Part 15 (1/2)

”I borrowed it. Care to drive it home so the neighbors don't call the men in white to come pick up the hobo impersonating the fanatically tidy Professor Cutler?”

He sighed, turned, held out a hand, ears red as Ru dolph's nose, and caught his keys midair. Then he slammed the front door behind him without saying good-bye.

Fiona and I fell into a puddle of hilarity on her sofa. We'd no sooner catch our breaths than we'd start again. Reliving my dad's look and reactions took us right through breakfast, a break I needed from the death, bones, and fiery chaos of the past two days.

We talked only about my father until the last dish had been put away. Then Fiona went into the living room and took out the cape, dress, and quilt.

She examined them, touched each one, then she lit candles. ”This for harmony, for courage,” she said, continuing with positivity, vision, and protection.

I'd always experienced peace here in her earth-toned Celtic-decorated home, which I knew nowhere else. Right now, even my psychic firecrackers fizzled as I calmed.

Aunt Fiona sat on the edge of her b.u.t.terscotch leather recliner. ”I know you came to talk,” she said, ”but I have a proposition. Can I go first?”

”Anything to put off vision chasing.”

”I'd like to do a sweeping ritual at your shop before you start moving in, get rid of the negative vibes. And I'm not just talking about the bones, but the residual energy from so many people over the years who might, or might not, have moved on from there.”

”Right, those who were embalmed or cremated. I hadn't thought. My shop could be riddled with negative energy.”

”I'm sure it has positive energy, too, but that isn't the problem. Negative is. If you'd like, you can join me in the ritual sweeping?”

The invitation threw me. I'd hardly gotten used to being psychometric. I wasn't ready to wear my mother's magic cloak. ”Maybe I'll just watch this time.”

Aunt Fiona patted my knee. ”That's fine, sweetie. Whatever makes you comfortable. How's your schedule?”

”With eleven days to prepare for my grand opening without having started?” I took a calming breath. ”Eve's taking me to buy a car after she gets home from school today. Can we sweep negative energy tomorrow?”

”Oh, the electrician is coming tomorrow. I nearly forgot to tell you.”

”After the electricians are finished, then,” I said. ”We can sweep away their negative energy, too.”

Aunt Fiona smiled. ”You said we.”

”Did I? Slip of the tongue?”

”Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

I told her about my visions and tried on the cape's matching dress, walked around in it, but-”Nothing.”

She nodded. ”Change and we can spread the quilt on the rug to see if we can learn anything more.”

After I did, the quilt was ready. ”It's beautiful with that huge heart at its center formed by the way the fabric is pieced. I'd never have known, if you hadn't spread it out.”

”I'm anxious to get my hands on it,” Aunt Fiona said. ”But I wanted to wait for you. Are you ready?”

I got on my knees across from her, beside the quilt. ”Let's do it.”

Palms down, I got a picture of skillful hands wearing a big diamond embroidering one of the quilt squares and sensed the quilter's love and sadness.

Moving my hands, I saw through her eyes the memory of her husband dancing with someone else and felt her hurt, but still didn't see his face.

I found a b.u.mp in the quilt near a zipper. ”I found another pocket.” I opened my eyes, unzipped it, and slid my hand inside.

Aunt Fiona watched as I pulled my clutched fist from the pocket and opened it.

In my palm sat a platinum wedding ring and an emerald-cut diamond the size of Texas.

Twenty-three.

Fas.h.i.+on, even anti-fas.h.i.+on, is forever. It's the only way we can become the characters we wish to be.

-CHRISTIAN LACROIX I wanted to cry, but I firmed my lips against the emotion overwhelming me at the sight of that ring.

Aunt Fiona rubbed my arm. ”Tell me.”

I had to swallow before I could. ”They belong to the woman who wore the cape. I'm afraid the bones the police found must be hers, too. They were wrapped in the quilt. No, wait. I only saw the well when I touched the quilt. Oh! The diamond is what connects the woman who wore the cape to the quilt and to my visions of the well.”

”Maybe,” Aunt Fiona said, ”she slipped her rings in the quilt pocket when she was wrapped in it, so somebody would find it and look for her.”

That made sense. ”Yes. Her quilt-this quilt, I believe-was entered into some kind of county fair-type compet.i.tion. Did you get anything from touching it?”

Aunt Fiona s.h.i.+vered. ”A dark place. Tire tracks. I'm not as good at this as you are.”

I hugged her. ”There has to be something you're not aces at,” I said. ”Let's turn it over.”

We did and stood back. ”Tire tracks,” I said. ”Just there.” I pointed. ”Very light. Barely visible.”

Aunt Fiona had trouble finding them. ”Oh, now I see. It wasn't run over or they'd be darker, so it must have pressed up against a tire.”

”A spare?”

”In a dark trunk.” Aunt Fiona completed my unwanted thought.

”On her one-way trip to the well?” I suggested. ”I have to take the quilt and rings to the police. Too bad I can't pa.s.s along my visions.”

”I'll take you to get your dad's car, but give me your shop key, and I'll fill my car with some of your vintage stash and bring it over, help you start moving in. Meet me there, after. I have some ideas to run by you.”

I hugged her. ”If Isobel had someone like you, she might have been missed, and found, before she died.”

”I love you, too, sweetie.”

I called the station from Aunt Fiona's car and made sure Werner would be waiting. My father came out as we pulled into the drive. ”I need your car again, Dad. Aunt Fee will explain.” She'd know what not to say. Dad wasn't ready to know how many of my mother's gifts I inherited. If he ever was, we'd tell him in small doses.

”Madeira, my keys are in the ignition.”