Something Buried, Something Blue

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  “What is a wedding, really, but a spiritual ceremony and a celebration? We do those things every day here in the Dale.” Odelia has a way of making the most illogical things seem logical.

  “Weddings are much more than that. You need wedding planners and caterers and—”

  “What is a wedding planner or caterer, really, but someone who—”

  “Someone who knows what she’s doing! Come on, Odelia. This is crazy.”

  “Crazy like a fox, sister,” Odelia says. Or perhaps she says, “Crazy like a Fox sister.” Not that either comment would make any more sense than hosting a wedding at the guesthouse. But the Fox sisters were largely responsible for launching the Spiritualist movement back in 1847. As far as Bella can tell, that practically makes them patron saints of the Dale. There’s a commemorative plaque and memorial garden on the site where their cottage once stood.

  The conversation zooms forward, as Odelia conversations tend to do. “Do you want to stay in Lily Dale?”

  “Of course I do. Which is why I’m staying in Lily Dale.”

  “At the mercy of Grant Everard?” He, of course, is Valley View’s new owner, having inherited the guesthouse in June from his late Aunt Leona.

  “What does he have to do with—”

  “You need this wedding to happen here as much as the bride does, Bella. Maybe more. Valley View is dead at that time of year, and—”

  It’s Bella’s turn to interrupt with a sly, “I thought there was no such thing as dead.”

  Odelia rewards her with a smirk. “Listen, why would a high-powered, high-tech businessman with homes all over the world hang onto one more? He’s not about to give up globe-trotting and making gazillion-dollar deals to become an innkeeper and kitten wrangler in Lily Dale.”

  “I did. Well, minus the gazillion-dollar deals and globe-trotting. But Grant is the one who hired me to stay here over the winter, remember? It’s not as if I’m squatting on his property.”

  “You might as well be. As soon as he sorts out the estate, he’s going to slap on a ‘For Sale’ sign, and you and Max will be out on the street.”

  That’s exactly what their landlord did back home in the New York suburbs. Bella tells herself Grant is different. “He might decide not to sell it.”

  “Why wouldn’t he? Right now, it has no value to him.”

  “It has sentimental value. Leona was his only family, and the house is still filled with her belongings.”

  “Do you think Grant cares about trinkets and tchotchkes and stacks of paperback novels? Trust me, all that matters to a businessman like him is the bottom line.”

  “Well, Valley View is a business.”

  “A tiny one that’s only busy two months out of the year and that has been losing money for years.”

  “That’s true.” She sighs. “I wish I could just buy it myself.”

  “You couldn’t even if you wanted to. Real estate purchases in the Dale are restricted to members of the Spiritualist Assembly.”

  “That’s right. Well, at least it won’t be easy for him to find a buyer.”

  “And if someone makes an offer tomorrow, he’d need a hell of a good reason not to take it. You and Max can only stay here if Grant hangs onto the house. Face it, Bella. You’re in limbo.”

  “Believe me, Odelia. That is not news to me.”

  Back in June, having recently lost her husband, her teaching job, and the roof over their heads, she was en route with Max to Chicago, her late husband’s hometown. She had planned to move in with her mother-in-law, Millicent, whom Bella privately calls Maleficent.

  Though hardly warm and fuzzy, Millicent loves Max, just as she loved her son Sam. And she’s the only family they have in the world.

  But the woman is impossible. Living with her would have been . . .

  Impossible.

  Fate intervened in the form of a pregnant mackerel tabby sitting directly in their path before they even reached the state line. They detoured to Lily Dale to find Leona Gatto, who owned both the footloose feline and Valley View Guesthouse.

  Unfortunately, Leona had died suddenly—or crossed over, as Odelia would say. In truth, she’d been murdered, though Bella didn’t suspect that until after she’d settled in to help out with the guesthouse and Chance the Cat’s eight kittens. She had never dreamed that the killer was much too close for comfort, or that in this community of clairvoyants, she herself would be the one to solve the case. Nor could she have predicted that come September, she and Max would still be here, much less that their new Lily Dale friends would feel more like family than . . . well, Maleficent.

