Free Nine Lives: A Lily Dale Mystery by Wendy Corsi Staub Page A

patch of grass in front of the house.
    “Hey, Mom, look what Odelia made for us!”
    “Max! You went outside barefoot, in pajamas, all alone? ”
    “Not alone. Chance the Cat was with me. We were talking to Odelia through the window screen. She invited us over for breakfast and we were hungry, so we went.”
    “Without telling me?”
    “You were sleeping. She made us kittycakes! See? And she sent some for you!” Bounding onto the porch, Max holds out a plastic-wrapped plate.
    Kittycakes, at a glance, consist of a large pancake with chocolate chip eyes and bacon whiskers topped by French toast triangle ears.
    “Isn’t that clever!” The woman—Eleanor—peers at the plate. “Leave it to Odelia. She’s quite the creative cook.”
    “That’s the understatement of the year,” her husband mutters.
    “You know her, then?” Good. Bella can send the couple next door, and Odelia can break the sad news about Leona while she and Max pack up and get ready to leave.
    “Eleanor knows everyone in Lily Dale,” Steve informs her. “She’s been coming here for years. Now she’s roped me in, too.”
    “Only because he likes to attend the productions over at Chautauqua Institution,” Eleanor clarifies. “He’s a theater buff.”
    “The summer arts colony? I just read about that last night,” Bella remembers.
    “You really should visit while you’re here,” Steve tells her. “Do you like plays? The theater company is kicking off the season with Our Town. I’m hoping to see it tonight.”
    “I thought you were coming with me to the opening message service!” his wife protests, and he sighs.
    “I said I would if you insist.”
    “You have all week to see the show.”
    “But you know how I feel about Our Town. It’s one of my all-time favorites.”
    “They’re all his all-time favorites,” she tells Bella, rolling her eyes. “Especially when the alternative is to hang around with me here in ‘Silly Dale.’”
    “I don’t call it that anymore,” he protests.
    “No, but plenty of people do. And sometimes I think you’re as skeptical as they are.”
    Who can blame him? Bella wants to say, relieved to have found a kindred spirit among . . . well, the spirits and the spirit whisperers.
    But now isn’t the time to engage in a debate about the dubious nature of the local industry. Instead, she asks the logical question.
    “What, exactly, is a message service?”
    “It’s a very large group reading, really. The mediums face the audience and take turns standing up and delivering messages.”
    “From?” she asks, though she has a pretty good idea.
    “From loved ones.”
    “And they give messages to everyone in the room right there in public?”
    “Well, not to everyone. Just to a few people. It’s basically the ones whose loved ones are the pushiest.”
    “Which is why I’m shocked that your mother doesn’t come through to you every single time,” Steve says with a laugh.
    On that note, Max thrusts the plate into Bella’s hands. “I have to go get dressed. Jiffy’s waiting.”
    “Jiffy . . . what?” Great. Now even Max is speaking the inscrutable localese.
    “Jiffy. He’s my friend. He came over for breakfast, too, and we’re going to play Candyland. He lives next door to Odelia on the other side.”
    For a moment, Bella is so taken aback by the realization that Max made a friend—a friend at last!—that she forgets the rest.
    Then it comes back to her: we’re leaving, and these people are waiting, and they need to be told that Leona is dead, and . . .
    Wait a minute. What if . . .
    What if Jiffy isn’t real? What if he’s an imaginary friend, or even . . .
    A ghost?
    “Max, listen . . .”
    He’s already on his way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “I’ll be right back! I have to get dressed, Mom!”
    Feeling helpless, she turns back to the strangers on the doorstep. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I kind of have my hands full here and I’m just a