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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Nana, whispered a small voice. DeeDee's eyelids fluttered. She scanned the corner of her room. Having neither children nor grandchildren, she felt sure the voice was not intended for her. Another echo through time and space.
Nana. Read to me, came the childlike words.
DeeDee reached for pencil and paper. Allowing eyelids to drop in a relaxed state, her vision blurred into the middle distance and her violet slippers faded into hazy powder puffs at the end of her bed. Her hand drifted across the pad, whooshing as it moved. In her mind's eye, DeeDee reviewed Murch. Dark straggles that swept wiry shoulders. Blue-puddle eyes with lashes like bristles. A button nose perched over thin lips and a chin pointed as a Keebler elf. DeeDee opened her eyes. Her pencil deepened shading and a fingertip smudged streaks of pencil lead on the page. Hmmm? Not quite. She sharpened the lip line and softened the bridge of the nose. Better.
She eased off the mattress leaving the drawing on the nightstand. After washing her grimy fingers, she padded out to the living room, artwork in her clammy hands. There she found Clarence in his usual chair, newspaper up to his face. As he glanced up, blinking through reading glasses, he laid the paper across his lap. His knees quivered. She dropped the sketch onto the newsprint and sank into the matching wingchair.
"Not sure if I can manage this time," DeeDee said, grasping the armrests with pale hands.
"I sense that," he replied, furrowing his brow. He gave his paper a neat rap. The sketch quivered in place.
"I heard. But what choice do I have?"
"Always a choice, love. Too often we humans ignore some of our best options." He drew a deep breath. "Like an early lunch."
Once their meal had been consumed, DeeDee and Clarence relaxed in the cool, dim living room to escape the heat of midday.
"Oh," gasped DeeDee, hand reaching for her chest. She realized that was Jacob's strickened face sliding in front of the big picture window.
"I'll get the door," said Clarence, folding his paper, placing the sketch on top. "You must come to the door," he admonished his neighbour.
"Sorry. S-so sorry, it's just..." Jacob muttered, sidestepping in. "Her picture w-was on t-the television."
"Yes, the police are on it, Jacob," said DeeDee, regretting the bloodless tone of her voice. I haven't the strength. Jacob's body trembled like an old radiator. His eyes met hers. Lord, he hasn't slept since God knows when, she thought.
"Jacob?" She reached for her drawing and beckoned him with a flick of the wrist. "Do you recognize this child – this boy or girl?"
He quick-stepped to her side, took the page between long, slender fingers and held it at arm's length. "Didn't bring my glasses..."
"Here, try mine," said Clarence and DeeDee simultaneously. They tittered. Clarence passed his. Their neighbour squinted. He's holding his breath. He shook his head vigourly and let out an exasperated puff of air as he went to hand it back.
