In the Blink of an Eye (16 page)

Miranda nudges Kent, who nods and says in a low voice, “Come on, before they go into the house.”

“Excuse me,” Miranda calls, walking swiftly toward the attractive dark-haired couple. They look up, startled.

“Can we talk to you about your house for a moment?” Kent asks, boldly crossing onto the overgrown lawn.

Miranda follows, noticing that the woman seems uncertain and looks at the man, waiting for him to respond.

“What about the house?” the man asks, folding his arms across his chest with an expectant stare.

He's beautiful, Miranda thinks, fixated on his perfect features.
Too beautiful. Not my type . . . and apparently, I'm not his.

She drags her attention to the brunette at his side, finding her petite and utterly perky-looking. Kind of like that actress Kent likes so much—Sandra Bullock. A far cry from sturdy Miranda, with her wiry red hair and freckles and extra padding at the hips and thighs.

“We're scientific researchers in the field of paranormal studies,” Kent says with practiced efficiency, after introducing both himself and Miranda. “We're conducting an investigation here in Lily Dale and we'd like access to your property later tonight.”

The man is scowling even before Kent is finished speaking, which is when he promptly shakes his head. “I have a young child. I can't have people in the house late at night when she's trying to sleep.”

“We wouldn't need to come inside,” Miranda speaks up, addressing the woman, who doesn't seem to share her counterpart's inhospitable attitude. “We have a release form that explains the investigation process—show them, Kent.”

Kent begins reaching into his bag as the man says, “Don't bother. I'm not interested in knowing more.”

Miranda persists gently, “But we'd just like to take a look around the yard—maybe take some pictures and use some of our equipment to measure—”

“No,” the man cuts in flatly, not even bothering to consult his wife. “Absolutely not.”

Miranda bristles, reminded of her ex-husband. Like this brusque stranger, Michael seemed to think he was the sole spokesperson of the family.

“You wouldn't even have to know we're here,” Miranda says, turning to the woman, sensing that she's far more receptive to their request. “We do this sort of thing all the time and we're always careful not to disturb anything—or anyone.”

“I'm sure you are,” the woman says with a faint smile. “But it's not up to me.”

“Obviously not.” Kent's tone is huffy. “Come on, Miranda.”

“If you change your mind, we're staying at the hotel right down the street,” Miranda calls over her shoulder.

She hears the man mutter, “Trust me, I won't change my mind.”

“What an asshole,” Kent says. “I should have known somebody who looks like that would be a close-minded asshole.”

“Now that's open-minded.” Miranda shakes her head at him. “You should have let me do the talking right from the start. You came on too strong. You know we have better luck when we take a more subtle approach, Kent.”

“This is Lily Dale,” he says stubbornly. “I figured people would be more receptive here.”

“So did I.” Miranda looks back over her shoulder.

The spot where the couple was standing, beneath the branches of the lilac tree, is now vacant.

Or so it appears.

There's something there, Miranda thinks, shaking her head. She's almost certain of it.

There's something there, and without the owner's permission, they're not going to be able to check it out.

“Let's try again tomorrow,” she tells Kent.

“Are you kidding? He's a lost cause. There are plenty of other active spots around here, Miranda.”

“I'm sure there are, but—”

“Okay, here we go,” Kent says with an exaggerated sigh. “Another Miranda obsession in the making.”

“I am not obsessed.”

“You are always obsessed. You are an obsessive personality. You told me yourself that your therapist helped you figure that out.”

That's true. Miranda makes a mental note never again to rehash her therapy sessions with Kent

“Forget about the damn shrub, Miranda.”

She sighs. “I'll try, Kent.”

But it's not going to be easy.

She casts a last longing look over her shoulder.

Chapter Seven

“
T
HANK YOU,
J
ULIA,”
Dulcie says shyly from the backseat of the car as Paine starts the engine.

