Nine Lives

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  “I can’t reach that high.”

  “I thought you climbed on a chair.”

  “You said never to do that.”

  That doesn’t necessarily mean he wouldn’t. But something tells her that he didn’t.

  Who did?

  * * *

  “Boys! Slow down!” Bella calls, her stubbed pinky throbbing as she chases after Max and Jiffy, who roll along the bumpy road on a pair of scooters.

  No surprise that the sleeker one is in the lead. It’s red and belongs to Jiffy. Barefoot, he rides along with carefree abandon—as carefree as he can be, anyway, after grudgingly putting on the helmet Bella made him wear.

  That helmet, like the one on Max’s head, was found in the garage of the Ardens’ rental house. So was the scooter Max is riding. It’s a decidedly older model with faded blue paint, but he was thrilled when Jiffy brought it to the door at lunchtime and asked if he wanted to ride it.

  “Can I, Mom?”

  “Not outside by yourself.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going with him.”

  “I mean an adult,” she told Jiffy. “I’ll come, too.”

  “Is that okay?” Max asked Jiffy, who shrugged.

  “You can’t ride a scooter without a helmet,” she added.

  Jiffy shook his gingery head, his hair as badly in need of a haircut as Max’s. “I don’t think it’s against the law.”

  “It’s against mine. We’ll have to pick one up at the store later on.”

  From the ever-resourceful—or just increasingly impatient—Jiffy: “I think there are some helmets in my garage. Odelia said some kids used to live there a long time ago. So let’s go get one.”

  They did just that—although they got two helmets. Jiffy was slightly less accommodating when he discovered that Bella’s law applies to him, too. But one of his finest qualities is that he’s resilient.

  That must come in handy in a place like this, with a life—and a mom—like his. When Bella suggested that Jiffy tell her they were off to ride scooters, he explained that she was behind closed doors with a client.

  “I’m not s’posed to disturb her unless I’m bleeding,” he said cheerfully.

  That comment reminded Bella of the morning’s stressful events, but she was determined to put it all aside for a little while. Steve and Eleanor had yet to reemerge from behind their closed bedroom door when she left. Nor, for that matter, had Grant.

  She was glad for an excuse to get out of the house with Max. It was starting to feel claustrophobic as the day wore on. She’d gone over to Odelia’s earlier, planning to ask to borrow her car to make a quick supermarket trip, but a sign was hanging on the door:

  Do Not Disturb. Reading in Session.

  It was just as well. She was afraid she might slip and mention what had happened to Steve or that she’d seen Luther this morning. She isn’t sure that it’s a good idea to tell even Odelia about that—if she doesn’t already know.

  The cold shower and coffee overload might not have banished her exhaustion, but this fresh air and exercise have done her a world of good.

  In an effort to avoid the pedestrians and traffic streaming toward the auditorium for the much-anticipated afternoon speaker, she’d initially guided the boys and their scooters to a playground at the end of Fourth Street. They played for a while on the swings and slide and then hunted for signs of buried treasure in an adjacent field bordered by woodland.

  Watching them—kids acting like kids—she almost managed to forget about all the drama back at the house. But now it’s time to head back, with only another twenty minutes to go until the next kitten feeding. At least the crowd has thinned considerably along these sun-dappled streets—many of which are little more than narrow pathways between abbreviated rows of cottages.

  She catches up with the boys at the corner as they’re studying a sign outside a small café. It shows a double-scoop waffle cone emblazoned with the words “Perry’s Ice Cream.”

  “Can we get some, Mom?” Max asks.

  “I don’t know if I even have money with me.”

  “Don’t worry, I have some.” Jiffy fishes in the pocket of his shorts and comes up with a dime and a couple of pennies.

  Bella feels around in her own pockets. Along with her cell phone and key ring, she finds evidence of her chaotic morning: Luther’s business card, the crumpled bloody paper towel from her cut finger, and the socks she didn’t need after all. She also comes up with a couple of dollars and some loose change, which Jiffy, who seems to be a regular at the café, assures her is enough to buy two ice cream cones.