  All summer, she’d been planning to continue on to Chicago in the fall. All summer, Max had been begging to stay in Lily Dale. And all summer, even Bella had been torn.

  Last week, as she was privately lamenting the impending departure to Chicago, Grant offered her a handsome salary to stay on in the guesthouse through the off-season. The money might have been a drop in the bucket for a gazillionaire, but it was far more than she had ever made as a middle school teacher.

  “I still haven’t had a moment to figure out what I’m going to do with Valley View, and it can’t just sit empty over the winter,” he said on the phone.

  “But there won’t be any guests, and it sounds like everyone else in town leaves after the season,” she felt obligated to remind him, though her heart was already pounding with jittery anticipation.

  “Aunt Leona always stayed year-round. So does Odelia, and there are plenty of others. Plus, we still have a houseful of kittens,” he reminded her. We—as if he and Bella are a team.

  Ah, the power of a well-placed pronoun.

  Still, she hedged. “Doctor Bailey”—the local vet, whose first name is Drew—“told me the kittens will be ready for adoption soon, and everyone who meets them wants to keep one. I’m sure they’ll all find homes.”

  “But they aren’t ready yet, and what about Chance? She lives at the guesthouse. She and her babies need you, Bella. I need you.”

  Even over the phone, she wasn’t immune to his charisma.

  In person, it’s downright dangerous. He has a way of making people—well, certainly Bella—change their minds about even the most inconsequential things. Like going out to dinner when they planned to stay home. Or being attracted to dark, good looks when they have no intention of getting romantically involved with anyone ever again. Maybe that was why she was trying so hard to find a good reason to turn down Grant’s offer. Everything about it felt precarious.

  Though repelled by the thought of anyone taking her place with the little feline family, she managed to say that she was sure he could hire someone to take care of the kitties and the guesthouse.

  “I just did. You.”

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  “You haven’t said no.”

  “I might.”

  “But you won’t.”

  She didn’t.

  Forget her own attachment to Lily Dale, the people, the house, the pets. How could she uproot Max again so soon? By spring, she might feel differently, but for now, they’re staying.

  At the mercy of Grant Everard.

  Odelia steeples her hands beneath her double chin and levels a look at Bella. “If you can convince Grant that the guesthouse might be profitable year-round, there’s no reason for him to get rid of it. All you need to do is pull off this wedding.”

  Ah, the power of an ill-placed pronoun, Bella thinks wryly. “All I need to do? What happened to we?”

  “I mean we. But you’re the one whose future is hanging in the balance. It’s a perfect plan.”

  A perfect plan that hinges on the impending nuptials of a headstrong bride named Johnny?

  “Why Lily Dale, Odelia? For the bride and groom, I mean.”

  “This is halfway between Pittsburgh, where Johnny lives, and Toronto, where her fiancé, Parker, lives.”

  “There must be other places around here that are available even last minute. Maybe not on that particular
Saturday, and maybe not a country inn, but restaurants and banquet halls can probably—”

  “Johnny has her heart set on that Saturday and on a country inn. And believe me when I tell you that once she makes up her mind, she doesn’t change it.”

  “She sounds a little bit spoiled.”

  “Oh, she is. But Calla loves her anyway, and any friend of Calla’s is a friend of mine. And any friend of mine is a friend of yours. So is it settled?”

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  “Why are you trying so hard to resist the obvious solution to your problem?”

  “Because . . . I don’t know. I guess it’s what I do.”

  Odelia reaches out and pats her arm. “You’ve lost so much that you can’t bear the thought of losing anything more. You’re trying to make yourself immune to the pain by not taking risks. But that approach is only going to guarantee more loss. Your son is counting on you.”

  She’s right. Bella never thought she’d find a home that would even come close to the one they’d lost. If she doesn’t want Grant to sell Valley View out from under her, she’s got to show him that it can earn its keep, and so can she.

