"It's five o'clock. Those were the hours, right? Nine to five?"

The woman merely gives her wrist.w.a.tch a pointed glance before scribbling on the time sheet and handing it back to Laura.

"Thank you. Have a good night."She makes a beeline for the elevator.

Funny how all the companies she's worked for over the past few months have stressed the importance of a punctual arrival for their office temps but apparently don't expect the temps to make a punctual departure.

Ordinarily, Laura might have offered to stay later if they needed her.

But not tonight.

Not here.

Not after that strange phone call.

Not so strange at all. You're being paranoid.

It was just a hang- up.

n.o.body knows where you are. Least of all, her.

And even if she's somehow found out . . . she's in jail. There's nothing she can do about it.

You're safe here, Laura rea.s.sures herself as she steps out onto West Fiftieth Street and is gladly swallowed up by the rush hour pedestrian crowd.

EIGHTEEN.

Lily Dale

Thursday, October 11

6:22 p.m.

"You know, Odelia, when you said you were making something special for dinner tonight, I really wasn't sure what to expect."Dad sets down his fork and pushes his empty plate away. "But this was good."

"I'm glad you thought so. Did you like it, Calla?"

"Um . . . sure. Most people wouldn't think to mix ham, cheese, bananas, and potato chips in a ca.s.serole,"she says, hoping to deflect their attention from the fact that she's barely touched her food once again.

"Oh, I can't take the credit,"Odelia says, absently toying with her paper napkin. She, too, has barely touched her food, Calla notices.

She's been pretty quiet all night. Much more so than usual.

"What do you mean you can't take the credit?"Dad asks. "This isn't takeout, is it?"

"No, but I didn't make up the recipe. I saw it on the Food Network."

"Well, I'm sure most people who saw it on the Food Network wouldn't dare give it a try,"Dad says, "so you still get a big thumbs- up from me."

"Who am I to argue with that kind of reasoning?"

Odelia starts to get up, but Dad stops her. "I'll get the dishes. You just relax and get your poker face on. Ramona said she'll be over at eight with the cards and a couple of rolls of pennies. The stakes are higher tonight."

"That sounds fun, Jeff, but I can't. I have an appointment coming here."

"This late?"

"Oh, I do appointments at all hours. I'll be done by eight, but . . . maybe you and Ramona can play cards next door?"

"I don't know . I spend so much time over there as it is, I thought a change of scenery would be good."

Calla looks from her father to her grandmother to her father again, wondering what he's up to.

Obviously, he hasn't yet mentioned to Odelia that he's figured out the truth about her. Calla hasn't, either.

Maybe she should have, but she's had much too much on her mind-particularly after the meeting with the detectives.

She told them the whole story.

When they left, she recapped it for Odelia.

Well, most of it.

She didn't mention the baby. She was about to, but Dad showed up for dinner.

He asked about her meeting with the detectives, and she could tell her grandmother wanted her to give him the details, but she just couldn't. Not yet.

Not while she was still feeling guilty for telling the police about her mother and Darrin's secret baby.

She felt guilty bringing it up but told herself that it had happened a long time ago. Plus, what if there's some connection between that and what Sharon Logan did to Mom and Darrin?

Is there?

A little voice inside her head- maybe not her own-has been asking that question ever since the detectives left, promising they'd be in touch again soon.

"Odelia, there's something you should know . . . ."

Uh- oh. Calla's attention jerks back to her father.

"What is it, Jeff?"

"I know what kinds of appointments you do."

Odelia pauses before asking, "What kind?"

"I know you're a psychic medium."

Calla has never seen her grandmother's dyed-red eyebrows shoot quite that close to her dyed-red hairline.

"So is Ramona,"Dad adds, and leans back in his chair to wait for the reaction.

It takes a moment to get one.

"Ramona didn't tell me she told you."

"She didn't."

Odelia looks at Calla.

"I didn't tell him, Gammy. He figured it out."

"Really."She throws up her hands. "Well, Jeff, you can't blame me for not wanting to tell you. I know how Stephanie always felt about what I do, and I knew she didn't want you or Calla to know ."

"Obviously not."

"Are you . . . okay with this?"

"I guess so. As long as I don't have to-you know- witness it, or partic.i.p.ate in anything like . . ."

"Like levitating?"Gammy asks, deadpan. "Spoon bending?"

Dad laughs. "Exactly."

What he doesn't know is that she isn't kidding. During the summer season, there are workshops in Lily Dale on both those topics-and more.

No need for baptism by fire, though. Calla figures- or at least, she hopes- that by the time summer rolls around, her father will be as used to life in the Dale as she is.

"So Ramona knows that you know, Jeff?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, you might want to tell her so that she can hang her shingle again. Business is slow at this time of year as it is, and she's losing walk- in traffic."

Dad raises an eyebrow. "Walk- in traffic?"

"Right."

"So . . . what does that mean? People just come here and wander around looking for someone to . . ."

"Do a reading,"Calla supplies. "That's how it works."

"But the official season is July and August,"Odelia amends, "so you won't see crowds of visitors in the streets at this time of year, and there are no daily programs in the auditorium. In fact, most of the mediums live somewhere else the rest of the year."

"Is that so."Dad looks intrigued, absorbing the information with a lot less animosity than Calla ever imagined. "And it was like this when Stephanie lived here?"

"It's been like this since the town was established as the birthplace of modern spiritualism back in the 1880s."

"I just can't believe she never told me,"Dad murmurs, shaking his head.

"She always kept herself separate from what went on around here, Jeff. She was a lot like her father. She even looked just like him."

"That means I must look like him, too,"Calla speaks up. It's not the first time she's thought about that-but it's the first time she's dared to bring up the subject of her grandfather since Odelia told her about him the other day.

"Of course you do,"her grandmother says agreeably. "You look just like your mother."

Calla dares to voice the question that has been in the back of her mind since their conversation. "Does he know, Gammy? About Mom?"

Odelia hesitates. "I didn't tell him . . . if that's what you're asking."

Dad's eyes widen. "Are you talking about Jack? You're in contact with Jack?"

"No,"Odelia says quickly. "I'm not in contact with him. But I know where he is."

"Stephanie didn't."

"Yes, she did. I told her. Years ago."

"But she said-"Dad shakes his head. "She said a lot of things. And I'm starting to realize that there are a lot of things she didn't say- and could have."

"Some of them might have just been too painful for her."Gammy lays a hand on Dad's arm. "She didn't want anything to do with her father. He hadn't been a part of her life from the time she was a young child-probably too young to remember him."

"I always told her she should try to find him, though. Family is family."

"Yes, and blood is thicker than water. But that didn't stop my daughter from shutting me out of her life, either."

Calla is taken aback by her tone. She's never heard her grandmother speak angrily of Mom.

Now might be a good time to ask Gammy whether they'd had some kind of argument that had driven them apart. Something about dredging the lake.