Grams shakes her head. “He turned up about an hour later, stinking of her expensive French perfume. He had espresso, croissants, and a sack full of excuses.” She dusts her hands a couple times, as though she’s brushing off some flour. “That was the end of my friendship with Lillian, and it’s ultimately what pushed me over the edge, with booze, and led to the accident that took Max’s life and, as you know, one of my kidneys.”
“You ran with quite a crowd, Isadora.”
“Yes, and at quite a cost, dear. Max wasn’t the love of my life, but he was wild, free, and oh so handsome.”
I’m unable to suppress a snicker. “And we all know how sad it is when handsome people die.”
She picks up a coaster from the coffee table and hurls it teasingly in my direction. “Mitzy! You’re too much.”
Her laughter eases the tension and I go for the jugular. “Grams, you owe Pyewacket an apology.”
She slips across the room, tears streaming down her face, and kneels at the edge of the bed. “Mr. Cuddlekins, can you ever forgive me? I had no right. And I’m deeply sorry for abusing your trust.”
“Re-ow.” Thank you.
“I wouldn’t have forgiven her so easily, Pye. But you’re your own man.”
He bangs his head against my shoulder and purrs affectionately.
I ruffle his ear tufts. “Now, that everything’s mended in our family, let’s dive into the Barnes disaster.”
Grams and I spend a few hours discussing the husbands, the siblings, the enemies, and the help, and the possible suspects in both murder cases.
“You better choose a new wig for tomorrow. I agree that people rarely notice the help, but I think something with bangs will seal the deal.”
Leave it to my frustrated writer of a grandmother to always expand the scene.
“What about the shoes? I definitely can’t wear my high-tops, and Liliané didn’t mention anything about shoes in that servants’ closet.”
Grams shakes her head and lifts her hands helplessly. “It’s not the kind of thing I would buy. You might have to run to the mall in Broken Rock.”
“Copy that.” I give Pyewacket’s head one last playful scratch and grab some cash off my nightstand. “Someone will publish your memoirs, Grams. You’re a fascinating woman. Twice the woman Liliané could ever be. Don’t give up, all right?”
She floats toward me, and the comfort of her non-corporeal arms encircling me is indescribable.
“I love you, Grams.”
“I love you too, dear.”
Chapter 9
The afternoon winds are fierce, and the great lake looks as dangerous as legend would have it. Huge waves crash against the shore and a handful of sailboats race across the curve of the horizon.
A quick search on my phone for shoe stores in Broken Rock produces less than a handful of results. I tap the nearest one and hope to find a quick solution to my footwear dilemma.
On my way, I pass the statuary company I visited last winter and make an impulsive left turn. I came here months ago and found a beautiful stone cardinal that I had planned to take to my grandmother’s grave. But I somehow lost my nerve and left without purchasing it. I couldn’t bear to look at her headstone and process all of those emotions. Things are different now and it feels like a healthy step.
I walk into the indoor retail area, tucked within the vast sea of stone deer, gargoyles, and angels, and retrace my steps.
My mood ring tingles on my left hand, and I see an image of the little bird. As I round the corner at the end of an aisle, the actual stone cardinal is perched on the shelf where I left him all those months ago.
Scooping him up, I foolishly stroke the little spike on his rocky head.
He’s been waiting for me. It’s a sign. And I know signs.
I hurry to the register, pay for my purchase, and lay the cardinal on the floormat on the passenger side of the Mercedes.
Finding a simple pair of white canvas tennis shoes proves easier than I had hoped. And on the way back to Pin Cherry an idea forms.
Maybe I should go to the cemetery today. I don’t really want to tell Grams I’m going, and if I drive back to the bookstore right now, I won’t be able to stop myself from thinking about the little bird and my “not so secret” plan.
Lucky for me Pin Cherry is not that large and we only have one cemetery—for humans, that is.
I pull into the funerary grounds and my heart cracks a little.
There’s a small group gathered under an awning, next to a mound of fresh earth.
Death is never easy. Whether it’s expected or it hits out of the blue and turns your life upside down, it always hurts. It’s always hard.
My eyes are already rimmed with tears and I haven’t even found her gravesite.
Parking my car, I walk to the office, but it’s locked. Either it’s closed for the day, or the sole caretaker is out amongst the stones.
Clutching the cardinal to my chest, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let my psychic senses lead me.
At first my own fears block my gifts. I suppose I’m afraid that if I reach out too freely, some of the restless souls in the graveyard will grab on.
I have to risk it.
Hopefully, if I hold an image of my grandmother in my heart, I can use some of that focus Silas is always talking about to find the one thing I actually want.
Taking a deep breath, I call to mind the loving face of Grams. My footsteps falter for a moment or two, but then my strides become more sure. I walk confidently, as though I’m following a path I’ve walked down many times before.
Striding between the rows of headstones and statuary, I turn left and then right, before climbing a small hill, and making one final right.
Unexpectedly, a feeling of unconditional love, tainted by sadness, washes over me.
Her headstone is twice the size it needs to be, in order to contain all of her names.
I kneel and lovingly touch the fresh flowers the caretaker must’ve placed in the vase below her tombstone earlier today. I set the stone cardinal on the plinth and trace my finger along the letters carved into the cold marble.
Sadness floods through me.
Swallowing with difficulty, I exhale the pain.
A sense of relief washes over me and lightens my heart.
Yes, for all practical purposes, Isadora is dead. But I’m happy to say that in my life she lives on.
Sitting carefully on the well-manicured lawn, I lean against the headstone and close my eyes. In the quiet, my mind wanders to my mother.
Maybe I can use my psychic senses to replay some memory of my mother’s funeral.
There’s certainly the horrible gut-wrenching ache that followed the message my poor babysitter was forced to deliver. But I’ve always had that memory.
My special abilities didn’t manifest until after I arrived in Pin Cherry and placed my grandmother’s mood ring on my finger.
Maybe I can’t use those powers to enhance memories of things that happened before I technically had the gifts.
But I can’t even recall a regular memory.
Everything after the babysitter telling me my mother had died in a terrible accident is a blur. The next thing I remember is sitting in the passenger seat of my caseworker’s car as he drove me to foster family number one.