  “I know I’m bossy,” Odelia says gently, “but I really do have your best interests in mind here, Bella.”

  “I know you do.”

  From the moment she beckoned Bella and Max onto her porch during a June thunderstorm, Odelia’s been more of a mother than Bella’s own mom, whom she’d lost as an infant. More, too, of a mother and grandmother than Millicent ever cared to be.

  To be fair, Sam’s mom did sound surprisingly disappointed when Bella finally called last night to tell her they weren’t coming to Chicago after all. Funny, she’d expected her mother-in-law to be relieved. Millicent is one of those people who likes things to be just so. And Bella is one of those people who, no matter how hard she tries, can never seem to pull off perfection.

  No wonder she and Odelia have hit it off so well. Warm, welcoming, and more than slightly wacky, the new next-door neighbor has filled a void in Bella and Max’s lives. In one too-fleeting summer, she’s become their family, just as this ramshackle house and this strange little town have become their home.

  I can’t lose it just yet. Or maybe ever.

  She sighs. “Tell me about this wedding I’m—we’re—hosting.”

  Odelia grins broadly and leans back in her chair. “They just got engaged, and they’ve set a date for the second Saturday in October. Johnny has always wanted to get married at a charming country inn, but of course everything in the area is long booked.”

  “Don’t most people confirm a spot to have the wedding before they consider the date set?”

  “Johnny likes to do things her way.”

  “She sounds like a piece of work.”

  “She’s Calla’s friend.”

  Calla is in her late twenties and came to live with Odelia as a teenager after losing her mother, Odelia’s daughter. Much to her grandmother’s pride, she recently published her first book and has spent the summer at a writer’s retreat working on a second one. Bella has yet to meet her, but she sounds lovely.

  Unlike this soon-to-be bride named Johnny.

  “Will Calla be back for the wedding?” Bella asks.

  “Of course. She called this morning to tell me that Johnny has agreed to have it here.”

  Bella clears her throat. “I thought it was Johnny’s idea?”

  “Oh, it was, it was.”

  Sure it was. “Is she hiring a wedding planner and caterer?”

  “Just us.”

  “You and Johnny and Calla?”

  “Us.” She wags her index finger back and forth in the air between them. “You and me.”

  “I really don’t think this is a good idea,” she tells Odelia. “I have no idea where to even begin planning a wedding, and I’m not—”

  “It’s simple. You got married. I got married. We’ll figure it out. We just need to take care of the food, the cake, the flowers, the ceremony, and the photographer. Calla will help us. The bride will do the rest.”

  “The rest, meaning . . . rest up for the big day?”

  “So you’ve met Johnny after all.” Odelia’s smile has thinned considerably.

  Bella sighs.

  “I’ll admit this is going to keep you busy, Bella, but things would have been a little too boring around here now that the season has ended.”

  Boring is dangerous. When Bella has too much time on her hands, she thinks about Sam, the life they had, and what might have been if only . . .

  If only is dangerous.

  Thinking is dangerous.

  “Calla says Johnny will pay you very well, and believe me, she can afford to,” Odelia tells her. “She comes from a wealthy Main Line family.”

  “Why aren’t they getting married in Philadelphia, and why isn’t her family handling the arrangements?”

  “Oh, they’re estranged.”

  Terrific. “What about the groom’s family?”

  “From what I hear, they’re out of the picture, too.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It depends on how you look at it. The guest list will be nice and small. And no family means there’s no meddling mother of the bride.”

  “Or groom.” Bella nods, thinking again of Millicent. “When should we get started?”

  Odelia looks at her watch. “The bride and groom will be here in about twenty minutes.”

  “What? They’re coming here? Today?”

  “Why don’t you go freshen up while I put on a pot of tea?”

  I need to hang out a shingle, Bella thinks as she scurries toward the house.

  Only it would have to be a billboard.