“Your dad's the one who bought everything,” Julia points out, turning to see Dulcie happily clutching two big plastic shopping bags bursting with new clothing.

“Thanks, Daddy,” Dulcie says dutifully. “And you too, Julia. Because you're the one who helped me pick the stuff out.”

“You did a good job,” Paine says, glancing into the rearview mirror as he backs out of the parking spot in front of T.J. Maxx. “I never know what to buy for her.”

“She's going to look adorable in those blue and white capri pants,” Julia says. “Don't forget to wear the sandals we bought at Wal-Mart with them, and the blue top, too, Dulcie. It matches your eyes perfectly.”

“I won't forget. But if I do, you can remind me, Julia.”

Julia says nothing to that. Ever since they left Lily Dale a few hours ago to do some shopping here in Dunkirk and Fredonia, she's been trying to think of a way to back out of her promise to Paine. It isn't that she doesn't want to spend time with Dulcie, because she does—more than ever. Clearly, the child craves female affection.

But ever since those paranormal researchers waylaid Julia and Paine in the yard, he's been in a brooding, contemplative mood. Granted, he's been perfectly polite to Julia, and grateful for her input in the matter of Dulcie's wardrobe. But she can't help remembering his bitter cynicism last night, his contempt for Lily Dale and everyone in it.

The more Julia considers his earlier request for help with Dulcie, the more certain she is that she has enough headaches right now without complicating her life further. She would be better off steering clear of him until he and Dulcie leave. Hopefully, that will be soon—although Paine did spend quite a bit of time and money in the hardware department over at Wal-Mart earlier.

He bought a shower head, and some tools, and everything he'll need to repair the old screens. He even bought some furniture stripper so that Julia can refinish the old dresser in Iris's basement. He picked it up while she was in the shoe department with Dulcie, helping the little girl find sandals and sneakers.

Julia's thoughts keep drifting back to the expression that crossed Paine's face when he wheeled his full cart over to where they were, and found out Dulcie's old shoes were a full size too small.

He looked momentarily devastated—as though he had made some awful, irrevocable error.

Julia found herself wanting to pull him aside and tell him not to beat himself up over it—that he's clearly trying to be a good father. That he
is
a good father, in the ways that really count.

So Dulcie outgrew her shoes. So her part isn't even and her pigtails are lopsided and her fingernails need to be trimmed. So what?

Julia looks out the window. From here, she can glimpse the sign for the movieplex where she and Andy are going to see that Julia Roberts film tonight. Now she wishes she didn't say yes when he suggested it last night over dinner. She tells herself that's because she'd rather see the movie some other time—like on video, in the comfort of her own living room, instead of crammed into an uncomfortable seat in a crummy, no-frills cinema.

But she realizes that's not the only reason she doesn't want to go tonight.

It's Andy.

The voice is familiar, Julia realizes, tuning into the energy that sweeps over her. She can feel her grandmother with her. Telling her that she doesn't want to see Andy.

And suddenly, it isn't clear whether the reluctance is coming from within Julia herself, or fed to her by Grandma's energy.

This wouldn't be the first time Grandma has barged into her thoughts to voice an opinion. Once, when Julia was trying on sweaters down at the mall in Jamestown, she clearly felt Grandma pushing her to get the red one, when blue is more in keeping with Julia's understated style.

Grandma always went for bright colors. That incident amused Julia.

This one doesn't.

Does Grandma have something against Andy?

“No, Daddy,” Dulcie calls out abruptly from the backseat as Paine stops at the intersection at the edge of the parking lot and turns the steering wheel back toward Route 60.

“No, what?” he asks, surprised.

Julia glances into the backseat and sees that Dulcie is shaking her head adamantly. “Don't turn back toward Lily Dale. There's a bookstore the other way. Remember?”

“The Book Nook,” Julia says, marveling at the little girl's ability to perceive not just the slight movement of the wheel, but the direction they should be facing. She tells Paine, “I told her earlier that it's in a shopping plaza just down the road in the opposite direction.”

