Slightly Psychic. Sandra Steffen

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.

      CHAPTER 4

      “Pepper, what are you doing?”

      “I’m checking to see if Joe’s cabin’s locked. What does it look like I’m doing?”

      Lila glanced nervously over her shoulder because that was exactly what it looked like Pepper was doing. “Did you hear something?” She wished she hadn’t kept her voice so quiet. It made her feel like a conspirator.

      “Relax,” Pepper said. “Joe isn’t home, remember?”

      Relax? On each of the five days since their arrival, Lila had taken relaxing walks through the orchard, along the lane and into the back pasture. She wasn’t sure why she’d refrained from making the pond and cabin a destination, but she most certainly was not relaxed about what Pepper was proposing. “We can’t go inside.”

      “Sure we can.”

      “It’s trespassing,” Lila insisted. “For your information, I have every intention of leaving the note on the door.”

      “For your information, one can’t trespass on one’s own property. You might as well put the note inside, out of the weather.”

      Lila squinted into the sun. “Out of what weather? It’s another glorious day.”

      But Pepper wasn’t listening. “It isn’t locked. Aren’t you curious about how a man who killed his wife lives?”

      “We don’t know he killed his wife.”

      “We don’t know he didn’t. No one’s heard from Noreen McCaffrey in two years. Not even her own daughter. Not so much as a peep.”

      “They haven’t found Noreen’s body,” Lila said. “Maybe she’s alive.”

      “Then where is she?”

      That was the million-dollar question.

      Pepper went inside, her loose-fitting black summer slacks and tank fading into the shadows. Drawing the door closed, Lila taped the note to it and called through the screen in a nearby window, “What if he catches you?”

      “He’s established his pattern.” Pepper’s voice grew muffled. “Every day he works on fences or buzzes through tree limbs or hauls away junk from nine in the morning until four-thirty in the afternoon. And then he goes somewhere, and we don’t see his lights come on until the wee hours of the morning.”

      Lila had to take Pepper’s word for that, because she’d been sound asleep at that time of the night. She used to be a night owl, but since her public disgrace on national television, she’d taken to going to bed early.

      “There isn’t much in here,” Pepper called. “Just some old furniture and a stove right out of the dark ages.”

      Lila knew better than to ask her what she’d expected. After listening to the local gossip on Saturday, they’d visited an old schoolhouse-turned-library where they’d discovered a vast though unorganized collection of newspaper and magazine articles regarding Noreen McCaffrey’s disappearance and the investigation that had followed. There were several quotes from highly respected people and some damning evidence pointing directly at Joe. Like most people, Pepper had a morbid fascination with it all. Staring at those grainy photographs had left Lila with the lingering feeling that she was looking at a part of someone’s life that should have remained private.

      Although she’d seen Joe from a distance several times, they hadn’t come face-to-face since that initial meeting the morning after her arrival. Lila had spent her time since then either sleeping or getting acquainted with the animals and the farm. By Wednesday, she’d grown bored with long walks and decadent naps, and had aired the house and begun the arduous task of sorting through drawers and boxes of Myrtle Ann’s old letters, receipts and recipes. Much of it was tedious, but it kept her busy. Until her brief and humiliating jaunt into police identification work, she’d operated a counseling clinic where people came and went all day long. She’d never been rich, and her savings account was dwindling. She missed helping her patients discover ways to fix the problems in their lives. It was too bad she had no idea how to fix the problems in hers.

      “Is something wrong?”

      She could have handled the deep voice spoken so close to her ear, but the large hand on her shoulder sent Lila straight into the air. Heart pounding, she spun around and tried to breathe.

      Joe McCaffrey stood between her and the sun, a muscle working in one cheek. Other than a small splash in the pond behind him, the early evening was quiet.

      Lila could only imagine how this must look. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

      “I parked by the big house. I tried knocking. Now I know why you didn’t answer.”

      “I was just leaving you a note.”

      He reached for the sheet of stationery taped to his door, his forearm brushing her hair. He went perfectly still at the contact, his face two feet from hers, his gaze going from her eyes, to her mouth, and finally away.

      He drew back far enough to open the note and scan it. Stuffing it into his back pocket, he said, “You might as well come in.”

      He eased around her and gave the door a little push. If he noticed it hadn’t been latched, he didn’t mention it as he went in.

      It was only after she followed him inside that she spared a thought for Pepper. From her position near the door, she could see most of the interior. The kitchen and living areas were separated by a wood-stove open to both rooms. Three doors led from the main area. One was closed, and the other two rooms appeared to be a rustic bathroom and a bedroom. There was no sign of Pepper anywhere.

      Lila heard the clank of an old-fashioned refrigerator opening and closing. Moments later Joe returned with a two-quart jar in his hand.

      “Bud Streeter drank his last paycheck again. His oldest boy sweeps floors and washes glasses at McCaffrey’s Tavern. He won’t let me give him money he hasn’t earned, but he takes the goats’ milk home to his two younger brothers. I planned to run it by you first, now that the place is yours.”