Before the evening message service, Odelia had polished off three large slices of cake and called it supper. Sauerkraut is a vegetable of sorts, and the sugar had helped her bounce back after this afternoon’s … episode.
Had it really been heat exhaustion?
That’s what Calla had called it, and she might have been right.
Immediately afterward, she’d scooped Li’l Chap into her arms and headed for home, telling Odelia to go lie down in front of the fan, be sure to hydrate, and stay out of the kitchen.
Cake had seemed a fine supper at the time, but she’d emerged from the message service far too hungry to go straight home to bed as she’d intended, and has spent nearly an hour waiting to be seated at the Soul-stice Bistro.
Various friends invited her to pull up an extra chair at their tables, although Pandora Feeney, dining alone at a table for two, pretends not to see her. But she’s opted to wait, in the mood for solitude. As much solitude as one can find in the midst of a noisy, crowded restaurant, anyway.
Leaning against a brick wall directly beneath the blasting air-conditioning vent, Odelia stares at tonight’s specials on the chalkboard, idly listening to snatches of conversation from nearby tables.
‘ … because it’s deep-fried, and it’s not good for …’
‘ … was hoping to hear from Dad, not Uncle Stan …’
‘ … and now you’re eating it all. Why didn’t you order it yourself?’
‘Don’t trust her!’
At that, she looks up abruptly.
She’s surrounded by several other people waiting to be seated, but all are silently engrossed in their cell phones. She turns her attention to the tables that are within earshot.
‘ … and you know what the doctor said about saturated fat,’ a middle-aged wife is scolding her portly husband as he eats a piece of battered chicken.
‘ … I know, but Dad always deferred to Uncle Stan, even when they were alive,’ one young man says to another.
‘ … because I didn’t want a whole dessert, just a taste,’ a woman informs her scowling husband as she dips a spoon into the chocolate mousse in front of him.
Confirming that none of those people had said ‘Don’t trust her,’ Odelia concludes that it was Spirit.
She closes her eyes, trying to focus, but it’s impossible amid the clatter and conversation.
‘Excuse me,’ a female voice says, and Odelia opens her eyes to see that a woman is trying to move past her toward the exit.
It’s Candace, with Tommy behind her.
‘Oh, sorry.’ Odelia steps aside to let them by.
Candace pauses as a gaggle of women waiting for a table stop Tommy to gush about how much they love The Specter Inspectors and how they’re looking forward to the paranormal equipment demonstration he’s doing tomorrow morning.
‘Well, we’re both doing it,’ he says. ‘Me and my wife.’
Catching Odelia’s eye, Candace offers a smile and little shake of her head. ‘Happens all the time.’
‘I’m sure it does. To both of you.’
‘Sometimes, but he’s got more patience than I do. And way more charm – especially with a group like that.’
Odelia has never been one to fawn over celebrities, but she does like to pay compliments where they’re due. ‘Well, I really enjoyed your presentation last night. It was fascinating.’
Candace smiles. ‘Thank you!’
‘I’m also a big fan of your television show. Odelia Lauder,’ she adds, putting out her hand. ‘I live right next door to you.’
‘Oh?’
‘I mean, right next door to Valley View.’
‘Ah. Valley View. So much history there. Tommy and I have fallen in love with the place. It’s enchanting, isn’t it?’
He rejoins his wife. ‘What are we talking about?’
‘Valley View. This is Odelia Lauder. She lives next door.’
‘Stop by and say hello if you have time while you’re here. I’ll be happy to share some stories about the house if you’re interested.’
‘We’re definitely interested,’ Tommy assures her, putting a hand under his wife’s elbow.
‘I’ll make sure I get to your demonstration tomorrow morning,’ Odelia says. ‘Maybe we can chat afterward.’
‘That sounds perfect. Thank you, Odelia. It’s always great to meet a fellow redhead.’ With a wave, Candace follows her husband out the door.
Odelia watches them disappear into the night.
Don’t trust her …
The spirit warning couldn’t have been about Candace, could it?
That doesn’t feel right, although it’s hard to tell.
Her gaze falls on Pandora Feeney, using a steak knife to saw an enormous hunk of bloody, rare meat on her plate.
A warning about Pandora would hardly be news to Odelia. She’s never trusted the woman.
Walter Darwin hurries over to her. ‘Odelia, thanks for waiting. I can seat you now.’
‘Thanks.’ She follows him to the table Candace and Tommy just vacated.
It’s adjacent to the one where Pandora Feeney is making short work of her bloody rare steak. Odelia considers telling Walter she’ll wait for another spot to open up, but refrains. All the small tables are in this section, so there’s no avoiding Pandora in a restaurant this size – nor, for that matter, in a town this size.
She can either sit facing Pandora, or she can take the chair facing in the same direction as Pandora’s, so close they might as well be side by side at the same table.
She opts to face in the same direction, avoiding eye contact. With any luck, Pandora will be out of here momentarily …
‘Oh, Walter?’ Pandora says. ‘I fancy a triple scoop of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce, whipped cream, chopped walnuts – as long as they’re English walnuts. If they aren’t, do leave them off. Oh, and there should be three cherries, one for each scoop.’
… or not.
