Odelia has never been one to jump out of bed at sunrise, but she does today.
Well, she doesn’t quite jump. It’s more of an arthritic hoisting, punctuated by a loud sound that’s part-groan, part-yawn.
Her sleep hadn’t been restful. The bed suddenly seemed big and lonely without Luther and/or Li’l Chap, and Spirit’s cryptic message weighed like the humid night air and the sandwich she’d gobbled at Soul-stice.
Don’t trust her.
Determined to grasp its meaning, Odelia does her best to meditate on it, as she had last night, but finds that she still can’t quite get past her worry over Calla.
There’s only one way to find out what’s going on.
She throws a bathrobe over her pink chiffon peignoir, and a pair of heeled pink scuffies that can pass for shoes.
You need to stay hydrated, Calla’s voice reminds her, and she goes to the fridge to grab a bottle of water to carry along.
Stepping outside, she’s greeted by a blazing glare of morning sun.
Goodness, it’s hot and bright. Back inside she goes, to shed the robe and retrieve her fuchsia, jewel-encrusted cat-eye sunglasses. Checking the mirror by the front door, she decides that her nightie shows a bit too much cleavage, especially for this hour on a weekday. She fishes through a drawer. A woolen scarf is out of the question on a day like today, but her feathered pink boa is just the thing to drape over her shoulders and across the plunging neckline.
Glancing at Valley View as she descends the front steps to Cottage Row, she’s startled to see a big black SUV idling out front. There’s a bald man in the driver’s seat, wearing a suit and sunglasses.
He looks like the Secret Service type, she thinks, recalling a certain First Lady who’d visited the Dale years ago. Or maybe just some kind of government agent. Or perhaps a security guard? A spy?
Odelia’s protective streak kicks in. Why would someone be spying on Valley View? On her Bella and Max?
She marches over to the SUV and knocks on the driver’s window.
He rolls it down. A blast of air conditioning and country music spill out.
‘Can I help you?’ she asks.
‘Uh … excuse me?’
‘I’m Odelia Lauder. And you are …?’
‘Marty.’
‘Marty …’
‘Kowalski.’
‘What can I do for you, Marty?’ She pastes on a friendly smile to put him at ease.
‘Uh … I’m not interested in … uh …’
He’s definitely on edge. He must be up to something.
She tries a different tactic.
‘Most people who show up here are looking for a session. I’m booked all day today, but I can see if my friend Misty has any availability. She’s very good.’
‘I’m … I’m not … I’m just Mr Everard’s driver!’ he blurts. ‘He owns this place.’
‘Oh! Grant.’
Odelia’s never been a fan. Not since the days when he’d come to visit his aunt Leona here. He’d never had much use for the Dale, or the guesthouse, though she’ll admit, he’d been good to his aunt, and she’d adored him in return.
‘So you’re dropping him off here?’ she asks Marty.
‘I’m taking him back to the airport as soon as he’s finished with his – well, I thought it was some kind of business meeting, but I guess I should have known better, especially the way she was dressed.’
‘She?’
‘His, ah … his friend.’
‘So he’s not staying overnight?’
‘Guess not.’
Well, that’s certainly good news for Bella, who has enough to worry about without Grant underfoot.
‘All right, then, Marty. Carry on,’ she says, and he quickly raises the window.
About to move on, she notices the white sedan she’d seen yesterday afternoon, driven by the woman Calla had said she’d seen on her flight from New York. There’s a Valley View guest parking pass on the dashboard. The car must be a rental, as it has Massachusetts license plates, and Calla had mentioned the woman had been connecting through Chicago.
At the time, Odelia was too busy fainting from heat exhaustion to think much of it, but now …
Bella and Max had been in Chicago all weekend.
Sam was from Chicago.
A lot of people are, and a lot of people visit, but …
There are no coincidences. Not in Lily Dale.
Frowning at the car, Odelia recalls that she’d seen it right around the time that Spirit had initially attempted to touch in with the message about trust. Is it possible …?
Could it have had something to do with the woman in the car, rather than with Calla? Or even Pandora?
‘Everything OK there?’
She turns to see Marty, still watching her through his open car window.
‘Everything’s great,’ she lies, taking a sip from her water bottle and moving on.
Calla’s East Street cottage is on the opposite side of the Dale – not by design, though Odelia suspects that if she’d had her choice, she’d have put a good amount of distance between the two of them.
If Odelia had had her choice, Calla would have moved back into her old room at Odelia’s place. It had been Stephanie’s girlhood bedroom as well.
I don’t like living alone.
The thought catches Odelia off guard. It isn’t something she thinks about often, if ever.
She’s accustomed to solitude. It’s necessary, in her line of work. But sometimes, lately, solitude seems to walk a fine line with loneliness.
Which is silly, because here in the Dale, one is rarely alone.
She passes the phantom girl on the swing, the man in the top hat with the Titanic newspaper, and the knickered newsboys playing catch. As she rounds the corner onto East Street, she encounters a filmy white woman.
‘Good morning, Odelia,’ a familiar voice says beneath layers of sheer scarf that drape her head and cover most of her face, with enormous sunglasses obscuring the rest. ‘Fancy meeting you about the Dale at this early hour.’
