Something Buried, Something Blue Page 13

She nods politely, though she has no intention of complying. Calling Maleficent Mother isn’t exactly the same thing as calling Doctor Bailey Drew.

  Her mother-in-law toys with the tea bag tag. “As I said, I saw someone in the kitchen and assumed it was you, so I knocked, and—”

  “No, I mean what brought you to Lily Dale in the first place?”

  “Why . . . you and Max did.” Millicent gives a nervous laugh. “This isn’t exactly the kind of place I’d visit otherwise.”

  “But . . .” Bella gathers her thoughts. “You didn’t let us know you were coming, and I just spoke to you on the phone the other night.”

  “It was a last-minute decision.”

  “Based on . . . ?”

  “Based on . . .” Millicent shakes her head. “Max is my only grandchild. I haven’t seen him since . . .”

  She can’t bear to say it.

  Nor can Bella.

  As often as she thinks about last winter and losing Sam, she rarely speaks about it.

  That, she realizes, is one of the advantages of living in Lily Dale, where no one knew Sam or anything of their life in Bedford. Her new friends aren’t aware of exactly what she’s lost, only that she has lost, like just about everyone else who finds their way to this village. And since the locals don’t believe that the dead are truly gone, they tend not to view Bella’s tragedy as . . . well, tragic. This is probably one of the few places in the world where her status as a widow doesn’t seem pervasive.

  Millicent sighs heavily, and Bella sees that her eyes are shiny.

  “It doesn’t get any easier, does it?” her mother-in-law asks.

  Bella shakes her head, unable to push a word past the sudden lump in her throat, unable to decide which word it would be if she could.

  Yes?

  No?

  She’s cast off bits and pieces of the ache, but the weight of loss is no more likely to leave her than Maleficent’s steamer trunk is to drift into the sunset like a helium balloon.

  She finds herself picturing it, with Maleficent perched atop for the ride, and the lump subsides.

  “I’m sure Max will be glad to see you,” she hears herself telling her mother-in-law as she sits down in Johneen’s vacated chair.

  “Does he know that I’m here?”

  “I haven’t mentioned it yet. I wasn’t sure . . .”

  What you wanted, or if I should trust you.

  “I had hoped to spend time with him last night,” Millicent says when she trails off, “but I was so exhausted that I dozed off. I hadn’t slept a wink since . . . what’s today?”

  “Saturday. Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

  She sidesteps the question. “By the time I woke up from my nap, it was long past Max’s bedtime.”

  And I wouldn’t have let you see him one-on-one anyway.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re comfortable over at Odelia’s. I’m sure she made you feel right at home.”

  “She certainly tried, and she seems like a decent person . . .”

  The emphasis on seems like strikes an ominous chord. It sounds as though Millicent doesn’t believe Odelia really is a decent person.

  How much, Bella wonders, does she know about Odelia? And the Dale?

  She wants to come right out and ask. But if she’s misreading her mother-in-law’s wariness, the last thing she wants to do is put suspicion into her head.

  “You said you haven’t slept in a few days,” she says, as an entirely different idea strikes her. “Are you all right? Have you been sick?”

  What if Millicent is seriously ill? That would explain the impromptu visit. Maybe she wanted to tell Bella in person. Maybe she’s hoping to mend the fences before it’s too late.

  “Of course not. I’m healthy as a horse.”

  “Then why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “I’ve been tossing and turning ever since I found out . . .”

  Bella holds her breath as Millicent levels a stern look at her.

  “Isabella.”

  “Yes?”

  “I should have known something was amiss months ago when you suddenly told me you were staying here for the summer instead of coming to Chicago. But I convinced myself it was plausible that your car had broken down, and you’d found a temporary job—”

  “It was plausible. The truth is always plausible!”

  “Be that as it may . . . I’ll admit that I might have been a little bit relieved you weren’t coming right away.”

  “Relieved? Really?” Taken aback by the honesty, Bella recalls their previous conversation. She remembers only Millicent’s blatant dismay and yes, anger at the change of plans.

