Her husband shakes his head. "What does it matter?"He hands the article back to Jacy and stands. So does Mrs. Yates.

Clearly the visit is over. It's time to leave the Yateses to grieve in private. Calla and Jacy get up, too.

"Thank you for telling us,"Mrs. Yates says, when they reach the front door.

To Calla's surprise, she reaches out with a thin, bony, deeply veined hand and gives Calla's fingers a squeeze. "I'm truly sorry about your mother."

"Thank you. And I'm so sorry about your son."She hesitates, wondering if she should mention the link between the two murders.

No.

That will come out in time, with the police investigation.

Maybe, she realizes when she gets home, even sooner than she thinks.

"Calla! There you are. Where have you been?"her grandmother hurries into the front hall the moment she steps over the threshold.

"Babysitting."

"Paula said you left at five. I called over there looking for you."

"Is everything all right?"she asks, suddenly frightened.

"Everything's fine, but- where were you?"

"I ran into Jacy on the way home. Sorry. Why were you looking for me?"she asks, though she wouldn't really blame her grandmother for trying to keep closer tabs on her after the lie she told about the homecoming dance.

"A couple of detectives were just here wanting to talk to you. From Florida. I told them to come back tomorrow after school. I'll make sure I'm here with you, and I'll tell your father, too."

"No, wait, Gammy- I'd rather talk to them without him, okay?"

"I don't think-"

"Please, Gammy. There are some things I have to tell them, and- I just don't want him to hear them just yet."

Odelia sighs. "Okay. But you know it's all going to come out sooner or later."

"I know ."

"You can't take on the weight of the world, sweetie. You're just a kid."Her grandmother hugs her, hard.

Calla tries to swallow the ache in her throat.

Just a kid.

When, she wonders, was the last time she felt young and carefree?

And will she ever feel that way again?

TWELVE.

Lily Dale

Wednesday, October 10

7:50 p.m.

"Too bad Odelia couldn't have come with us,"Dad comments, pulling the rental car into his usual spot in front of the house after a casual dinner at B.J.'s Downwind Cafe in Fredonia.

"Yeah, that would have been good,"Calla agrees.

It had been a quiet dinner, just the two of them, trying to make conversation while eating Buffalo wings- not that the locals call them that. Around here, as she keeps reminding her father, they're just "wings."Kind of like Lily Dale is just "the Dale."

The stilted meal is what it was like between Calla and her father last summer when Mom first pa.s.sed away, and they had to figure out how to communicate without her to bridge the conversational gap.

Calla had thought they had that all figured out by now, but for some reason, tonight was . . . awkward.

Maybe it's partly because she's been feeling increasingly preoccupied about Althea York. That tragedy has almost overshadowed her confrontation with the Yateses and the disturbing discovery that she doesn't have a long- lost sibling after all.

Dad has seemed preoccupied all night, too.

Probably thinking about Ramona. He invited her, Evange-line, and Mason to join them for dinner, but they turned down the invitation.

"We had wings last night, and anyway, you two need some father-daughter time,"Ramona said with her easy grin. "You don't need the rest of us horning in."

At the time, Calla was grateful.

Now, she wishes someone had tagged along to defuse the silence, even if it would have meant Dad and Ramona mooning all over each other all night.

"Looks like Odelia's not home yet,"Dad observes, looking up at the darkened house and empty driveway beside it.

"No, she had an appointment. She probably won't be home until later."

Much later. Her grandmother is conducting a home message circle in Westfield tonight, and those can go till all hours.

"She sure has a lot of appointments, doesn't she?"Dad looks thoughtful.

"Yeah, well . . . she's busy."

"Counseling people."

"Right."

It's not a lie. That is what Odelia does for a living. She just never specified to Dad what kind of counseling it is that she does.

"You know . . ."He turns off the engine and rubs the spot where his beard used to be. "Ramona is a counselor, too."

"I know, Dad."Calla furtively puts her hand on the door handle, not wanting to make it obvious that she's trying to escape the conversation.

"That's pretty coincidental, don't you think? Two counselors, living next door to each other?"

"I don't know . . . not really."She starts to open the door.

"Calla."

Uh- oh.

"Yeah?"

"Your grandmother and Ramona . . . they're not just regular counselors, are they."It isn't a question.

"Ramona told you that?"

"No. I figured it out all by myself."He gives her a tight smile. "And I guess I'm right. They're . . . what do they call themselves?"

"Not 'New- Age freaks.' "She can't help but be relieved- not just that he's smiling at all, but that it's out in the open at last.

"So what are they? Psychic counselors?"

"That pretty much sums it up. How did you figure it out?"

"For one thing, a lot of people around here seem to have signs on their houses advertising themselves as psychic counselors, and the like. I saw the empty bracket at Ramona's, and the bracket with that potted plant here-"He gestures at Odelia's porch, where a tired, straggly looking chrysanthemum hangs in place of the shingle that reads ODELIA LAUDER, REGISTERED MEDIUM.

"I don't have to be a so-called psychic myself to have figured out that something is conspicuously missing,"Dad tells her.

So-called psychic.

Calla tries not to let the note of skepticism bother her. After all, she reacted the same way when she first arrived in the Dale.

"For another thing,"Dad goes on, "Ramona likes to talk. A lot,"he adds, but not without affection. "She's the type who doesn't hold anything back, you know?"

"I know ."

"But when it comes to talking about her work . . . well, I haven't been able to get her to open up about what, exactly, she does. She always manages to change the subject."

"She doesn't want you to know, Dad. Gammy doesn't, either."

"Why not?"

"I guess they were worried you wouldn't like it."

"So they were protecting themselves-and you. Is that it?"

"I guess so,"she says reluctantly, marveling at the fact that they're still sitting here talking about this, instead of packing their bags and making plane reservations.

Dad nods, still rubbing his phantom beard.

He still doesn't know about me.

Should she tell him?

He seems to be taking this pretty well.

Then again-it's one thing for him to know that Odelia and Ramona are practicing mediums.

It's another for him to find out that his own daughter is dabbling in spiritualism.

"Does it bother you?"he asks, turning to look at Calla at last. "That they do what they do?"

"Why would it?"She shrugs. "I respect it, just like I'd respect any other career."

"I just don't like the idea of anyone taking money from naive strangers who believe in all this stuff."

There are so many things wrong with that statement that Calla doesn't know where to begin.

"Dad, people come to them willingly. Some of them come back over and over again, so they're not strangers. And they're not naive. And it's not like Gammy and Ramona are con artists preying on innocent people. I mean . . . geez, Dad, look around you."She indicates Odelia's modest cottage, and Ramona's next door. "Does it look like they're rolling in dough? Wouldn't they be, if it was all a con game?"

"Good point."

"They help people. That's why they do it. Not for money."

"Okay. I guess it just bothers me that they have you believing in it, too."

"In what?"

"You know . . . hocus- pocus."

"It's not hocus-pocus, Dad. It's nothing like that!"