time of day, followed by initials. Many of the listings bore the designation “Paid.” It must have been my mother’s client book. I wondered why she had used initials; perhaps some people didn’t want it known that they were seeing a psychic adviser.
The entries ran for at least ten pages, with blank sheets following. As I flipped through them, a piece of unlined paper slipped out. I unfolded it and read what appeared to be a poem: The seed cracks open, the green sprout of a plant emergesa green snake.
The snake slides past a rabbit, glides past a cat.
Winding itself around flowersa garden shaped like a heartthe snake turns to me.
It wears a mask.
Flowers wilt.
I read it three times, trying to understand what my mother was saying, finding it even more cryptic than the poems written by my old boyfriend. Slipping the paper back into the book, I flipped to the back cover. My mother had written down dates on which term papers were due and several names and phone numbers. One was labeled “Chase College,” where she was taking courses. Another said
“Pharmacy.” The third belonged to someone named Elliot Gill. Gill — Erika’s last name. Were they related? It was, after all, a small town.
Although the cats gave no sign of Aunt Iris’s imminent arrival, I rewrapped the notebook and placed it back where I had found it, worried that if I left it out, Aunt Iris might sweep it up in one of her angry displays. It occurred to me that Uncle Will may have shared that concern. Perhaps he was interrupted while examining the notebook and hastily slipped it behind the other books, hiding it with whatever newspaper was handy, the newspaper from that day. I wondered if there was something he had read in the notebook that caused him to write to me the next day and ask me to come.
I sat back in his chair, thinking I had made a big mistake.
Because my feelings were hurt by Zack, I had passed up an opportunity to get to know the girl who appeared to be responsible for the fire. I was like Marcy with her response to Cindy Reed and her beautiful angels, forgetting my ultimate goal. And it wasn’t just contact with Erika that I would be missing out on. Kids talked at parties, boasting and gossiping; chances were good that I could learn something from some of her friends who had been at the fire. I owed it to Uncle Will to find out how he had died. And I had come here to learn whatever he needed to tell me about my mother and her family. If Elliot Gill was important enough to have his number listed in my mother’s book, he might know something. The truth was, I had more reasons to go with Zack to the party than he had to go with me. “Two can play this game,” I said aloud, and headed for Zack’s house.
AUDREY ANSWERED THE door. Either I had a grim look on my face or she had a genuine obsession with the “House of Evil.”
“I knew something terrible would happen,” she said.
“Come in, child. As soon as I finish with the family’s dinner, we can talk.”
“Nothing has happened,” I told her. “I just want to speak to Zack.”
“Who is it, Audrey?” a man called, and a moment later emerged through a door beneath a sweeping stairway.
“Hello.”
He had the same body structure and the same basic coloring as Zack, though his hair was a shade lighter and his blue eyes lacked the haunting depth of Zack’s. Those differences and a slightly rounder face made him pleasantlooking rather than handsome. “I’m Dave Fleming, Zack’s dad. You must be Anna.”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“By the”—he hesitated—“chestnut-colored hair.”
Zack must have told him about that. “I’ll come back. I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”
“It’s not an interruption, it’s a visit. Come in, come in,” he said, gesturing toward the door through which he had just come. “Have you had dinner? We’ll set another place at the table. Audrey’s a fabulous cook.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. I just need to speak to Zack for a second.”
Audrey exited through a small door. I was hoping Dave would call Zack, but instead, he led me through the door beneath the curved stairway. We emerged into a dusky, high-ceilinged dining room. Zack and Marcy sat at the far end of a polished table that looked long enough to bowl on.
Both of them appeared surprised, the flickering candlelight exaggerating their expressions. Zack put down his fork and rose politely to his feet, which made me feel as if I were in a Jane Austen novel. His father strode ahead of me and carried a chair over to the table, setting it next to Zack’s.
“Really, I’ve had dinner, sir.”
“Dave,” Zack’s father corrected me, smiling. “Call me Dave.”
“I’m just staying a minute.”
“But you can’t,” Dave protested. “I’m the only one in the family who hasn’t gotten the opportunity to know you. Marcy sings your praises. Zack tells me. . a few things.”
“Dad,” Zack said with a note of warning.
“According to Audrey, even Clyde has conversed with you — in dog language.”
Marcy rolled her eyes.
“And a goat, too, apparently.” From a drawer in a massive sideboard, Dave drew out a place mat and silverware. “If you’ve had dinner, I’m sure you would like dessert.”
“Thanks but—”
“Strawberries and whipped cream, guaranteed to contribute to heart disease and—”
“Dearest,” Marcy interrupted, “Anna knows what she wants and doesn’t want.”
“Oh. Well, then, I suppose that is why you two get along so well,” he said, gazing lovingly at his wife. He turned back to me. “Please sit down. Perhaps you would like something chocolate instead. I’m sure we have —”
“Dad,” Zack said, “she’s not hungry. She doesn’t want to sit down. Let her talk.”
“Of course.” Dave sat down at the same time as Zack and waited.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to go to the party tomorrow.”
In the candlelight Marcy’s eyes glinted. She probably thought I had joined the army of girls chasing Zack. But Zack didn’t; the expression on his face was guarded, thoughtful, as if he was deducing my motive.
“I mean, if you haven’t asked someone else,” I added.
“I haven’t.”
“Well, then, that’s settled,” Dave said, jumping into the awkward moment. “It’s always good to meet new peopleZack to meet you, you to meet others, that kind of thing.”
Zack took a sip of water from his cut-glass goblet, barely hiding his smirk. “I’ll pick you up at seven forty- five,” he said.
“Since it’s catered, we’re supposed to arrive on time.”
“I’ll be ready.” I took a step back. “Nice meeting you. .
Dave. I really have to go. Don’t anyone get up. I know where the door is.” I pivoted and almost took out Audrey, who had entered through a side door. “Sorry.” I gave her a little wave, then exited.
When I returned to the house, Aunt Iris and her gold car were still absent. I was uncomfortable with her there, and yet just as uncomfortable with her gone. I couldn’t say whether it was Iris’s safety I feared for or the safety of those she might become angry with, including me. She was strong. And I had seen firsthand how easy it was for her to disconnect with reality. It wasn’t as simple as believing, the way Marcy did, that Iris wasn’t the kind of person who could harm someone; psychotics turned into other kinds of people.
I needed to do some research, and Uncle Will’s collection of books would provide a good start. I pulled from his shelves several of the books I had noticed earlier and carried them upstairs, trailed by one of the two cats I had hired as lookouts. As soon as I set down the books, the little silver tabby leaped onto my bed. I let her stay, liking the company, hoping she didn’t have fleas.
I began with the book on famous psychotic criminals, paging through it, studying the pictures. Some of the men and women looked nearly possessed, but others appeared as normal and pleasant as Dave Fleming — well,