“It's getting late, Dulcie,” Paine says, looking at the digital clock on the dashboard. It's almost five. They've been shopping for several hours now. “I'm sure we'll find your book at home if we look again.”

“No.” Dulcie shakes her head stubbornly. “It's gone.”

“It can't be gone.”

“Well, it is.”

Julia glances from father to daughter, noting the similarity in their suddenly tense posture and willfully set chins. She thought Dulcie was the image of Kristin, but for the first time she vividly sees Paine in her, too.

“Dulcie, that's impossible,” Paine says. “The book can't be gone.”

“It is. It's not in the house.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“No, it isn't. I know it's gone because—”

She breaks off.

Paine glances into the rearview mirror at his daughter's face. Julia turns her head to see Dulcie's arms folded resolutely, as they were before. But this time, her expression isn't just obstinate. Her blue eyes are troubled.

“How do you know it's gone, Dulcie?” Julia asks softly.

“I just do.” Dulcie turns away, toward the window.

Paine says nothing. But he spins the steering wheel to the right, pulling out of the parking lot toward the shopping plaza.

Two minutes later, the three of them are walking into the cozy Book Nook. As before, Paine escorts Dulcie, his hand on her arm. He told Julia earlier that she's been taught to use a cane, but doesn't like to, especially in public. Apparently, there are cruel kids back home who teased her about it at some point.

Julia's heart aches at the thought of what this sweet child has been through. From her disability to the wrenching loss of her mother—and now Iris's death. It isn't fair.

I can't abandon her
, Julia thinks. No, she's going to keep her word to Paine. She's going to be there for Dulcie for as long as she's in Lily Dale.

They stop just inside the front door, beside a display marked
LOCAL INTEREST
. Paine looks at Julia expectantly. “Do you want to . . . ?”

“The children's books are back this way,” Julia says, touching Dulcie's arm. “Come on, sweetie. I'll bring you.”

“I'm going to check the home-improvement section,” Paine tells them, releasing his grasp on his daughter. “I'll meet you by the register in a few minutes.”

Julia leads Dulcie to a wide aisle along one end of the store, where the shelves are crammed with children's books. It doesn't take long for them to find a new copy of
Where the Wild Things Are.
Julia selects several other books that she loved as a child.

The two of them sit cross-legged on the carpeted floor, and Julia reads them to Dulcie, remembering to provide plenty of description for each illustration.

“I'm going to buy these for you, Dulcie,” she says when she's finished the third book.

“You will? That would be great, Julia! Will you come over and read them to me again?”

“Sure.”

“When?”

Julia hesitates. “Oh, I'll be around, Dulcie. I'll pop in.”

“Maybe we can go down to the beach again, too,” Dulcie suggests, clutching the familiar Maurice Sendak book against her chest. “And Daddy says there's a playground at Lily Dale. Will you take me there?”

“Sure,” Julia says again, this time with a smile.

“Maybe I'll come, too.”

Julia turns to see Paine behind them. She realizes he must have been there for a while, watching them.

The tight expression he's worn all afternoon has eased a bit, and when he smiles at her, she senses that he's more relaxed now.

“Are you ready to hit the road, ladies?” he asks, bending to help Dulcie to her feet.

“All set.” Julia spies several books in his hand. “Looks like you found some reading material yourself.”

He nods, but she notices that he shifts the volumes so that the spines are turned down.

It isn't until the cashier is bagging his purchase that Julia glimpses the titles. One book is on furniture restoration. The other is a history of spiritualism.

T
HE PHONE RINGS
inside just as Pilar finishes coiling the garden hose around its metal holder beneath the open kitchen window. She hurries in to answer it, leaving behind the dripping patch of garden and the lengthening rays of sunlight reaching over the back fence. It might be Christina wanting to talk about next week. Pilar is flying to New York in a few days to meet her daughter and son-in-law for their cruise, which leaves from Manhattan and will take them down the coast and into the Caribbean.

