Slightly Psychic. Sandra Steffen

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      The old-fashioned screen door bounced as it closed behind him. Looking around, he caught his reflection in the mirror inside. After a time, he shrugged, for it was official. The new owner of The Meadows of Murray was a loon.

      She was going to fit right in.

      “So you’re the new owner of The Meadows.”

      It was the third time it had been said in exactly that way, the third time Lila and Pepper exchanged a quick look, the third time Lila nodded.

      The cashier at the grocery store had watched them closely as she’d said, “I heard somebody new was moving in.”

      The attendant at the gas station where she’d dropped off the U-Haul trailer and filled up her gas tank had asked what she planned to do with the place. Like the others, the waitress leaning in to take their orders right now said, “Have you met Joe yet?”

      Pepper’s sharp kick under the table kept Lila from replying.

      “Lila and I don’t quite know what to make of him.”

      “Then you’ve heard.”

      Pepper smiled encouragingly at the waitress. Again, Lila felt a sharp nudge under the table.

      Joe McCaffrey had unloaded the trailer while Pepper slept. After a brief discussion, he and Lila had decided that he would stack everything except the garden statues on the back porch until she made room in the house. He hadn’t come inside, and Pepper hadn’t ventured out.

      “Nobody wanted to believe it at first,” the waitress exclaimed. “Not of one of our own.”

      Pepper shook her head. “I can only imagine how you must have felt.”

      While Lila pulled a face, one of the other customers called, “Trudy, can I get a refill up here?”

      The heavyset waitress tucked her pencil over her ear and said, “I’ll be right back.”

      Rubbing her sore shin, Lila waited until Trudy was out of hearing range to whisper, “You haven’t met Joe.”

      “Trudy doesn’t know that.” Pepper had slept hard. Despite the crease still lining one cheek and the traces of jet lag in her voice, she was suddenly wide awake. “She’s dying to tell us something. Who are we to deny her?”

      Lila felt a vague sense of unease. She didn’t like gossip, but Pepper was right about one thing. Everyone they’d encountered seemed to want to tell them something about Joe.

      She and Pepper had found this little diner on Rebellion Street in the middle block of the downtown district of Murray. The courthouse claimed the most prominent position at the head of the town square, the post office and usual law and insurance offices nearby. Evidently, the chains hadn’t made it this deep into the Valley, for there wasn’t a Starbucks or Baby Gap to be found. Instead, there was a charming old-fashioned five-and-dime, a card and gift shop, a bookstore, three bars, a dress boutique and a huge antique store. Lila would have enjoyed browsing, but Pepper had needed coffee, industrial strength, which reminded Lila. “You haven’t touched your latte.”

      Pepper took a cursory sip. “Here she comes. Let me handle this.”

      The waitress returned, topping off their water glasses and spreading the cutlery. “Where was I?”

      “You were telling us how nobody could believe it about Joe.” Pepper’s tone invited trust.

      Falling for it, Trudy said, “It may have been a crime of passion, but murder is murder, isn’t it?”

      Not even Pepper could form a coherent reply.

      Trudy didn’t seem to need one. “We all assumed he would leave town after, well, you know, after the body never turned up. Instead, Myrtle Ann asked him to come live at The Meadows. The place went to seed for more than twenty years. Stone walls crumbled and more limbs fell with every passing storm. Out of the blue, she asked Joe to start clearing the pastures. Some people think she knew she was dying. Went to her maker on her way back from the mailbox. Folks still find pieces of her mail spread far and wide by the wind that day. It was junk mail mostly, beggin’ letters, she used to call them. She must have sent a donation to every charitable organization on the planet. A lot of people wondered if she’d have any money left.” Trudy looked at Lila shrewdly. “Are you a relative of Myrtle Ann’s?”

      Lila floundered. How could she tell this woman that she’d never even met Myrtle Ann Canfield? It was Pepper who finally answered. “Lila has an interesting family tree, but at least her family doesn’t treat her like a puppet on a string the way mine does. Getting back to Joe, why do you suppose Myrtle Ann asked him to start clearing the pastures?”

      “You know how old people get,” Trudy said. “Joe took good care of her, I’ll give him that.”

      “Joe McCaffrey, a suspected murderer.” Pepper made a tsk, tsk sound. “I’ve read that a lot of serial killers are good to their mothers. Ow. I mean, ooh la la.” It was Pepper’s turn to rub her sore shin.

      Trudy peered in both directions before lowering her voice, but even her whisper was strong enough to penetrate steel. “They say he hasn’t set foot in his house since it happened.”

      “Why do you suppose that is?” Pepper asked.

      “Guilt, most likely. The police finally took down the yellow tape they’d strung around his big, fancy house just west of town. Poor Chloe. Her mother missing and her father the prime suspect in the case.” Trudy shook her head. “She must be thirteen now. Hardly ever comes home from that fancy boarding school Noreen sent her to before she disappeared. Can’t say I ever liked the woman myself. That doesn’t make it right, does it? It’s always the husband, though, isn’t it? It’s a shame, such a shame. He was our star, too. Had an arm on him like nobody else. Man, that boy could pitch. Went pro practically right out of college. He always did have a temper. Guess it got the best of him.”

      Someone called Trudy’s name, and the waitress was forced to get back to work. Stirring more cream into her coffee, Pepper all but gloated. Lila didn’t like what her friend was thinking, and it had nothing to do with psychic awareness.

      “I believe we’ve just stumbled upon Pearl Ann’s string.”

      Although it went against her better judgment, Lila said, “Her name was Myrtle Ann, not Pearl Ann.”

      Pepper patted her mouth with her napkin. “A burned-out baseball player with a missing wife and an intuitionist who needed a place to go. Quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

      “I’m not an intuitionist anymore. What good could I be to a man suspected of killing his wife?” Lila felt a heavy, sinking feeling, as if she were being sucked into something she couldn’t control or foresee.

      “Gretel Ann was brilliant.”

      “Myrtle Ann was brilliant, you mean.”

      Pepper smiled, victorious. Picking up her coffee again, Pepper had the good sense to wipe the grin off her face.

      It saved Lila the trouble.

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