Nine Lives: A Lily Dale Mystery (4 page)

“She’s named after Chance the Gardener, Peter Sellers’s character in
Being There,
” Odelia explains patiently. “Because she was born in a
garden.
Do you see?”

Bella, who doesn’t see at all, assures her that she does. She gets the feeling that Odelia subscribes to a peculiar brand of logic—one that was apparently shared by Leona. And what about Max? She’s pretty sure her son has never seen a Peter Sellers movie in his life. So why would he have known to call Chance the cat
Chance the Cat?

She makes a mental note to ask him again later, though she suspects she already knows the answer. “Because she’s a cat.”

Max, too, has his own unique brand of logic.

Odelia wants to know where they found the animal, and Bella explains how Chance was perched in the road not far from the exit and refused to budge.

“I knew it!” Odelia nods triumphantly. “My guides were pointing me to the south. In her condition, I’m impressed that Chance the
Cat could travel that far in . . . let’s see, she’s been missing for over a week now.”

“Your guides?”

“Spirit guides,” Odelia cheerfully tells Bella over another thunderous boom and rain drumming on the porch roof. “I’m with the Assembly . . . you know, a psychic medium.”

“You’re psychic? Like a cow?” That comes from Max; Bella is at a sudden loss for words.

“A cow? Young man, I’ll have you know I’ve lost ten pounds since Christmas,” Odelia informs him with a grin.

“What?” Max looks at Bella.

Before she can explain, Odelia says, “I’m guessing you’ve never met a psychic medium before. Or even a psychic
large
medium—that’s my new dress size.”

“What’s a psychic large medium?”

“Forget the large,” Odelia grins at him. “A psychic medium is an intuitive, which means,” she adds before he can ask the next question, “that I tune into the energy all around us in order to interpret the past, present, and future.”

After allowing a moment to let that settle, she gives a case-closed nod and moves on—conversationally and physically.

Leading them toward the back of the small house, she says, “I’m impressed that you went out of your way to bring Chance the Cat back where she belongs. Leona will be so pleased.”

Hmm . . . that’s interesting. Bella had assumed Leona had abandoned the cat.
Everything
about this conversation—and this woman and this place—is bizarre. So many questions fill her head that she can barely manage to articulate even one: “So Leona . . . she’s . . . um, she didn’t . . . um, where, exactly, is she?”

“She’s on the Other Side.” In the cluttered, fragrant kitchen, Odelia lifts the lid from a simmering pot on the stove.

“You mean she’s dead? A
ghost?
”

In response to Bella’s blurted query and Max’s raised eyebrows, Odelia turns to offer a faint smile. “We prefer to say
in Spirit.
”

We
as in Odelia and the late Leona?
We
as in Odelia and Gert the cat? Or does she simply refer to herself using the royal
we?

It’s hard to tell. Odelia is undeniably dotty, yet she radiates such good-natured warmth that Bella finds herself smiling back despite what should be a somber topic.

But Odelia seems perfectly chipper as she stirs whatever’s in the steaming pot and explains that her elderly neighbor transitioned to the spirit world more than a week ago, the same day the cat went missing.

“She’s been so restless, the poor dear, and I know it’s because she was worried about what had become of the cat. Leona really loved her.” Odelia lifts the spoon to her lips and tastes the red, saucy concoction, tilting her head as if contemplating the flavor.

“What is that?” Max asks.

“Chili.” She opens a glass canister on the countertop and takes a handful of whatever’s inside, tosses it into the pot, and resumes stirring.

“What did you put in there?”

“Chocolate chips, what else?” she replies with a grin.

“In chili?” Bella raises her eyebrows.

“Sure. I can’t think of many things that don’t taste better with chocolate chips, can you?”

A few. Chili is one of them,
Bella decides with a smile, but it fades when Max asks Odelia yet another question: “How did she die?”

“Leona? She had an accident.”

“Was she a klutz, too?”

“I suppose we all have our moments, don’t we?” Odelia says with a touch of wistfulness, setting the spoon aside and covering the pot with a decisive clatter.