  “I wanted you and Max to feel welcome in my home, but it all happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to prepare. I thought the summer would allow me to get the apartment ready and that I’d have additional time to . . . adapt. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone living under my roof,” she adds wistfully.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me that? Why did you make me think you were disappointed?”

  “It wouldn’t have been polite under the circumstances. I didn’t want you to think—well, you and I aren’t exactly—we’ve never . . . but we aren’t talking about our relationship, are we?”

  Maybe we should.

  “By the time September came,” Millicent continues, “I was ready for your arrival. In fact, I was looking forward to it. So when you said you weren’t coming—ever—I was terribly disappointed.”

  “This time, for real.”

  “I—yes. Yes, I was disappointed. So disappointed, in fact, that after a couple of weeks, a friend suggested that I visit you and Max.”

  A friend.

  Bella is dumbstruck by the fact that Millicent actually has one. Somehow, the possibility had never entered her mind. Then she considers the slight hesitation before the word and the inflection, and she comprehends that Millicent is referring to a gentleman.

  She stares at her mother-in-law, seeing her in a new light. Wow. Just—wow. The prospect of a pair of semipermanent overnight guests might have cramped Millicent’s lifestyle in ways Bella had never imagined.

  “Since you hadn’t invited me to come stay with you . . .” Millicent pauses to let that sink in. “I decided that you couldn’t turn away a paying guest, and I looked into Lily Dale online. That’s when I found out . . .”

  Oh.

  So that’s what this is about.

  Unwilling to engage in a round of fill-in-the-blanks, Bella waits for her to go on.

  Millicent just looks at her.

  Unsure whether she found out about Leona Gatto’s murder or the Spiritualism, Bella weighs her words carefully. “I know what you’re thinking, because I thought the same thing when I got here. But it seemed like an ordinary little town, and you know what? I realized that’s exactly what it is. It’s just like any other town.”

  “Really? In what way?”

  “Lily Dale is a true community, just like any other. There are houses and parks, schools and businesses, people . . .” True, some of those people aren’t alive, if your philosophy aligns with that of the locals, but she’s not about to spell that out to Millicent.

  “I strongly disagree. You can’t pretend that it’s exactly like any other town, Isabella.”

  “Well, no, not exactly,” Bella agrees. Bent on wiping the smugness from her mother-in-law’s face, she goes on. “The people here are much warmer and more welcoming than I’ve ever encountered anywhere else. They open their arms to strangers. They embraced me and Max as if we were family.”

  If anything, Millicent is even more smug as she nods and says, “I’m sure they did. That should have been your first clue.”

  “My first clue . . . to what?”

  “That’s how these things operate.”

  “Which things?”

  “These religious cults.”

  Bella’s jaw drops.

  “People just like you come along, people who are feeling lost and lone
ly, and they pounce! They reel you in by making you feel as if you belong, and they brainwash you so that—”

  “Brainwash?” Bella manages to spit out. “Cult? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Lily Dale. From the moment I realized what was going on here, I was heartsick. I’m here to rescue you and Max from their clutches and bring you home.”

  Speechless, Bella shakes her head at the absurdity of her mother-in-law’s perception. Surely she doesn’t believe . . .

  But she does believe it, Bella realizes, remembering the strange question yesterday about mass weddings. No wonder.

  “I know you mean well, Millicent, but—”

  “Please, Isabella, call me—”

  “I can’t do that! I just can’t. I’m sorry, but I’ve told you before, I really can’t call you Mother. It’s not you, it’s me. I can’t call anyone Mother.”

  “And yet these . . . these bizarre strangers . . . you call them your family?”

  “I didn’t mean . . . I mean . . .” She rakes her hands through her hair, knocking the banana clip to the floor, ignoring it. “Okay, first things first. I’m not brainwashed. Really, I’m not.”

