Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(97)

They didn’t have to let her hear it, she knows. It was a courtesy they’d extended via Luther.

The reading didn’t just bring closure but gave her a glimpse into how the Lily Dale mediums communicate with their clients—and, if you choose to believe, with the dead.

Do I believe that’s what they’re doing?

Or do I believe in coincidences?

Those are the questions Bella has been asking herself since yesterday.

It’s not as though she’s seen any hard evidence. If she searches hard enough, she may very well find logical explanations for all the strange things that have been happened since she arrived here. For the moment, though, she’s suspended the search.

She was astounded by accuracy with which Leona delivered the information. It came at the end of a long reading that was filled with information about personal things Eleanor may or may not have previously shared with Leona.

The medium knew, for example, that there was a baby on the way and was feeling “female energy attached to it.” Whether that’s accurate remains to be seen. She talked about the importance of taking some time off—which most teachers do in the summer. She repeatedly stressed the importance of Eleanor getting plenty of rest, because “Spirit is showing me that you’re overextended.”

Who isn’t? Bella found herself thinking, unimpressed with the reading at that point, feeling a familiar tide of skepticism washing over her.

Then it came.

“I’m getting something about Paris,” Leona’s voice said. “It’s very important. I don’t know if you’ve been to Paris recently, or maybe you have plans?”

“No,” Eleanor replied. “Not at all.”

“Europe, then?”

“No. I’ve never been to Europe. I’ve always wanted to go, but it’s too expensive. We can’t afford it. Anyway, I’ve heard that they don’t like Americans in Paris, so that’s not even at the top of my list. Maybe they mean Rome? Or Venice? That’s where I’d really love to go.”

“No. It’s Paris. Spirit is very persistent.” Long pause. “Paris. And something about the spring? April and Paris.”

“Paris in April . . . isn’t that a song?” Eleanor asked. “Steve will know. He’s right here. Do you know—”

She was cut off by a rumble of male voice in the background.

“Steve says it’s a song. But it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“That’s what I’m getting. Paris. April.” Leona sounded like she was listening to someone and relaying their messages. “April. April. Eleanor, Spirit just won’t let go of this. Does the month of April have any significance to you?”

“Other than my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary?” Eleanor’s voice laughed. “Honey? I think Spirit just blew your surprise. Are you planning to take me to Paris in April?”

Again, the male voice.

Steve, denying it.

Was that the moment when he’d realized Leona was a threat?

From his hospital bed, recovering from the superficial bullet wound to his leg, he’d confessed to killing her. He’d sneaked into the bathroom and knocked her unconscious, then carried her out to the lake and dropped her in.

He was Jiffy’s pirate.

I saw it, too, Bella knows now. The first part, in the bathroom. I saw how it happened, what she was doing, how she felt.

Was she channeling Leona’s spirit?

Someday, she might get the chance to speak to Bonnie Barrington for more details about her own experience with that. Bonnie has yet to regain consciousness, but her condition has been upgraded from critical, and she’s expected to pull through. She can’t have visitors yet, but whenever she can, Bella will be there.

Last night, she called Millicent to say that she and Max won’t be spending the summer in Chicago after all.

“I’ve found a temporary job here in western New York,” she told her mother-in-law.

“Doing what?”

“Managing an inn.”

There was a long silence as Millicent digested the news. “That’s great, Isabella. Will it lead to something full time?”

“It’s just for the summer.” Grant had told her this morning that he’ll pay her—very well—if she’ll keep the place up and running for the rest of the season. She’d be a fool not to take him up on the offer.

He didn’t mention September. Neither did she, no longer concerned with what the future might bring. Not the distant future, anyway.

Right now, the only prediction she cares about is the weather.

In keeping with the meteorological forecast of a dazzling Fourth of July, the day had dawned with golden promise. Now, however, the morning sunshine has turned thin and filmy.

It doesn’t bode well for Odelia’s barbecue this afternoon. Yesterday, she’d invited everyone at the guesthouse to join the party, and they’d all said yes. Even Grant.

She’d included Pandora, who had agreed to come, too, but only after mentioning that it’s hardly her favorite holiday.

“Still loyal to the crown?” Odelia had asked. “Or do you have something against sparklers and hot dogs?”

“I adore sparklers and hot dogs,” she returned, and launched into a diatribe against the American Revolution.