  One nice thing about Lily Dale is that he’s probably right. After living in one of the costliest areas in the country, Bella is noticing that she’d be able to afford a much nicer lifestyle here than she ever could back in Bedford. If she had a job, that is. And if she could possibly live here.

  One nice thing . . .

  There are other nice things, she notices as she stands around beside the parked scooters, holding the two helmets and waiting for the boys to emerge with their ice cream.

  Like the weather—today, anyway—and the easy, indoor-outdoor lifestyle. Open windows, screen doors. When it’s this warm back in the New York City suburbs, you seal off the house and turn on the air conditioning. Here, nobody seems to bother with it, thanks to a perpetual breeze off the lake.

  Okay, maybe not perpetual.

  It wasn’t blowing the other day in the yard when you heard the wind chimes clanging.

  Bathed in golden light, the rows of Victorian cottages that seemed so foreboding in the rainy fog the other night now look like a perky storybook village. Everywhere she looks, there are vivid splashes of color, from the bright exterior paint palettes to the lush foliage and flamboyant blooms that fill garden beds and borders, pots, planters, and window boxes.

  Her gaze lands on the red geraniums that fill the scalloped white window boxes of a cozy pink cottage.

  Pandora Feeney’s place?

  As if summoned by the mere thought of her name, the woman emerges from the front door in that very instant. As before, a straw sunhat sits atop her head, and a flowing floral dress does little to enhance her bony frame. She has a canvas tote bag over her shoulder and is holding a large key ring similar to the one in Bella’s pocket.

  As she watches Pandora insert one of the keys to lock her front door, Bella can’t help but wonder about the others. Pandora had mentioned she still has a key to the front door of the guesthouse. What if she’d kept all the rest as well?

  She turns away from the house and looks squarely at Bella, as if she’d had a preternatural awareness of her presence.

  Maybe that isn’t the case. Or maybe Pandora simply spotted her from inside.

  She beckons to Bella, who reluctantly walks over.

  Pandora greets her with an air kiss. “How delightful that you’ve accepted my invitation to come ’round for tea!”

  “Actually, I’m just waiting for my son.” She holds up the pair of helmets. “He’s in the café getting ice cream with his friend.”

  “Jiffy Arden.”

  Bella nods, though it was hardly a question. No secrets in Lily Dale.

  “I do wish you’d stay for a short visit.”

  “Thanks, but I really can’t right now.” She glances at her watch.

  “Keeping a tight schedule, are we?”

  She finds herself irritated that Pandora pronounces the word with a sh sound instead of a sk, even though she knows that’s the British way.

  It’s the attitude, not the accent. It’s as if she’s questioning that Bella might actually have something better to do than sit around sipping tea in the little pink house.

  “I’m sorry,” she says tautly, “but it’s been a crazy day.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Anyway, you seem to be on your way out,” she tells Pandora. “Are you going to the speaking event at the auditorium? Everyone else seems to be.”

  “I was just about to stroll
over, yes. But now I’ve thought better of it. It’s bad form to show up late for these things. People do talk around here.”

  Oh, really? People other than Pandora herself?

  “You should go,” Bella tells her, but she’s shaking her head, her mind made up.

  “I rather don’t feel like it. My timing is simply off today. I’m afraid I was so knackered this morning that I didn’t get up until noon.”

  Why, Bella wonders, would she bother to share that bit of information? Why mention where she was all morning unless she’s attempting to subtly let Bella know where she was not?

  As in driving down Bachellor Hill Road in the car that’s parked in her driveway.

  She dismisses the notion as farfetched the moment it enters her mind.

  Pandora is simply the kind of conversationalist who overshares everything. She chats on about having eaten eggs for lunch and the delightful weather and invites Bella to admire her geraniums and various delights in her yard. An avid gardener, she insists on identifying flowers by their botanical names, presuming that Bella will appreciate them because she’s a science teacher.

  Did I tell her that? she wonders. Or did she find out on her own?

