“What happened? I just knew that something happened,” said Vi, slowly coming out of her crouch and leaning heavily on Seth’s head as she stood.
“Seth, go get cleaned up while I talk to Aunt Vi and Nana Rose.”
Seth nodded and carried Tuffy to the stairs, while Baxter followed like a large shadow.
I led the sisters into the living room. One of them had tidied after the bat incident. My mother and aunt sat on the couch; I chose the chair closest to my mother. It isn’t a very restful room, dominated by competing patterns and colors, fringe and trinkets in an excess of Victorian style.
“So, what is it?” Vi demanded.
I looked at her and hoped she could hear my loud thoughts of calm down and back off. She didn’t seem to be picking up on anything, so I turned to my mother.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but Sara’s dead.”
Her hand flew to her chest and gripped the amethyst and quartz amulet she wore around her neck.
“What? She was so young! What happened?” she said. Her eyes welled with tears.
“It looks like someone killed her,” I said. I leaned forward to hug my mother, but she held up her hand, stopping me.
“How is that possible?” My mother twisted her apron in her lap. “She was the nicest person. Who would want to kill her?” The tears spilled over.
“We have to do something. We can’t let them get away with this,” Vi said, and patted my mother’s shoulder. “Whoever did it has to pay!” She waggled her finger at me as if I were the culprit.
“The police were there when I left. They’ll figure this out.” I stood up and paced in front of the coffee table, unable to sit still.
“Which police?” Vi asked, in a way that made me feel sorry for Tom.
“Officer Andrews took the call, and he was waiting for the medical examiner when I left.”
“Tommy Andrews! He can barely write a parking ticket,” she said, and turned to my mother. “No offense, Rose. I know you and Jillian go way back, but he’s just a boy.”
“They’ll send a detective from the sheriff’s office for this. They aren’t a bunch of idiots,” I said.
“Mac? He’ll be looking into a murder in Crystal Haven?” Vi said. She pursed her lips and caught my mother’s eye before looking away.
“Yes, Mac. I’m sure he’ll do a good job. He had a great reputation when he was in Saginaw.”
“Why did he come back here, anyway?” Aunt Vi asked me with one eyebrow raised.
“Mac and I aren’t in the habit of sipping coffee and sharing our life plans. I assume he wanted to get out of the city. . . .” I’d wondered the same thing myself but didn’t want to give my aunt any further reason to explore this line of questioning.
My mother was staring into space and mangling her apron. I sat again and put a hand on hers.
“Mom, I’m really sorry. I know she was special to you.”
“Special” didn’t quite cover it. Sara had been the star pupil in my mom’s psychic classes. My mother had inherited some diluted abilities from my grandmother, and she generally stuck to tarot cards. I had inherited a bit more. What Mom lacked in personal ability she made up for by recognizing and developing talent in others. My entire childhood was testimony to her passion for discovering and developing “talent.” It was also a lesson in how to spin even the smallest amount of intuition into a reputation as a fortune-teller. I wouldn’t say my mother and aunt were frauds, but that was because they were family.
“Well, we have an eyewitness sitting upstairs with Seth. I’m going to see what he can tell us.” Vi bustled off to accost Tuffy.
Vi’s pet psychic abilities put her somewhere between a mind reader and an animal trainer. She has a huge following of people who bring their animals to her from all over the United States. I personally think her success has more to do with the treat bag she carries than with any sort of animal communication, but I’m the skeptic in the family. It’s something we don’t like to talk about at holiday meals.
“Vi has the right idea. We have to do something.” My mother stood and wiped her eyes. She gestured for me to follow.
“Seriously, Mom? It’s not going to help. You know I don’t like . . .”
“She was my friend, and I need to do what I can to help her, Clytemnestra.” My mother had transformed from fragile to steely, as usual. She only uses my full name in emergency situations. My grandmother Agnes had named her two daughters after her favorite flowers, roses and violets. My mother decided it would be clever to name her two daughters after her favorite roses. She loved orange roses, especially the Clytemnestra rose. My father must have intervened on behalf of my sister, and she was given the more normal name Grace. I can only assume that nine years later he was distracted when it came to naming me. In a town with its fair share of oddballs, my parents managed to guarantee I would be singled out as the oddest of them all.