“What about Chance the Cat? Who’s going to take care of her? And her babies, when she has them?”

“I’ll have to find a new home for them. Leona only has one relative, and I’m planning to ask him to take them, but he’s not very fond of animals—which is mutual,” she adds with a meaningful nod at Bella.

“Why don’t you keep Chance the Cat yourself?” Max wants to know.

“Because my Gert doesn’t do well with other cats here.”

“But she’s her grandma!”

“Cats aren’t like humans,” Odelia says. “Once family members have lived apart, they don’t take to each other very easily. They’re very territorial and set in their ways.”

Bella can’t help but think of her mother-in-law. Sam had always claimed she’d been different when he was growing up, before widowhood, age, and isolation had hardened her. She never got over his moving away and held out hope for years that he’d come back home. That hope had been crushed when he married Bella.

“I’d keep her if I could,” Odelia goes on. “I don’t suppose
you’d
like to—”

“We can’t,” Bella cuts in quickly, before Odelia gives Max any ideas. “We’re—”

She breaks off at a deafening clap of thunder.

“Mommy? I don’t want to go camping,” Max says in a small voice.

“Camping! On a night like this?” Odelia looks from Max to Bella.

“We’re just going to Summer Pines. It’s not far.”

“Where?”

“Summer Pines,” she repeats, noting the woman’s blank expression.

“Never heard of it.”

Hmm. Struck by déjà vu, Bella elaborates, “We saw a billboard back on the highway. It said it was ten miles north of the exit, on Route 60. So it has to be around here someplace.”

Odelia fixes her with a strange, long look. “If you need a place to stay tonight, you can have your pick of rooms in the guesthouse.”

“We don’t have any money,” Max informs her, and Bella cringes.

“Oh, it would be free of charge, of course. Leona would want it that way. And you can keep an eye on the cat in case those kittens come. I have the keys, and I’ve been trying to look after the place, but you can imagine what a tizzy I’ve been in with the season starting tomorrow.”

“Season?”

“The official season. The Dale welcomes visitors from all over the world every summer. We have a daily schedule of events from now through Labor Day.”

Nodding as if she understands, Bella asks, “What kind of events?”

“Oh, the usual. Lectures, demonstrations, readings, healings . . .”

“What kind of healings? You mean like . . . doctors?”

“There’s physical healing, yes. And spiritual, emotional healing. You’ll see. Tomorrow morning when the gates open, this place will be jammed.”

“Jammed with what?” asks Max the Constantly Curious Kid.

“People.”

“Who are they?”

“Tourists and curiosity seekers, newbies and regulars, summer staff, and, of course, those of us who live here. Some—like me—are here year-round, but most of the mediums are just in residence for the season.”

“Mediums . . . you mean there are others? Is that what the assembly is? An assembly of . . .”

“Spiritualists. That’s right.” Odelia smiles at Bella. “So you weren’t familiar with the Dale before you got here?”

“No, we had no idea what it was.” She still doesn’t know what it is, though she’s guessing it’s some kind of new age summer resort. “We were just stopping by to drop off the cat.”

“I’d say it’s a little off the beaten path to the Midwest to qualify as just stopping by.”

Bella blinks. Had she mentioned their destination to Odelia? She must have.

“We’re not in all that big a hurry, but—”

“We have to go stay with my grandma because we don’t have any place else to go,” Max interrupts. “We don’t really want to because she’s fancy. But my mom lost her job, and we had to move out of our house, and my dad—”

“Max,” Bella interrupts gently, “Ms. Lauder doesn’t need to know all that.”

Yet even as she says it, she comprehends that the woman already knows far more about them than they’ve told her.

Noticing that Odelia’s fixated on something just over their shoulders, Bella spins around quickly, expecting to find someone standing there, but the spot is empty.

When she turns back, she sees Odelia nodding as if in silent agreement with the imaginary person whose presence even Bella could have sworn she felt.

“It’s time for dinner,” she says abruptly, opening a cupboard. “Are you two hungry?”

“I am. I love chocolate chips. We had a picnic at the rest stop, but that was a long time ago. Mom said we’d eat dinner after we dropped off Chance the Cat.”