  Why would she care?

  For that matter, why is Bella bothered by it? She’s met plenty of people like Pandora, who have nothing better to do than concern themselves with other people’s lives. Irksome but harmless.

  As Pandora chatters on, she casually twirls one of her braids. Both are once again accessorized with a pair of scrunchies that match her dress.

  Bella keeps an eye on the screen door of the café and is grateful when the boys emerge at last.

  “Max!” she calls. “Jiffy! Over here!”

  They come toward her, licking their ice cream cones and chatting as if they’ve known each other all their lives. Max is starting to fit right in with his ragamuffin pal, from his unkempt hair to knees that are dirty and scraped from a few early falls off the scooter. He’s hardly become proficient at steering, but at least he’s no longer crashing to the ground after managing to hit every pothole on his way over.

  And he’s wearing shoes She insisted on that. When she suggested that Jiffy do the same, lest he step on broken glass or a yellow jacket, he proudly showed her the scars on the bottoms of his filthy feet from having done both.

  “Pandora, this is my son, Max, and this is Jiffy.”

  “Oh, I know Jiffy. It’s good to see you again, young man. And it’s lovely to meet you, Max.” She shakes their sticky hands, which wins her a slight reprieve from Bella.

  Still, however, eager to escape, she says, “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Pandora, but we’d better get going.”

  Max looks at the helmet she holds out to him. “Don’t we have to finish our ice cream first?”

  “Of course you must,” Pandora tells him. “One cannot eat ice cream in a helmet, much less ride a scooter.”

  She’s right, of course. Max can barely maneuver the scooter without an ice cream cone in his hand.

  Bella reluctantly accepts Pandora’s invitation to sit on her porch swing for a few minutes.

  “The lads can explore the garden,” she says.

  “But stay where I can see you,” Bella cautions them as they head across the lawn. “And don’t trample anything!”

  “No worries. I’m sure they’ll be very careful.” Yet Pandora, too, keeps a watchful eye on Max and Jiffy as they poke around the yard speculating about buried treasure.

  Meanwhile, Pandora herself pokes around Bella’s business and speculates about everything from her love life to her future plans.

  “I heard Grant Everard is back in town,” she says, after prying into whether Bella has dated anyone since losing her husband and whether she’s reconsidering staying in Lily Dale after all—for the summer or permanently.

  The answer to both questions is a decided no, of course. As for Grant . . .

  Pandora didn’t ask a question, but Bella decides it’s her turn to pose one. “Do you know him?”

  “We’ve met a few times. Rather handsome bloke, isn’t he?”

  Ignoring that, Bella asks Pandora how she knew Grant is here. “Have you seen him?”

  “I haven’t, but someone mentioned that he was here.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she says off-handedly. “Maybe Roxi, the girl who works the gate. Does it matter?”

  It does if she heard it from someone who would recognize Grant on sight. That would confirm that the man who checked into the guesthouse is, indeed, Leona’s vagabond so-called nephew.

  Hearing sirens in the distance, she automatically glances over at Max. He’s fine, of course, still holding the cone in one hand and a stick in the other, using it to gently prod into a clump of pachysandra.

  Jiffy, too, is accounted for.

  But the sirens are a reminder that somewhere, someone is in trouble.

  “We really should go,” she tells Pandora, looking at her watch. “Boys? Come on. Finish up!”

  “There’s no need to hurry, love.”

  “There is. I have something I need to do in a few minutes.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  Something in Pandora’s tone bothers Bella. For one thing, she’s tired of the questions. For another, she can’t help but wonder if Pandora already knows about the kittens and the feedings. She seems to know everything else about Bella’s life, past and present.

  Is she a harmless snoop or a dangerous one?

  The sirens aren’t fading. They’re coming closer, making her tense.

  “Boys!” She stands abruptly. “Let’s go.”

  “Coming!” Max calls.

  Pandora, too, is on her feet. “I’ll walk you home. I was about to take a stroll anyway.”