‘I’d better send your server over to take that order,’ Walter tells her, and turns back to Odelia, handing her a laminated menu. ‘Sorry you had to wait so long.’
‘Not a problem.’
‘I heard Calla’s back from New York?’
‘She is. Who told you? Jacy?’
‘No, Peter ran into her this afternoon. Too bad about what happened with her editor and agent.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Didn’t they have a falling out?’
‘A falling out? Is that what she said?’
‘She didn’t tell you?’
‘Not in those words, but we only had a brief visit.’
‘Oh, well, I’m sure she’ll fill you in.’
‘I’m sure she will.’
Frowning, she thinks back to their time together this afternoon. Calla hadn’t lingered, eager to get Li’l Chap settled back at home.
‘What else did she say?’ she asks Walter.
‘About her meeting? Nothing. We mostly talked about the Slayton house.’
‘About the break-in?’ she asks, before remembering that Luther had asked her not to say anything to anyone.
‘There was a break-in at the Slayton house?’
Oops. ‘How would I know?’ she asks, as if Walter’s the one who’d brought it up. ‘What did Calla say?’
‘David’s putting the place on the market.’
‘Calla told you that?’ she asks, perhaps too loudly, though Pandora appears oblivious at the next table, polishing off the last of a baked potato, skin and all.
‘Well, she, uh … she told Peter,’ Walter says, shifting his weight. ‘I didn’t see her myself.’
‘But how would she know what the Slaytons are doing with their house?’
‘Maybe … I don’t know.’ Walter glances over his shoulder and then around the restaurant, as if longing for an excuse to escape. ‘Maybe Peter got it wrong?’
‘He must have. Calla’s been away for a week. She wouldn’t know what’s going on back here in the Dale before the rest of us found out.’
‘Isn’t Blue Slayton living in New York now? Maybe he told her.’
‘Is he?’
‘I’m not sure. I thought that’s what people have been saying, but maybe I got that wrong. Well, I’d better get back to, uh …’ Walter scuttles away.
Odelia stares into the flickering votive flame on the table.
If it’s true that the Slaytons are selling their house, there will be no reason for Blue or his father ever to visit the area again.
Good riddance to them.
But why was Calla the first to know? And why hadn’t she mentioned it to Odelia?
Intending to ask her, she reaches into her pocket for her cell phone, then remembers she’d left it at home. For her, the electromagnetic signal occasionally interferes with spirit energy at the message service.
Oh, well. The call will have to wait until she gets home.
She looks around for the server. Lori, a college student who’s been working here all summer, is busy taking an order from the gaggle of women who’d stopped Tommy on his way out the door. They’d all been front and center in the auditorium this evening – and none of them had received a message.
Odelia hadn’t been one of the presenting mediums on stage this evening, but she’d sensed the spirit of a shy young man attached to one of the women. She feels him touching in with her again now …
No.
She closes herself off to the energy. She has other, more pressing concerns. Like satisfying her ravenous hunger.
She grabs the menu and resumes studying it, as if she hasn’t seen it hundreds of times; as if she’s not planning to order her usual.
The grilled eggplant and banana on rye toast with mustard isn’t on the list of sandwiches, though she’s been trying to convince Walter’s husband Peter that it should be.
‘Listen, nobody wants to walk into a bistro and see the same old fare day after day. You need to liven things up around here.’
‘Like you do?’
‘Exactly. You can even call it The Odelia. The recipe is featured in my cookbook. Mark my words, it’s going to catch on just like wings did in Buffalo. If the Soul-stice Bistro is the first place to serve it, this place will be as legendary as the Anchor Bar.’
‘That would be great. Why don’t we revisit this when the cookbook is published?’
Ah, but she’s been counting on Calla to get the manuscript to her agent. If they’ve had a falling out, the cookbook won’t be anyone’s priority, including Odelia’s own.
Why would Calla have mentioned that to Peter, and not to her own grandmother?
Again, she flashes back to their time together this afternoon. She recalls scolding her for over-exerting herself amid the heatwave ‘at your age’, which of course had irritated her at the time.
Really, she should have been more appreciative for her granddaughter’s concern. Calla might even have had a point. Odelia had been feeling a bit faint out there on the porch …
Brows furrowed, she remembers that Spirit had been trying to tell her something then, too.
‘Don’t …’
If Calla hadn’t interrupted the moment, would she have received the same message she’d gotten this evening?
Don’t trust her.
Yes. Yes, that feels right, only …
Don’t trust whom?
Pandora had been there at the time, out in front of her house, gearing up to do some gardening. She would make the most sense.
Odelia slides a quick sidelong glance at her. She’s scraping the last bit of creamed spinach from her plate with a spoon, looking weary, a bit desolate, and not entirely like her usual meddling self.
In rare moments like this, Odelia can’t deny that they have more in common than she likes to acknowledge, as mediums, as women of a certain age, and as wives who’d been left destitute by deadbeat husbands.
But Odelia has Luther now, along with her family, and she counts Bella and Max among them.
And Pandora has a large sum of money coming her way, she reminds herself. She’s just fine.
Anyway, maybe the message wasn’t about Pandora. What if it had been about the other person who’d been present when it had attempted to come through this afternoon?
Calla.