“We will, Max. I’m sure we can find a place—”

“Nonsense, you’ve already found it. I was just about to sit down, and I always cook extra.”

“Why?”

“Because you never know who might drop in,” Odelia tells Max with a twinkle in her eye. “Although, sometimes, you do.
I
do, anyway.”

“Did you know about us?”

She shakes her head.

Meeting her gaze, Bella isn’t so sure about that. Nor is she so sure she’s hungry enough—despite being famished—to try chocolate chip chili.

Odelia turns away, taking out a stack of bowls. “After we eat, we’ll head next door and you can pick out the room where you want to spend the night.”

“We can’t possibly do that.”

“Why not, Mommy?”

“Yes, why not?” Odelia asks.

She isn’t quite sure about that, either. Maybe it is a good idea. After all, if neither Odelia nor Doctor Bailey has heard of Summer Pines, it might be farther away than she thought. Driving around at night with Max in an unfamiliar remote area—in a storm—with the engine clattering precariously . . . well, that definitely doesn’t seem like a good idea.

“You really have to stay. There’s a house filled with empty beds next door, Bella, and in this weather, you can’t sleep in a tent with a young child.”

Having introduced herself as Isabella, she’s startled to hear her nickname—the one only Sam called her—from a stranger’s lips. Most people who shorten her name just call her Izzy.

“Is it supposed to rain all night?” she asks. “I haven’t checked the forecast.”

“We don’t bother much with forecasts around here. This is lake-effect country. In the winter, we get blizzards that pop up in a matter of minutes; in the summer, we’ve had twisters tear through. You never can tell what might blow in off the Great Lakes.”

That’s all Bella needs to hear. “Maybe just one night. But that’s it.”

Odelia nods, looking pleased.

So does Max. “Now if my tooth falls out, the tooth fairy can find me!”

“She’d find you no matter where you are, Max,” Bella reminds him for the umpteenth time.

“But tents don’t have addresses. Houses do.”

She smiles. “So the tooth fairy needs an address?”

He nods. “That’s how people find things.”

Bella looks at Odelia. “We’ve been plugging addresses into our GPS all day.”

“I see. But the tooth fairy knows this neighborhood really well. The boy next door to me on the other side just lost his front tooth the other day. Of course, he knocked his out by accident.”

“Did the tooth fairy come?”

“She did.” Odelia tells Max, handing a fistful of silverware to him and the bowls to Bella as though they’ve shared countless meals together. “And he and his mom have only been here a few weeks.”

“Is that a guesthouse, too?” Bella asks as she and Max begin setting the small, round table.

“No, it’s a private home. My friend Ramona has owned it for years. She raised her orphaned niece and nephew there. Now they’re grown and she’s married and living up in Buffalo with her husband, Jeff, so she rents the house for the season.”

“Why?” Max asks, predictably.

“Because rooms are in demand. There’s only a handful of guesthouses in the area, and they’re filled to capacity beginning tomorrow. People make their reservations a year in advance.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone wants to come to Lily Dale for the summer,” Odelia says easily, smiling at Max. “Leona’s place is booked solid through August. I cleared my calendar for check-in day tomorrow,
but I have back-to-back appointments beginning the next day. I’ve been wondering how I was going to manage everything, especially with my foot in a cast. Leona only had one living relative, her nephew Grant, and he’s taking his sweet time getting here. I’ve been looking for someone to help out and now . . . here you are.”

“Just for tonight,” Bella reminds her.

“Those kittens will be born any moment, and someone will need to keep an eye on them, too. This really is just perfect.” Odelia has a way of responding to things that makes you wonder whether she even heard you in the first place.

For now, Bella decides to let it go. A hot meal and a warm, dry bed for Max—and not having to drive out into the storm or say good-bye to Chance the Cat just yet—are more than enough incentive to stay put.

Just for tonight . . .

Stepping over the threshold of Valley View Manor, Bella flips the light switch beside the door and inhales a scent as familiar as the mock orange still wafting in the air outside.

Home.