  “Oh, it’s . . . it wouldn’t really be a stroll, with the kids and the scooters.”

  “I don’t mind. I rather want to ensure that you get there safely.”

  Halfway down the porch steps, Bella turns back. “I’m sure we’ll be safe,” she says with a nervous little laugh. “I mean, why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.” Pandora offers what she surely intends to be a reassuring smile.

  But there seems to be something more to it—a sharpness, or maybe an awareness, in her eyes.

  Maybe she’s picking up on Bella’s anxiety. She probably wouldn’t have to be psychic to do that.

  But she is—supposedly—psychic. Maybe she does know something.

  “Mom, look! This will cheer you up!”

  “Hmm?”

  “Remember this morning when you were sad? Here. This will cheer you up.”

  She turns to see Max holding out a flower. It has a long, slender stem topped by a well-spaced row of deep-blue, ruffle-tipped petals shaped like miniature upside-down lilies.

  “Where did you get that?” Pandora asks, behind her.

  “Over there.” Max points to the pachysandra.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bella tells Pandora. “Max, I told you not to disturb Ms. Feeney’s garden.”

  “You said not to trample. I didn’t trample. I picked. Right, Jiffy?”

  “Right.”

  “Max, may I see it, please?” Pandora is beside Bella, holding out her hand.

  “It’s for my mom.”

  “Max!”

  He hands it over to Pandora, who doesn’t even have the grace to smile.

  Bella bristles. Yes, Max was wrong to pick the flower. But Pandora is the one who invited him to explore the yard. If it weren’t for her meddlesome attitude, they wouldn’t be here in the first place.

  “Max, please apologize,” she says. “Pandora, I’ll replace the plant if you’ll just tell me what it is. I’m going to the store this afternoon.”

  “Hyacinthoides non-scripta. Back in England, it’s our national flower. It’s my favorite. I planted it here, just as I did at the guesthouse.”

  “Oh! Odelia said something about that
.”

  “About what?”

  “She said that Chance—Leona’s cat—was born outside in a bed of blooming Wood Hyacinths.”

  Pandora shakes her head, irked. “Wood Hyacinths are something else entirely. Those are Hyacinthoides non-scripta. I do wish Odelia would get her facts straight. But it’s the most peculiar thing . . .” Staring at the blossom, Pandora shakes her head, and then she looks intently at Bella.

  “Maybe you can write it down for me so that I don’t get confused,” Bella suggests. “I’ll try to find it at a nursery, and if I can’t—”

  “No, I don’t give a fig about replacing the flower. It’s a perennial. In the spring, there are scads of them.” She gestures at the pachysandra. “But not this late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Max, why did you pick this flower for your mum?” Pandora asks.

  “Because she needs to be cheered up.”

  “But why this flower?”

  “Because it was the only one.”

  Bella follows Pandora’s gaze to the riot of blooms cascading over the yard.

  “But that isn’t true. There are lots of other flowers,” she tells her son, “and anyway, you weren’t supposed to pick any of them.”

  His brown eyes fill with tears. “I wanted to cheer you up.”

  “Sweetie, I know, but I wasn’t sad. I’m okay.”

  “You’re always sad. It makes me sad.”

  “And your dad, too, by the way.”

  At that comment from Jiffy, Bella widens her eyes.

  “That’s what Max said,” he goes on. “Right, Max?”

  “Max, what did you say?”

  He shuffles his feet under her gaze. “I just said we miss Dad, so we get sad.”

  “And you said so does he,” Jiffy says matter-of-factly. “You said he doesn’t want you to cry.”

  “He wouldn’t want us to cry,” Bella agrees, watching Max stare at his sneakers, “but he can’t say that to us. We just know it in our hearts, because he loved us, and . . .” She swallows hard.

  “Plus, boys don’t cry, mostly.” That comes from Jiffy.

  “Did your dad tell you to pick that flower for your mum?” Pandora asks Max, watching him intently.

  “Pandora!” Bella says sharply, putting a protective hand on his shoulder.