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past.”
    An interesting idea. I made a mental note to ask Nick to do a quick background check on Chantel Carrington for me. Nick is a first-rate investigative reporter who’s covering arts and entertainment features for the tiny Cypress Grove Gazette while he waits for his big break. He’d love to move to the Miami Herald or the Palm Beach Post , but things are tough in the newspaper business right now, so he has to stay put in our little town.
    “Are you saying Chantel is a fraud, a charlatan?” Lark piped up. “That’s disappointing, because a lot of people believe in her.”
    She gave a tiny shake of her head, and her blue eyes looked troubled. Lark is determined to think the best of everyone and doesn’t share my cynical view of humanity. In many ways, she and I are polar opposites. Lark is an incurable optimist and believes in cosmic harmony, yin and yang, and the idea that the universe sometimes bestows blessings in the form of apparent disasters.
    “Well, you just have to take it for what it is,” Vera Mae said kindly. “Think of what Chantel does as entertainment. You know, a performance, a stage act.”
    “But it can’t just be entertainment. I’ve had a strong feeling all day that I was meant to come to her séance tonight. I feel a cosmic connection to her.”
    “Then you’re setting yourself up for disappointment, sugar.”
    Lark believes that we’re destined to meet every single person we encounter in life, either to learn something from them or to teach them something. She’s into all things New Age: chakras, karma, auras, and the I ching .
    Her favorite movie is Forrest Gump , and I love anything by Woody Allen.
    I think that says it all.
    “I’d sure like to get a rundown on her background,” Vera Mae said. “What do we really know about her anyway? Have you ever seen her business card? It says she’s a professional psychic, a medium, a seer, and an oracle. She calls herself an oracle! She’s not lacking nerve. That’s for sure.”
    “It actually says oracle on her card?” Oracle. That seemed a little over-the-top, even for Chantel. “I wish I’d known that. I could have used that on the show today.”
    “I don’t think I’ve ever met an oracle,” Lark said, awed. “Or a seer, for that matter.”
    “Oh, seer, schmeer,” Mom interjected. “People can say whatever they like. I could say I’m Suzanne Somers, but who’d believe me?” She twisted a long, loopy strand of golden hair around her index finger. Mom had extensions hot-glued onto her own locks last week and she couldn’t resist playing with them.
    “Well, you do look a little like her,” Lark said, ever tactful. “Around the eyes.”
    “Do you think so?” Mom brightened and whipped out her compact. “Really?” Mom smiled at her reflection, flipped her extensions back over her shoulder, and pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe if they photographed me from a certain angle, in the right light. Of course, they’d have to use those soft pink lightbulbs. They’re very flattering, you know.”
    Vera Mae and I exchanged a look . Soft pink lightbulbs? Who’s she kidding ?
    It would take more than pink lightbulbs to make Mom look like Suzanne Somers.
    It would take a pair of rose-colored glasses.
    Or maybe a bad case of cataracts.

Chapter 4
    It was nearly seven when we arrived at the Cypress Grove Historical Society on the south end of Water Street. I nosed my Honda Accord into the parking lot behind the imposing pale gray Victorian mansion that sat squarely on a corner lot.
    Althea Somerset was hosting Chantel Carrington’s appearance tonight. Althea, one of Cypress Grove’s most prominent citizens, sits on the board of several local charities and is an enthusiastic town booster. The historical society is her passion in life, and she’s been the director for more than three decades, working for a minuscule salary and living in a small apartment on the top floor.
    Althea is an imposing woman, tall and