The place smells of old wood and lavender and that imperceptible
something
that always enveloped her like a warm hug whenever she walked into the apartment.

Until Sam was gone.

The homey smell went with him, though she didn’t realize it until this moment. Now here it is, wafting in her nostrils, filling her with nostalgia, making her feel as though . . .

No. This isn’t home.

This is a guesthouse that belongs to a total stranger in a peculiar little town in the middle of nowhere. A dead stranger, at that.

Well beyond Max’s earshot, Odelia told Bella that Leona Gatto, a fellow medium, had drowned in the lake.

“She’s always been leery of the water. She said it’s because Wyoming—that’s where she’s from—is landlocked. Now I know the real reason.”

“What is it?” Conversation with Odelia, Bella noted over their surprisingly delicious dinner, seems to have plenty of gaps that can be quite challenging to bridge.

“You know—because of what was going to happen to her.”

“You mean she had a . . . premonition?” Bella asked needlessly.

“You could say that.”

“How did it happen, exactly? Was she swimming?”

“Leona can’t swim. She keeps a couple of kayaks and an old rowboat on that rickety pier behind the guesthouse for guests who like to fish. The rowboat wound up drifting out into the lake a couple of times last spring, and she wasn’t sure whether kids were playing around with it or it came loose. Anyway, it was windy that night, so she must have gone out to make sure the boat was tied up tightly. It looks like she bumped her head on a piling, and she fell into the water. The next morning, the boat was found floating again—but this time, so was Leona.”

Bella shuddered, as disturbed by the image as by the woman’s matter-of-fact delivery. But as Odelia talked on, she noted the affectionate tone and the way she referred to Leona in the present tense.

Clearly, Odelia views premature death more as transition than tragedy.

I wish I could see it that way,
Bella thinks as wipes her wet sneakers on the mat and reaches back to close the front door. The wind grabs it, slamming it behind her and Max.

“Mommy?” He reaches nervously for her.

“It’s okay, Max.” She pockets the big key ring Odelia gave her. In addition to the modern metal key that opens both the front and back deadbolts, it also holds a set of numbered, old-fashioned skeleton-style keys to unlock each of the guestrooms.

“Mommy?” Max says again, and everything about him, including his voice, seems smaller as he shrinks against her side. “I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

She grasps his hand. “Sure you do. We’re warm and dry here. Let’s check out this place and decide where we’re going to sleep, okay?”

“I wish you’d let Odelia come with us.”

The woman had offered to get them settled, but Bella could tell her leg was hurting and assured her they’d be just fine on their own.

Of course they will. They’ll get a good night’s sleep, and in the morning, she’ll ask Odelia where she can get her car checked, and then they’ll be on their way.

Listening to the rain on the roof, inhaling the familiar old house scent, she feels oddly calm.

Calm and exhausted. Weariness began to leach into her bones as they finished washing Leona’s dishes, and now she can’t stop yawning. The challenges of the past few days—the past year, really—have finally taken a toll.

The front hall is wallpapered in a period brocade of amber and brown, warmly bathed in the glow of vintage fixtures—a gaslight globe atop the newel post and a pendant suspended from a creamy plaster medallion, both in a milky ocher etched glass. The floors, staircase, and moldings are honeyed oak, as is the tall table that holds a guest book open to tomorrow’s date. A pen rests in the crease, and there’s a covered crystal bowl of M&M’s alongside the book.

“Go ahead, Max—you can grab a handful,” she says, knowing a treat—sugar and all—will work wonders on his jittery nerves.

Leona was all set for her first visitors to check in,
she thinks sadly, looking over the annotated list of reservations she’d left on the desk.
She couldn’t have had much premonition that she wouldn’t be here. Or maybe she was trying to make things easier for whoever takes over.

Their footsteps tap across hardwoods and area rugs as they make their way through the first floor. It’s cluttered with furniture and a bit dusty, but otherwise neat and orderly. Everything about the Victorian cottage seems familiar, from the irregularly shaped rooms to the woodwork to the nooks and crannies, many of them concealed at first glance.

