Connecting (33 page)

“Like shaving.” Gammy shoots a glance in Calla’s direction.

So does Dad. “Like a lot of things.”

“Well, I’m really going to like having you around for a while, Jeff. We haven’t spent much time together since . . . Florida.”

Florida. Gammy means the funeral. She flew down, of course, and stayed with them. Before that, Calla hadn’t seen her in years.

That’s the other thing . . .

The argument that’s been haunting Calla since she arrived here, in a recurring dream. The scene is always the same: her mother and grandmother are emotional, angry, screaming at each other.

Calla has no doubt that the argument actually took place years ago, though she’s not sure whether she witnessed it herself, or is psychically channeling it.

“. . . because I promised I’d never tell . . .”
Mom sobs.

“. . . for your own good . . .”
Odelia says, and then,
“. . . how
you can live with yourself . . .”

Then one of them—Calla isn’t sure which— declares, with chilling certainty:
“The only way we’ll learn the truth is to dredge
the lake.”

Now that she knows what she knows about Mom and Darrin’s past . . .

Calla thoughtfully watches Odelia pour coffee, chatting easily with Dad.

Does she know about the baby?

And what does dredging the lake have to do with anything?

Calla no longer smells lilies of the valley, but maybe Aiyana will come to her with some kind of message, like she has in the past.

Abruptly, she pushes back her chair.

Gammy asks, “Where are you going?”

To find Aiyana.

“Can I call Jacy?”

Seeing the dubious expression on both their faces, Calla realizes she probably should have said she was calling Evangeline instead.

But she and Evangeline aren’t exactly on friendly terms these days— all the more reason Dad’s stay next door will be awkward.

Well, if not Evangeline, then Calla should have said she was calling someone else. Someone who wasn’t an accomplice in her mission to Geneseo and her lie to her grandmother.

Now, whenever she’s with Jacy, the two of them, Gammy and Dad, are going to think she’s sneaking around behind their backs. Great.

It’s her father who speaks up first. “Go ahead. Go call Jacy.”

“Thanks.”

As she leaves the kitchen, she realizes she was really asking her grandmother’s permission— not his. She’s been answering to Gammy ever since she moved here. Dad, living thousands of miles away, hasn’t had much say over what she does on a daily basis.

That, of course, is no longer the case.

Now she’ll have to report to both Dad and Gammy— and they’ll be total watchdogs after all she’s been through. She’ll be lucky if they let her go away to college next fall.

Which reminds her . . .

She’s supposed to be narrowing down her choices and meeting with her guidance counselor about it in a few days.

Not to mention, she’s got a pile of weekend homework to get to before tomorrow morning.

The last thing she feels like doing right now is worrying about any of that.

Jacy . . . I really do need to talk to Jacy,
she realizes.

She swings through the living room to grab the cordless phone receiver, then heads up the stairs with it, her duffel,
and
her mother’s laptop. She’ll hide that away until she feels like dealing with whatever additional information might be buried in its files.

Gert is waiting at the top of the stairs.

“Hi, kitty. Did you miss me? Hmm?”

The cat rubs against Calla’s legs, purring.

“I know. . . . I missed you, too.” Calla reaches down to stroke her soft fur. “Do you want to sleep on my bed tonight?”

Abruptly, Gert arches her back and thrusts her paws forward on the floor.

Calla laughs. “Is that a yes?”

Then she realizes Gert has fastened her feline gaze on something over Calla’s shoulder. She turns just in time to see a filmy apparition drift into the wall.

They really are everywhere.

This morning the airport—and the plane, too—were loaded with spirits along for the ride, drawn by the passengers’ nervous energy, no doubt.

If there’s anything Calla has learned lately about the dearly departed, it’s that in order to manifest, their spirits feed off human—and sometimes electrical, or technological—energy.

And that animals are particularly aware of their presence.

Gert is still keeping a wary eye on the wall where the apparition disappeared. There was originally a doorway there, Gammy told Calla.

“It’s okay, Gert.” She leans over to pet the kitten. “It’s just, you know, a . . . visitor.You’ll get used to them, like me. Well, I mean, I’m trying to.”

Gert looks at the wall, and then at Calla for another long moment, before turning and strolling down the stairs.

Feeling depleted, Calla steps over the threshold into Mom’s girlhood bedroom, with its old-fashioned white beadboard and striped wallpaper and sage and rose color scheme.

As she sets her belongings on the floor and inhales the familiar smell of old wood and clean linens, an unexpected wave of relief washes over her.

There’s Mom’s white iron twin bed covered in a patchwork quilt pieced together from Mom’s little- girl dresses. There’s Mom’s carved wooden music box filled with her jewelry. There are Mom’s childhood books on the shelves, progressing from The Baby-sitters Club and the Little House series to Fear Street and Sweet Valley High.

And there, Calla realizes with a jolt, is Mom herself.

Mom, not as Calla knew her, but as she appeared at Calla’s age, when she lived here. When she looked so much like Calla does now—same slim, long- waisted build; same wide- set hazel eyes; same thick, milk- chocolate-colored hair streaked with lighter shades of brown–that if they were facing each other now, it would be like gazing into a mirror.