But when she picks up the phone, it isn't Christina's voice on the other end.

“Myra!”

“Did I catch you at a bad time, Pilar? You sound breathless.”

“I was outside in the garden and I hurried to catch the phone.” Pilar runs water at the sink, scrubbing the soil from her hands and beneath her fingernails.

“Speaking of gardens, have you seen Iris's yard? Maybe you can go next door in your spare time and weed out the beds. They're an eyesore.”

“I don't think her son-in-law would appreciate my trespassing like that, Myra.”

“Oh, he isn't her son-in-law, Pilar. Didn't you know Kristin never married him? They had the little girl out of wedlock.”

“Did they really?” Pilar murmurs as though it's news to her. She shakes her head as she dries her hands and pumps lavender-scented hand lotion into her palm. She begins rubbing it into both hands with a circular motion, noticing that her bare arms have turned a deeper shade of mocha in the past few hours. Thanks to her Latin blood, her skin rarely bums, but that doesn't mean she's any less likely to get more wrinkles—or melanoma. She should really have remembered to put on sunscreen. And she'll need plenty for the cruise. She makes a mental note to pick up more in town before she leaves for New York.

“Anyway, Pilar,” Myra is saying, “the reason I'm calling is to tell you that I've been asking around about Katherine Biddle, and nobody knows how to get in touch with her. I hear that she's somewhere in the New York City area, but nobody knows exactly where. Maybe you should talk to Rupert again about it.”

“I hate to do that. I don't want to hurt him again by implying anything. Maybe I should just drop it.”

“I don't think you should, Pilar. I was walking by the Biddles' earlier and I saw a van there. They were carrying oxygen equipment into the house. Nan doesn't have much longer, Pilar. Don't you think her daughter should be at her bedside when she passes?”

“That's not up to me or you to decide, Myra.”

“Well, maybe I'll have a word with Rupert if I see him tomorrow at the worship service. Or at the healing service at noon. He and Nan were going regularly, but I haven't seen them lately.”

Nan's beyond healing,
Pilar thinks sadly, absently pumping another dollop of pale purple lotion into her already moist hands.

She realizes what she's done and wipes it off on a paper towel, about to hang up the phone when Myra says, “I just thought of one more thing you might want to try, Pilar.”

“What's that?”

“Katherine's old flame—the troublemaker I told you about earlier?”

“Yes?”

“He's a farmer. Somebody mentioned that he still lives around here—I think over in Sinclairville. Maybe he knows how to reach Katherine.”

“I doubt it,” Pilar says. “If Rupert and Nan went to all that trouble, sending her to boarding school to get her away from him, they probably lost touch.”

“Probably. He married somebody else years ago. But you never know.”

“No,” Pilar muses, “you never do. You wouldn't happen to know his name, would you, Myra?”

“
C
AN
I
BRING
you some tea, Nan?” Rupert asks, poking his head into the shadowy back bedroom and finding his wife awake.

She shakes her head, her eyes meeting his. They are huge in her sunken face, and full of fear. He finds it hard not to stare at the clear plastic tubes disappearing into her nostrils, and the oxygen equipment newly ensconced beside the bed. It surprised him, how quickly the medical van arrived, and how quickly they set things up and then left again.

Nan seems to be resting better now. She's been sleeping for the past hour, more peacefully than she has recently, though her breathing is still noisy and labored. Rupert realizes he was hoping the oxygen would work miracles. It hasn't.

“Are you sure? I bought more of that blackberry tea you used to like—the one they haven't had over at Shur-Fine lately.”

“No . . . thanks . . .”

Rupert notices that the sun has set beyond the window. He goes over and reaches for the cord to lower the blinds, gazing out over the lake, where a shimmering path of waning pink sunlight glistens on the water.

A lump rises in his throat.

How many sunsets over the lake has he shared with Nan?