‘Pandora? Is that you in there?’
‘Of course. I’m taking my daily stroll before it gets too bloody hot. I can’t risk becoming sunburnt and freckled like … like …’
‘Like me?’
‘Precisely. Ruddiness would be garish on delicate skin such as my own, but on you, it’s quite becoming.’
Odelia raises an eyebrow. It isn’t like Pandora to offer compliments. Certainly not to Odelia.
‘Well, thanks. I like your … uh, is that a hijab?’
‘A burka. Just the thing for maximum sun protection. And I do say, your gown is quite smashing. Just returning from a night on the town with Luther, are you?’
‘No, I’m on my way to visit my granddaughter. I have something to discuss with her.’
‘Ah, would that be the falling out with her publishing cohorts? Or her dalliance with Blue Slayton?’
Odelia flinches. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I couldn’t help but overhear your tête-à-tête with Walter last evening at the bistro, as I happened to be seated at the adjacent table.’
‘You were?’ She feigns surprise.
‘I’d have invited you to join me, but I was caught up in a personal dilemma, you see.’
That makes two of us.
‘I’m afraid I still haven’t gotten myself sorted. Perhaps you can offer some insight, Odelia?’
‘Into your … personal dilemma?’
‘Yes. Ordinarily you’re the last person with whom I’d share, but, well, you’re the only one afoot at the moment.’
She shifts her weight and looks around the deserted street. ‘I’m sure others will be afoot any minute now, Pandora.’
‘Perhaps, but as a divorcée of a certain age, I believe you’re best suited to provide insight. My dilemma involves finances. I’m about to come into a rather significant amount of money, you might recall.’
She nods. Everyone in town is aware that Pandora had recently inherited a seemingly mundane family heirloom that had turned out to be a priceless treasure.
‘My advisors are encouraging me to pay off debts and invest the rest to secure my future.’
‘Your advisors? You mean your spirit guides?’
‘My financial advisors. My guides haven’t quite weighed in on the matter. Unfortunately, I have little experience with stocks and bonds and such. I don’t suppose you do?’
‘Me? You’re kidding, right?’
‘Ah, yes, what was I thinking? You’re hardly a Wall Street whiz, are you?’
Delivered without a trace of Pandora’s usual haughtiness, it isn’t an insult.
‘I’m not,’ Odelia admits. ‘But if you’re going to invest in stocks and—’
‘I’d prefer to use the windfall on something that will make me happy.’
‘How about travel? You could take one of those cruises around the world or spend the winter on a tropical island.’
Pandora shakes her head. ‘I’ve no desire to leave the Dale. This is my home.’
‘I don’t mean forever. Just for a few months.’
‘I’d prefer to use the money for something that will make a difference in the long run.’
‘Well, you could always donate to charity. There are lots of good causes in need of—’
‘That won’t make a difference for me.’ Pandora, being Pandora, doesn’t sugarcoat her reply.
Ordinarily, this would be Odelia’s cue to make some excuse and extract herself from the conversation. But today, despite being distracted by her own problems, she senses vulnerability in Pandora.
‘What would make you happy?’ she asks.
‘A time machine that could transport me to the good old days before Orville abandoned me, but I suppose that’s out of the question?’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Odelia tells her, and taps her own temple. ‘You have all your memories right here. You can revisit those days anytime you want. But why would you want to?’
‘Because I was happy then.’
‘With Orville?’
‘I was, yes.’
Odelia is tempted to advise her to get over the wanker, just as she herself had gotten over Jack Lauder so long ago. Most days, she doesn’t even think of her ex-husband and the pain he’d inflicted, leaving her alone at such a young age with a child to raise. But every once in a while, some detail from that failed marriage comes back to her – not just the worst of it, but the best.
‘I understand, Pandora.’ She reaches out to find the woman’s spindly arm beneath the swathe of fabric and gives it a squeeze. ‘But you will be happy again.’
‘It’s easy for you to say. You’ve got your family, and of course, Luther. I’ve got no one.’
‘You have all of us here – your friends. And Lady Pippa,’ she adds.
Pandora’s Scottish fold is arguably the Dale’s most pampered pet.
‘Yes, yes, but that isn’t quite what I meant, is it?’
‘I don’t know. Is it?’
‘It is not.’
Odelia sips her water, eager to move on. She’s positive that the warning from Spirit had nothing to do with trusting – or not trusting – Pandora. And yes, her heart goes out to the woman, but her patience is wearing thin.
‘Maybe you should let your financial advisors and your spirit guides help you figure things out,’ she tells Pandora. ‘Or how about talking to a good therapist? I can ask around and see if I can find some recommendations for you.’
‘I don’t need a therapist! Are you suggesting that I’m—’
‘I’m suggesting that everyone goes through a rough patch, Pandora. It sounds like this is yours.’
Though from where she sits, there are worse problems to have than how to spend a fortune.
‘Anyway, I really do need to get to Calla’s.’
‘Of course. Carry on.’ Pandora lifts her chin, gives a nod, and walks on.
So does Odelia, not noticing the man who slips into a stand of trees, watching her intently.