  Bella Jordan, Mom, Innkeeper,

  Roundabout Resident of the World’s Largest

  Spiritualist Community . . . and Wedding Planner

  Chapter Two

  Lily Dale is a far cry from New York City, where Bella was born and raised, and even from Bedford, the relatively sleepy suburban town where she lived from newlywed to widowhood. She’d still be living there if her landlord hadn’t sold the building and kicked out the tenants.

  She’s had a couple of months to adjust to living in a place where things move more slowly than her last-period chemistry class. Thus it’s ironic that the painstaking pace doesn’t apply to the destination wedding.

  One moment, she was out in the yard gaping at Odelia; the next, she was rushing up the stairs to make herself presentable for the bridal couple.

  As always, she’d started the morning freshly showered, her brown hair falling in loose waves down her back. She’d been wearing white wedge sandals, a white denim skirt that flattered her long, sun-browned legs, and a crisp sleeveless blouse in the same cobalt shade as her eyes.

  Bella blue, Sam called the shade.

  That was his favorite nickname for her, in fact: Bella Blue. He was always making silly little rhymes out of it: “Where are you, Bella Blue?” or “I love you, Bella Blue.”

  Sometimes, in quiet moments here in Lily Dale, she can almost hear his voice.

  But almost doesn’t mean she’s really hearing it. He isn’t here with her, no matter what Odelia and the others would have her believe.

  Yes, there were times when she heard things—wind chimes, voices—that she shouldn’t have heard. There was even a moment, back in July, when she found a necklace and allowed herself to believe that it was a heaven-sent gift from Sam, but . . .

  She can’t go around thinking for one instant that he’s hanging around here. Then she’ll start expecting to find him at every turn, looking back instead of forward.

  That would be dangerous for a widow.

  No. No way. Every minute, every day, you just have to focus on what lies ahead. You have to move on.

  Bella thought it would get easier with time, that every day would be better, brighter than the one before. Some of them are. But every so often, she finds herself engulfed by a fireball of anger, sorro
w, and disbelief—usually on days when she doesn’t have enough to do.

  Today wasn’t one of them.

  After her final guests checked out, she snapped a rubber band around her hair and changed into ratty old shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Then she spent hours scrubbing bathrooms and bedrooms, emerging limp, sweaty, and smudged.

  Another quick shower leaves her clean, if bedraggled and chilled. A promisingly steamy start led to a shivery finish, courtesy of the fickle, old hot water heater. Sometimes, it goes for weeks without acting up, but once in a while, it goes cold without warning.

  Luckily, it’s only happened to one guest, and he was good-natured about it. She’s since posted warning placards in all the bathrooms. The icy flash usually only lasts a minute or so, if you have time to wait it out. Unfortunately, she doesn’t. Wrapped in a towel, she retreats to the Rose Room.

  The large bedroom at the head of the stairs previously belonged to Leona Gatto, and it’s been Bella’s private haven from the first night she arrived here. Filled with ornate, antique furniture and decorated with old-fashioned floral wallpaper, upholstery, bedding, and area rug, the room is decidedly feminine. Towering crown moldings and several tall windows make it seem more spacious than it is.

  After catching a glimpse of her disheveled self in the bureau mirror, Bella checks the bedside clock. If the bride and groom are on time, then they’re probably already downstairs with Odelia, who, in typically unruffled fashion, told Bella to take her time getting ready and promised to keep an eye on the boys.

  The towel comes undone and drops to the carpet as she zips across the room to grab a sundress from the closet.

  Nine pairs of eyes, all of them green, are fixated on her.

  “Nothing you haven’t seen a hundred times before, right everyone?” she asks Chance and her kitten octet. They’re watching from their nest, a wide drawer Bella lined with a spare quilt when the litter got too large for the crate they’d been using as newborns.

  Now just over two months old, seven of the kittens—whom Max named after the days of the week—are plump and sturdy, fully weaned, perpetually underfoot, and into everything.