My feet crunch over the fallen leaves and suddenly I am in a small clearing. All I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. I stop to catch my breath. It comes ragged and harsh. I see Baxter up ahead as moonlight bursts into the clearing. Mac is there, shouting something. I run toward his outstretched arms, his eyes warm and inviting. I feel, rather than hear, an explosion. Mac looks surprised just before I fall. When I stand up again, Mac is gone and my hands are covered in blood. Baxter starts to howl and, as I wake up screaming, “Nooo!” I realize I am the one howling.
My room felt like an alien place as I awoke. I looked around for any lurking threat, but it was all just as I had left it. My laptop sat closed on the desk. Diana’s bottle of sharp objects sat next to it, patiently waiting for me to change my mind about the protective spell. The curtains were drawn, but sunlight leaked through the cracks. The dream left me feeling disoriented and confused. My T-shirt was damp and my heart was thumping, but I began to calm down once I realized I was home and safe. That had been one of “those” dreams. The kind I wished to banish; a dream that warned of disasters to come. I went through it again in my mind—Mac, the blood, and me running toward him through the woods. It could only mean one thing: being with me would put Mac in danger. Even though I had never had success in altering the outcome of these dreams, I thought that, if I avoided Mac, I could keep him safe. I would have to figure out a way to maintain my distance.
*
I stumbled downstairs in search of coffee, glad that it was Saturday and I didn’t have any responsibilities. My brain was still foggy from the dream and probably from all the whiskey Alex had supplied. Mom greeted me by tapping her watch and giving me the look I used to get when I was late for the school bus.
“We have to leave in fifteen minutes,” she said.
“Leave?” I rubbed my forehead, trying to remember what we could possibly have to do this early in the morning.
She sighed. Then I noticed the black dress, pearls, and high heels. My mother only wears high heels to weddings and funerals. The funeral!
“I can be ready in ten.” I poured a cup and raced back up the stairs.
She followed me out of the kitchen. “Make it quick. I’m not waiting for you.”
Twenty minutes later, Mom, Dad, Vi, and I piled into Dad’s 1980 Buick Regal. It was held together by rust and a prayer, but he refused to consider a new car. This one had “history.” Seth stayed behind with the dogs.
The packed parking lot gave testimony to either Sara’s popularity or the lure of violent death. Most of the town milled about on the church steps and courtyard. Diana and Alex stood off to the side under an oak tree. I hugged Mom and told her I’d see her after the service. I didn’t want to sit with my family. Vi whispered loudly about everyone around her when she was in public, and my mother was sure to sob through the whole thing—she was already welling up. As for Dad, I felt a little guilty about leaving him to fend for himself with the sisters, but not bad enough to stay.
Organ music began as I reached Alex and Diana. We barely had time to say hello before the crowd swept us into the church. While my family took seats toward the front, I gestured at Diana to grab a seat at the back, on the aisle. I like a quick escape route, and I wanted to observe the crowd. Gary sat in front with his daughters, Harriet Munson took a pew with several psychics I recognized from the Reading Room, and I spotted Milo Jones alone halfway back on the right. The Starks arrived late and scooted into the last pew on the far side of the church. I recognized most of the people gathered to say good-bye to Sara. It was likely her murderer was sitting in one of the pews pretending to mourn.
Just as we got settled, everyone around us stood to sing “Amazing Grace.” I rolled my eyes thinking of how Grace had convinced me as a child that the song had been written about her. Once we were seated again, Reverend Frew began his eulogy. My eyes prickled and my throat felt tight as he described Sara’s daughters, friends, and clients, who had loved her and who had lost Sara too soon. I couldn’t sit sobbing in church like my mother. We had been trained in the police academy to hide emotion and keep our feelings to ourselves. I would never pull that off if I had to sit there and hear stories about Sara right on the heels of Tish’s death. I tried not to listen to the words but just let the sound of the reverend’s voice wash over me. Big mistake.