She’s lying on her stomach on the bed reading a book— one of the Little House books, Calla realizes. Her legs are bent at the knees, feet waving lazily in the air, as though she hasn’t a care in the world.

Then, as abruptly as the apparition appeared, she’s gone.

“Mom! Mom, wait!” Calla rushes toward the bed, arms outstretched.

But the room is empty. The bed is empty. She’s all alone.

Trembling, she sinks onto the mattress and touches the spot where she saw her mother.

Jacy once mentioned a theory that events can leave psychic imprints on the places where they occurred.

That’s what must have happened; it’s as if a door opened just long enough for Calla to glimpse the past before it was slammed shut again.

Calla didn’t
feel
Mom’s presence, though.

Not the way she’s felt other spirits. Kaitlyn Riggs, for instance—the girl who was kidnapped and murdered. Or her schoolmate Donald Reamer’s dead father. Or Aiyana . . .

Those were all visitations.

She’s been waiting for one from her mother.

But this was more like . . . looking at an old snapshot.

An odd snapshot, really, because the book in Mom’s hands was meant for a much younger reader. Not that it matters.

“Mom, can you hear me? I need to see you.
Really
see you.

The way I knew you. I need to feel you here. I need you to come to me, please. I need to know what happened.”

I need . . . I need . . . I need . . .

Calla sinks onto the bed and buries her face in her hands, frustrated.

She needs answers.

Why is it that finding out who killed her mother only opened the door to more questions?

Like . . . what happened to her mother’s other child?

There are only three options, really. Either Mom and Darrin gave the baby up for adoption, or Darrin raised it himself, or . . .

It died.

She glances at the laptop.

There’s a chance she could log in right now and find out that she has a brother or sister living in Boston or something.

Are you ready for that, though?

Calla hesitates.

Not yet.

Not right this minute, anyway.

First things first.

With a trembling hand, she dials Jacy’s phone number.

T
RUTH
I
S
I
NDEED
S
TRANGER
T
HAN
F
ICTION
IN
THE
T
OWN
OF
L
ILY
D
ALE
. . .

• Lily Dale is 60 miles south of Buffalo, New York.

• Founded in 1879, Lily Dale is the largest Spiritualist community in the United States and possibly the world.

• It costs $10 per person to enter the wrought-iron gates of the community during its summer season.

• Several houses in Lily Dale are said to contain energy vortexes, and supposedly there is a spot in the forest that is so charged, the hair on your arms will stand up straight.

• Psychics hang up shingles outside their homes advertising their specialties.

• Inspiration Stump is Lily Dale’s holiest place, where the mediums gather daily during the season to give readings to the town’s guests.

• Mae West was a Lily Dale believer, and she said that her favorite medium there came to visit her right after his death.

• Harry Houdini, a foe to Spiritualism, so frightened the community that when he came to town, they all locked their doors and hid.

• Lily Dale was one of the first towns to get electricity, and it was originally called the City of Light.

• Susan B. Anthony was a frequent visitor to Lily Dale. Most of Lily Dale’s leading psychics over the years have been female, and the women’s rights movement had many supporters there.

• Lily Dale psychics rarely have insights about themselves or those people close to them—mainly because they have their own lessons to learn here on Earth, or so they believe.

WENDY CORSI STAUB
grew up in New York, just a few miles from the real town of Lily Dale. As a teenager, she and her friends visited the mediums there, hoping to find out whom they would marry. One medium told Wendy that her future husband’s name would begin with the letters M-A. She wrote down the medium’s prediction and forgot about it until years later, when she found her notes from that reading. By then she was married to her husband, Mark.

Wendy has published more than sixty books for adults and teenagers and is a
New York Times
bestselling author of several suspense novels. She lives in Westchester, New York, with her husband and their two sons.

Visit her Web sites at
www.wendycorsistaub.com
www.myspace.com/lilydalebooks
www.myspace.com/wendytheauthor

BOOKS BY WENDY CORSI STAUB

THE LILY DALE SERIES:
AWAKENING
BELIEVING
CONNECTING
DISCOVERING

Praise for
LILY DALE
CONNECTING

“Teens fascinated by the supernatural will enjoy the vivid descriptions of psychic communication.”—
Booklist

“Characters are interesting, the search for Calla’s mother’s murderer is gripping, and the dollop of romance adds just the right spark.”—
SLJ

Praise for
LILY DALE
BELIEVING

“There is more suspense in
Lily Dale: Believing
than ever before.”—
Teenreads.com

“An exciting, stand-alone sequel to
Lily Dale: Awakening
.”—
SLJ

Praise for
LILY DALE
AWAKENING

“The story is light and tingly.”—
SLJ

“Readers will be impatient for the next installment.”
—
Publishers Weekly

“Characters are sharply drawn, and kids who like stories with psychic underpinnings will certainly appreciate the otherworldly goings-on and Calla’s reactions to them.”—
Booklist

“If you love suspense, you’ll love this book.”
—Raven Gill,
VOYA
teen reviewer

Copyright © 2008 by Wendy Corsi Staub
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

While Lily Dale, New York, is a real place, all the characters in this novel are fictional,
having been created solely by the author and not based on real people, living or dead.

First published in the United States of America in December 2008 by
Walker Publishing Company, Inc., a division of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
E-book edition published in December 2010
www.bloomsburyteens.com