How can an old lady just vanish in her own hometown? And why? Police ask a reclusive psychic and her reformed young assistant to unearth clues through visions and investigation. They must ask themselves what in the woman's past needed silencing...
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Disease is everywhere, but one shouldn't assume because DeeDee Burgermeister took to her bed day after day that matters were grave. There was a time before her first husband passed, when she dreamed a perfect life in Duncan Hynes cakes. In Palmolive-soft hands. In Ivory babies. Only dreams, DeeDee realized once Walter's heart lurched to a stop mid-stroke while pruning bushes. She was grateful not to have children when forced to answer phones in some Bean-counter's offices perched in highrise towers smack in the financial district. God had brought Clarence to her for a reason. Tall and calm, Clarence was her second chance. Not at children. Late in life, DeeDee could not recapture that fancy. Her second husband lifted her with light and adoration. She brought the fire to the bargain. Pampered and pillowed with feet up, any disappointments DeeDee might have gathered over the decades couldn't mar her Cinderella-days.
On that luminous June day, she gathered herself – post-morning-ablutions. Doffing the melba-coloured dressing gown with matching slippers, she shuffled through the kitchen, where Clarence drowned teabags with stealthy hands to complete breakfast preparations. Then they settled in the sun porch. The pale light banked in through oak-framed windows to slant across the terracotta tiles and berber carpet underfoot. Clarence thumped the heavy tray onto the glass table rattling it along with cups and plates. He licked his lips and gave his wife an apologetic wink.
"Not to worry love," said DeeDee as she gave his thin hand a pat. "Those dishes are survivors too." A chuckle bubbled up from her chest, then broke into a ragged cough. Clarence tapped DeeDee between the shoulder blades.
"Weather's for the birds, I see," he said, indicating the cardinals and chickadees at the feeder. He filled both teacups. DeeDee took a quick sip to clear her throat. They stared out at the deep yard, landscaped in hedges, flowering spiraea and buddleia, low border plantings, flagstone paths and a gurgling water-feature on the central terrace.
"You've topped up the bird seed?"
"Yes-yes," answered Clarence while concentrating on tearing his croissant. He reached for the marmalade.
"O-o-o-o lo-o-ord," screeched DeeDee, slumping in her wicker chair as she clutched at her gown front. "It's – it's..." A murky face floated outside the window. Don't let me faint, she thought. Too embarrassing. She grabbed at the armrests with sweaty palms.
"What? What?" Clarence shot to his feet. Hovered over her. She couldn't pry her papery lips apart. She hoisted an arm and levelled it at the yard desperate to communicate that she was not having an attack, heart or otherwise. She managed to open her mouth in a wide, round 'O'.
"I'll fetch a cold compress," said Clarence, stepping toward the kitchen. She put a hammerlock on his forearm. A hesitant tap-tap sounded on the window. I wasn't dreaming after all, DeeDee reassured herself. Clarence bustled to the terrace door.
"Jacob?" Clarence stared at the bird-like man wearing plaid shorts and a yellow cardigan.
"She's g-gone!" He stumbled over his words and peered past Clarence at DeeDee. She hung in her chair gulping for breath. Jacob looks awful, she thought, then wondered at her own appearance. He's a corpse in florida-gear. She watched Clarence shepherd their neighbour in and settle the trembling little man in a chair.