  “People who are brainwashed are never aware that they’re brainwashed, Isabella,” Millicent points out reasonably, and dammit, she has a point.

  But she’s missing Bella’s.

  “I promise you, Max and I haven’t been swallowed up by some bizarre cult. I know those things happen, but not here, and not to us. Look, you met Odelia. I’ll admit she may not be the most conventional person in the world, but she’s not a dangerous religious fanatic.”

  “All I know is that she was wearing a strange orange robe . . .”

  Thinking back, Bella remembers: the wedding sari. She opens her mouth to enlighten Millicent, but Millicent is on a roll.

  “. . . and then when we got to her house, she was brewing up an exotic elixir that had a strange name—it was called medusa, I believe. She kept urging me to sample it.”

  Under any other circumstances, Bella might be smiling. “It’s called menudo,” she says, “and Odelia can be very persistent. But she’s harmless. She was just being hospitable.”

  “I can see why you’d believe that, Isabella.” Millicent reaches out to pat her hand. “I’m just glad I got here before it’s too late.”

  Her expression is frightened but determined: a woman with a mission. However misguided, she’s here because she cares—certainly about Max, but perhaps about Bella as well.

  About to set her straight, Bella hesitates, hearing footsteps in the hall. Apparently, she was wrong about the guests sleeping in after last night’s party. Someone is already stirring.

  “We can’t talk about this right now,” she tells her mother-in-law in a low voice. “And I’ve got to take care of the wedding today. Promise me you won’t do anything or say anything to anyone for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “But—”

  “Please. Please do this for me.”

  “I am doing this for you. I only have your best interests at—”

  “Then do it for Johneen,” Bella says hurriedly, keeping her voice hushed as a shadow passes by the hall outside the breakfast room. “Doesn’t she deserve to have her wedding day go off without a hitch? If you throw a wrench into the plans right now, it won’t.”

  “What, exactly, are you asking me to do?”

  “I’m asking you to keep your suspicions to yourself, because they are truly unfounded. Even if you don’t believe that, we can discuss it tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow might be too late.”

  “Too late for what?” Bella pauses, hearing the kitchen door open and close. Whoever came downstairs has left the guesthouse, at least for the time being. But they’ll be back, most likely in search of coffee and breakfast, and the others may soon be stirring as well.

  She looks at Millicent. Her fingers are tightly clasped beneath her chin, and her expression is troubled.

  “I don’t like this, Isabella. I’m not comfortable here.”

  “I know you aren’t. Why don’t you head back to Chicago?”

  “Not without you and Max.”

  “Well, we aren’t going anywhere today with a wedding at the guesthouse and a storm on the way and—” She breaks off, hearing a distinct meow from the kitchen.

  “Is that a cat?” Millicent asks, wrinkling her nose.

  It’s Chance.

  “Sit here and finish your tea. I’ve got a couple of things to do,” Bella tells Millicent, hurrying out of the room.

  In the kitchen, she sees that sure enough, someone left the door ajar and Chance has slipped out onto the step. She’s staring out at the dark yard, ears twitching.

  Bella had warned the guests about the broken latch last night, but maybe someone forgot.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a guest. Maybe someone else was prowling around the place.

  Is it Nadine?

  Like many cottages in the Dale, Valley View purportedly has a resident Spirit. The house next door has Miriam, and this one has Nadine. Odelia told Bella that she’s entirely harmless and that Leona had learned to appreciate the companionship despite Nadine’s feisty streak. She likes to move things around, flicker the lights, and change television channels without warning. These things have occasionally happened since Bella moved in, but she knows enough about electromagnetic energy to reason that there’s nothing paranormal about them.

  Odelia had also mentioned that the resident Spirit likes to play with the resident felines. “So if you ever see Chance looking as though she’s interacting with someone who isn’t there . . .”

  “Then she’s just being a cat,” said Drew, who was a part of that particular conversation. “They all pounce on invisible objects and stare into space like something’s there.”

  “Maybe something is,” Odelia said with a shrug, and they dropped the subject.

