully so are the kids. Come on.”

A soft summer rain is falling in earnest as she steps out into the field and follows him toward the edge of the field. The tall grass, wildflowers, and shrubby undergrowth are broken in a few places. If the boys had entered the woods, they’d have taken one of those paths.

“Max!” she shouts as they circle the perimeter of the field. “Jiffy!”

Steve calls, too. No reply.

Her hair is plastered to her head, and her shoes are thick with mud. But at least there’s no thunder or lightning. Max won’t like being out in this, though. He’ll be wishing he’d stayed home.

Oh, Max. Why would you leave without telling me?

“They must have gone down one of the trails,” Steve says when they’ve circled all the way around to the other side of the field near the car. “Let’s start with this one and work our way back.” He points at a barely visible break in the foliage.

She hesitates. “If they’re in there, they can’t have gotten very far. Wouldn’t they have heard us calling?”

“Probably. But they might be hiding.”

“Max would never do that.” Jiffy very well might, though.

They shoulder their way into the woods, Steve walking ahead and holding the boughs so that they won’t snap back in her face. High overhead, the leafy canopy does little to shield them from the pattering rain. A few spots are slick with moss. She peers into the dense undergrowth on both sides of the trail, trying to imagine Max willingly venturing this far.

If he came, he was trying to impress Jiffy. Slightly older, far more worldly Jiffy. Anger stabs Bella’s gut as she thinks of him. Anger and guilt. He’s only a child. He isn’t to blame for Max’s actions or, really, even for his own.

It’s his mother’s fault. What is she thinking, letting him roam around unsupervised?

She’s to blame. So are the rest of them, these so-called mediums who are so focused on contacting the dead that they seem to have lost touch with the living.

It’s what Bella wants to believe, and yet . . .

That isn’t entirely true, is it? Maybe it’s not true at all.

Look at Odelia. She may be unconventional, but her heart certainly seems to be in the right place.

Then again, Bella doesn’t really know her, does she? She’s not a surrogate mother, a close friend, or a godmother.

Maybe I just wanted her to be those things. And more.

Maybe I just wanted this to be . . . home.

“Max!” she screams, hating her vulnerability almost as much as she hates this place and those people. “Jiffy! Max!”

What if they’re not here? What if they are and can’t respond?

Are they injured? Has someone taken them?

“What if somebody got to them?” she asks Steve, clutching the sleeve of his polo shirt.

“What do you mean? Why would somebody—who?”

“Leona might have been murdered,” she blurts. “And Bonnie Barrington was pulled out of the lake this afternoon.”

Something flickers in his eyes. “I’m sure Max is fine,” he says, but he’s lying. She can feel it. He’s trying to protect her from the truth.

And the truth is . . .

Whoever got to Leona and perhaps to Bonnie, too, could have gotten to Max.

Whoever?

She thinks of Pandora’s scrunchy lying on the floor of the closet and of the secret tunnel buried within.

Max wouldn’t consider Pandora a stranger. He met her this afternoon. She shook his hand.

If she . . .

“I know who it is,” she tells Steve in a rush.

“What are you talking about?”

“Pandora Feeney. She did it. She killed Leona.”

“How do you know that?”

Quickly, she tells him about the tunnel.

They’re not walking anymore. Steve stands listening to her, clutching his keys in his hands.

His keys with the hanging medallion that shows the drama masks.

“But why do you think Leona was murdered?” he asks.

“I . . . I just . . . Please, I have to find my son.”

It’s pouring now. The wet breeze is turning the leaves overhead, and somewhere, she can hear wind chimes.

They’re everywhere in the Dale. But this deep in the woods? There aren’t any houses nearby.