In the kitchen, she opens a door to a steep flight into a dank basement.

“I don’t want to go down there!” Max tells her.

“Don’t worry. Neither do I.” She hastily closes the door and slides the old-fashioned lock across it.

They make their way back to the front of the house. In the parlor, Max feels around beneath the cushioned bench in a parlor bay window and finds a hidden latch. “It opens just like at home.”

“This house was probably built around the same time.”

Together, they stare into the cluttered compartment beneath the seat. Paper—books, photos, catalogues, sheet music—mingles with stray shoes and garments and a hopeless tangle of electrical cords and cables.

“Looks like Leona wasn’t such a neatnik after all,” Bella says with a laugh. “I guess she had to hide the clutter when the guests arrived.”

“Just like you.”

“Right.” Only her clutter has been reduced to whatever she was able to fit into the back seat and car trunk.

Remembering that this is a mere way station on their journey to Millicent’s, she tries to keep the sinking feeling from creeping into her voice as she tells Max it’s time to go upstairs.

“Already?” Wiggling his bottom tooth with his thumb, he appears to be sucking it, which makes him once again appear younger and more vulnerable than he is.

But it’ll be okay. She’s doing the right thing, staying here with him tonight.

And even if it isn’t right, there’s really nothing else you can do, so make the best of it.

“Come on, I’ll let you have first pick of bedrooms.”

Unable to find a light switch at the bottom of the stairs, they’re forced to ascend into shadows, past a round window on the landing with a leaded stained-glass pane.

“It looks like a creepy eye, watching us,” Max says in a small voice. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Sure you can, if you want. But remember how Odelia told you about the room with the antique trains?”

“Yes. I want to sleep in there.”

“I think she said it only has a single bed.”

“We can squeeze in.”

Rubbing the ache between her shoulders and holding back another deep yawn, Bella agrees that they can. Yes, she is looking forward to the first decent night’s sleep in a while—and it promises to be the last for a while, too, given her memories of Millicent’s uncomfortable pull-out couch.

But if Max is anxious, she’ll wrap herself around him and cradle him in her arms all night, just like she did when he was plagued with nightmares when Sam was in the hospital and after Sam was gone.

At least she won’t be lonely. It’ll be better than having an entire king-sized bed—the one she used to share with her husband—all to herself.

She finds a light switch at the top of the stairs. It’s the old-fashioned kind with round buttons rather than a flip toggle. Pressing one, she illuminates a hallway lined with closed doors.

Old-fashioned keys protrude from every knob lock. They’re attached to small rings that also contain a heart-shaped disc imprinted with the letters VVM—Valley View Manor—and a separate key that opens the deadbolts on both the front and back doors. They’ll be given to the guests when they check in.

Odelia had mentioned that Leona had just recently ordered the engraved key rings for the upcoming season along with sets of similarly monogrammed towels for each bathroom. “She was always adding homey little touches to make her guests feel more welcome,” she told Bella.

Staring at the murkily lit hallway, Max swallows audibly. “Is this a haunted house?”

Oh, kiddo, this is a haunted town.

“Of course not. Come on, let’s find the Train Room.”

One by one, they peek into the Rose Room, the Teacup Room, and the Apple Room—all easily identifiable based on Odelia’s descriptions. The Train Room is at the end of the hall, its door slightly ajar.

Max takes in the railroad-themed drapes, bedding, and framed prints on the walls. “Daddy used to ride the train to work in the city.”

Bella looks at Max in surprise. “Do you remember that?” Sam had been too ill to commute for quite some time before he passed away.

Max shrugs. “I just thought of it in my head when I saw the trains. Can we sleep in here?”

“Sure.” Bella tries to sound enthusiastic, eyeing the twin bed. Seeing something poke out onto the floor from beneath the quilt’s denim hem, she instinctively steps back and presses a hand against Max’s midsection. The house has been empty. Are there rodents?

“What’s wrong?”

Before Bella can answer, the quilt moves again—and she sees a large, furry paw emerge, followed by a familiar gray feline head imprinted with an
M
above the brow.

“Chance the Cat!” Max shouts.

