Behind the wheel, Wander rivaled Sesame in the style department. She wore a pair of turquoise yoga pants and a matching crop top that made it impossible to believe that the woman had birthed three children. “I’m doing an extra-long meditation at the end of class to help open up her defenses,” she said.
Riley nodded her approval. “And that’s when we’ll try to sync up our powers and break through.”
Blossom raised her hand from the rear bench seat.
“Yes, Mom?”
“I just want to state for the record that I am against psychic bullying. I can’t morally support that.”
Riley groaned. “Mom, are you suggesting that I’m trying to get rid of the competition by assaulting her psyche?”
“No, of course not, sweetie. I’m only saying sometimes Basil women get a little nuts when we think someone is after our life partners.”
“It’s true,” Riley’s dad, Roger, said, leaning forward next to Blossom. “One time your mother thought I was dirty dancing with her second cousin Karen and she threw an entire cheesecake at me.”
“Turns out your father was giving her the Heimlich after she choked on a tofu ball. Boy, did I feel silly,” Blossom said.
“Gabe gave Detective Weber the Heimlich yesterday,” Riley said.
“You did?” Wander asked, sounding impressed.
“It was nothing,” Gabe said humbly.
“It was very heroic,” Riley insisted.
“We would never use our powers for ill intent,” Gabe assured Blossom.
“I’m just saying, just because you can’t read her mind doesn’t mean she’s up to no good.”
“Look. She’s not being truthful about what happened to her. Which means she could still be in danger,” Riley pointed out. “Anything that we can learn about where she’s been could be helpful in keeping her safe. And I can’t learn anything if I end up violently carsick every time I try to get a read on her.”
“All right. All right,” Blossom relented. “But if this poor girl develops a mini stroke or a rash all over her face during class, you are grounded, Riley Thorn.”
“What is with everyone grounding me?” she muttered just before Sesame climbed into the minivan and took the empty seat next to her. “Thank you so much for inviting me to yoga,” she said perkily. “It’s been ages since I’ve unrolled my mat.”
“No problem,” Riley said. She made the introductions to the rest of the vehicle occupants.
“What kind of yoga have you practiced?” Wander asked Sesame as she steered them in the direction of the studio.
“My favorite is hot yoga. I just love working up a good sweat.”
“Is it true what they say about Arizona being a dry heat?” Riley asked.
“It’s totally true. When I first got there, I was like, ‘This is way more comfortable than Pennsylvania’s humidity.’”
Sesame prattled on about the effects of dry heat on hair volume as Riley met her mother’s gaze in the mirror.
“See, I told you,”she telegraphed smugly with her eyebrows.“She admits to knowing she’d left Pennsylvania.”
Blossom rolled her eyes.“Yeah, yeah. Fine. But still no face rashes.”
Wander’s yoga studio was located on the second floor of a two-story brick building on 21st Street in Camp Hill. Beneath it was an antique store that did a brisk business moving musty treasures from the past.
Wander pulled the minivan into the last spot at the back of the lot along the alley, and they all piled out of the vehicle.
Riley spotted her best friend, Jasmine, climbing out of her snazzy Lexus SUV. Jasmine Patel was the kind of beautiful that made men—and some women—lose their train of thought mid-sentence. She made a mental note not to unroll her mat between Jasmine and Sesame.
“Wow. The Thorns are traveling in a pack now?” Jasmine called, glancing up from her phone.