  Now, watching Chance stare out into the yard, Bella would much rather believe she’s watching a ghostly visitor than a human one. She scoops up the cat. Predictably, Chance squirms and meows a protest.

  “Sorry, but it’s dangerous out there.”

  Maybe more dangerous than she’s been allowing herself to consider.

  She latches the screen, closes the door, and carries the cat back into the kitchen. Chance’s eyes bore into hers as if she’s trying to convey a message.

  “What are you trying to tell me, hmm? That it’s time for your second breakfast? That there really is a little blue kitten out there in Odelia’s garden? Or . . . Nadine? Is that it?”

  Or is it something even more ominous?

  She sets the cat on the floor and goes over to the cupboard to find a can of food. But when she opens it, instead of rushing toward the sound of the popped top, Chance strides in the opposite direction, back over to the door. And when Bella pours the food into a bowl and sets it on the floor, the cat stays where she is, meowing.

  “Sorry, Chance. You’re stuck in here with me.” Bella shakes her head, staring uneasily into the predawn darkness beyond the house.

  Chapter Eight

  Bella has no idea what time Millicent left the guesthouse this morning or even whether she went back to Odelia’s when she did. She only knows that by the time the sun came up, her mother-in-law was gone. She must have left through the front door. Busy in the kitchen and laundry room, Bella kept a wary eye on the yard and the back door, though not for Millicent.

  She isn’t convinced that an outsider was walking around the house earlier. But if it had been one of the guests, that person has yet to return.

  As for her mother-in-law, there was no sign of her when Bella finally returned to the breakfast room to brew the coffee.

  Good. Bella doesn’t care where she is, as long as she isn’t out alerting the authorities or the press about the so-called religious cult she’s infiltrated here in the Dale.

  By seven forty-five, the sun is shining brightly, and Bella’s cell phone is buzzing with a text f
rom Drew Bailey.

  Be there by nine.

  So he is coming today to fix the broken door.

  Thumbs poised on her phone, she fully intends to tell him not to worry about it today—or ever. But somehow, she finds herself texting back in cheerful agreement.

  Great! Thanks so much!

  She hurries upstairs and changes into newer jeans and a blue fleece pullover Sam always said matches her eyes. Then she brushes her hair and, after only a moment’s consideration, applies makeup after all.

  She tells herself it’s only because she might not have another chance to make herself presentable, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she suspects that it has something to do with Doctor Bailey.

  Unsettled by that awareness, she reaches for the necklace she’d taken off last night before bed. It’s too dressy for what she’s wearing, but she resolutely fastens it on anyway.

  There. The tourmaline pendant falls alongside her heart as if to remind it to stay right where it belongs.

  But she can’t help feeling relieved that down-to-earth Drew is on his way. Maybe she can tell him what’s been going on around here.

  All of it?

  Maybe just some of it.

  Which parts?

  Millicent and the cult, Johneen’s mysterious past, the overheard conversation, Spirit manipulating the iPod playlist . . .

  All right, maybe she’ll tell Drew none of it.

  But she’ll still welcome the companionship. Odelia is nowhere to be found despite her promise to be here at seven. Max is still asleep, and the guests are . . . well, even if they’re awake, they’re just guests, not confidantes.

  She wouldn’t mind a private word with Calla, though. She and Blue were the last ones lingering at the party, sharing a quiet conversation on the Adirondack chairs facing the lake.

  Before heading home, Odelia’s parting words had been, “I hope Blue Slayton doesn’t think he’s coming to the wedding tomorrow.”

  Bella isn’t looking forward to breaking the news that he is, indeed, coming to the wedding. Johneen herself invited him, saying pointedly so that Parker would overhear, “My fiancé has decided the more the merrier, so please do join us tomorrow, Blue.”

  She wasn’t flirting. She didn’t seem the least bit interested in Blue, and it’s clear that Calla is. Johneen was making a point to Parker, who simply rolled his eyes.