Sure enough, the red-collared cat comes out from under the bed, pressing her front paws into the rug and arching her back into a hump as she gives a leisurely stretch.

“How did you get in here?” Bella asks as the animal rubs against first Max’s legs and then her own, purring loudly and butting her head against their shins.

“She must have a secret passageway.”

“She must.”

“Can she sleep in here with me, Mommy? Then you can have the Rose Room, like you wanted.”

“I didn’t say I wanted that one.”

“I could tell.”

Max is right about that. The moment she glimpsed the room at the top of the stairs, with its creamy bedding and floral wallpaper, she longed to crawl beneath the coverlet and sink her tired body into that pretty four-poster bed.

* * *

Bella had intended to retire to the Rose Room after double-checking to make sure the outside doors are all locked. Yet long after Max and Chance have drifted to sleep beneath the denim comforter, she finds herself lingering on the first floor, contentedly drifting from one inviting room to the next.

Maybe she should be more uneasy about finding herself alone in a big old house on a stormy night—especially in a town where ghostly visitors are allegedly as commonplace as gamblers in Vegas or actors in LA. But for the first time all day—the first time in how long?—she feels as though she can breathe a little more easily.

The thing she’d been dreading for months is behind her at last. Leaving home had been traumatic, but in a sense, staying there without Sam, wondering what lay ahead, had been even more so.

See? We’re moving on, just like you wanted us to do,
she tells him as she investigates the windowed breakfast room with its whitewashed wainscoting, ruffled blue curtains, and well-stocked morning beverage station.

For the first time, she isn’t worried about where they’ll wind up. Less than twenty-four hours into the unknown, she’s already found a soft landing spot—albeit a temporary one. There will be others.

We’ve made new friends, Sam. Odelia is a hoot, and the cat just loves Max, and even Doctor Bailey turned out to be one of the good guys.

Not that we’ll ever see any of them again after today, but . . .

For a few hours, the world seemed a lot less lonely.

With a sigh, she crosses the threshold into the dining room, where fine china and crystal stemware fill the built-in cabinetry. She recognizes many distinctive iridescent Carnival glass pieces among them. They’re similar to the much smaller collection Aunt Sophie had left to her, but these are red and thus rare and far more valuable.

Walking into the elegant parlor, she hesitates before a closed French door off to one side. The glass panels are veiled in opaque maroon curtains. Turning the knob, she finds it locked.

Curiosity aroused, she pulls the key ring from her pocket. All but one of the skeleton-style keys has a stickered number on it. She inserts that one into the lock on the French door and sure enough, it turns.

Behind the door is a small study. Its lone window, with a cushioned built-in bench beneath, is covered by drawn blinds. A trio of blue-and-white floral pillows with ruffled hems form a backrest. The walls, painted a buttery golden shade that reminds Bella of corn on the cob, are unadorned. A couple of framed prints lean in one corner as if waiting to be hung.

The only furnishings in the room are a pair of easy chairs facing each other and a round table covered in a blue tablecloth. It holds a telephone, a large candle with a burned wick, a box of tissues, a notepad and pen, and a spiral-bound appointment book.

This, she presumes, is where Leona gave her psychic readings. There’s an almost identical room next door in Odelia’s house, similarly devoid of decorative touches like the fringed tablecloths, velvet draperies, Ouija boards, and crystal balls Bella had envisioned.

She idly picks up the appointment book. It’s laid out week by week and appears to be a log of client readings. The first half of the
book contains many of the same names week after week, most in the same time slot on the same day of the week, with a smattering of aberrations. Some are preceded by an asterisk, she notices: a woman named Mary Brightman on January 1 (New Year’s Day) and another named Helen Adabner on February 14 (Valentine’s Day). She wonders if the asterisks denote holidays, but the theory is quickly blown when sees asterisks on random dates as well.

As she flips through the pages, she notices that Leona’s schedule shows plenty of prescheduled appointments and very few open slots during the summer months but that the final quarter of the book is nearly blank. That makes sense, given Odelia’s mention that the season ends on Labor Day.