“This is Maisie,” Brownie said.
I knew there was a joke in there somewhere about how both their names were cutesy and ended in anesound, but I decided to let it go.
Maisie clutched a doll. “That’s a very pretty baby you have.”
The girl’s gaze flickered from it to me. “Thank you.”
I extended my hand. Sometimes when I touched a clairvoyant, we could share things. I did so now, hoping to see into the girl, know what she knew.
As soon as my fingers brushed her arm, a shock bolted through my body. Images flashed in my head. In the girl’s mind I saw the dead woman and the same pictures I’d been shown.
But there was more. In the background was a looming shadow, darker than dark. I swallowed a knot in the back of my throat and said goodbye to them.
As I watched them walk off, Maisie glanced back. As much as I wanted this to be done, I had a feeling this simple haunting case was far from over.
I awokethe next morning to my doorbell ringing. What the heck? Why would anyone see me before coffee? What sort of evil was that?
I slid on a robe, rubbed the crap out of my eyes and headed to the front door. When I flung it open, Ruth and Alice swept in.
“We brought coffee!” Alice sang on her way to the kitchen.
“I wanted to bring champagne, but Alice wouldn’t let me,” Ruth grumbled.
I stifled a laugh. “Why not? We’re in private. Everyone knows Baptists don’t drink in public, but the privacy of my home is an entirely different story.”
“Because, Blissful…” Alice shrugged out of her coat and pegged it on the wall. “We don’t drink before three p.m. Everyone knows that.”
“What about mimosas?” I opened the cabinets, looking for cups.
“What’s a mimosa?” Alice asked Ruth.
“It’s a drink of orange juice and champagne. It’s a brunch drink for lightweights like you and me.”
Alice’s expression fell as if she were now truly sorry she hadn’t brought the fixings for a mimosa breakfast.
I wrapped my arms around her. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal. Let’s have coffee.” I paused. It dawned on me that champagne was a celebratory drink. “Wait. What exactly are we supposed to be celebrating?”
“The big catch last night.” Ruth pulled a newspaper from her purse. “Voila! You are the talk of the town.”
I sat and read the piece. “‘Thanks to local clairvoyant, Blissful Breneaux, the police have recovered the body of an unknown woman. Sheriff Kency Blount has vowed to determine who she is. If anyone knows of a missing person’s case from roughly the nineteen seventies, please contact the sheriff’s office.’”
“They figured that out fast,” I said. “How do you think the police know what era she died in?”
“The clothes,” Ruth said. “Didn’t you see the bellbottoms she was wearing?”
“I didn’t pay attention.” I dropped the paper to my lap. “Both of y’all were around then. Do you know of anyone who disappeared during that time?”
Alice shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone. But you know, it was the seventies. There’s no telling who dropped illicit drugs in my coffee. Why, there might be an entire year I’ve forgotten.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “That’s unlikely, Alice.”
I thumped the paper. “What about the owners? Who lived in the house then?”
Ruth shot Alice a skeptical look. “Bliss, we’re supposed to be celebrating.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I know. I know that’s what we’re supposed to be doing, but it’s so strange.”
Ruth settled a cup of steaming coffee in front of me. “It’s about that ghost you saw last night, isn’t it? The one who was talking to you?”
