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told her was that I’d have…an associate with me and we’d like to take a look at Hannah’s room.”
    She bit her lip. Maybe being present when Zander explained to Mrs. Saxon that she was a psychic would be better. At least she’d be able to answer any questions or concerns the woman had. “I feel so awful for her. I can’t imagine what she must be going through.”
    “It’s pretty rough.” He merged onto the main road.
    She tried to hone in on his thoughts. So much was going through his mind that she couldn’t get a line on his mood. “Are you nervous?”
    He chuckled and gave her a sideways glance. “No. But you are.”
    “Are you psychic now?”
    Another laugh. “Don’t need to be. You’ve been tapping your fingers on the armrest since we left your store.”
    She clasped her hands in her lap. “I’ve never felt so much pressure to pick up impressions. The stakes are awfully high.”
    His expression grew serious. “Yes they are. We have to keep that in mind and remind Mrs. Saxon of it if she doesn’t want to let you in.”
    She gulped. “Right.”
    He steered into a circular drive in front of a gigantic colonial style home with a perfectly manicured yard. The sort of place she used to wish she lived when she was a kid rather than the one-bedroom walk-ups she’d shared with her mother that came complete with cockroaches and peeling paint.
    “This is beautiful.” White flowers filled several window boxes and two rockers sat waiting on the long white porch. How could anything bad touch anyone who lived in such perfection? She unsnapped her seatbelt and drew a deep breath for confidence. Then she shut her eyes a moment, tried to get herself into her magic zone.
    “Okay?” Zander asked.
    She opened her eyes and nodded.
    He kept his hand on the small of her back as they climbed the steps to the porch. Giving her a reassuring wink, he rang the bell.
    A blond as thin as a corn stalk who appeared to be in her early forties opened the door. She gave Jilly a cursory glance then shifted her gaze to Zander. “Hello, Detective.”
    “Mrs. Saxon. This is Jilly Livingston, a psychic from over at Freedom Moon Camp. We’re hoping she might be able to help.”
    A spark of apprehension shone in the woman’s sunken eyes. “Oh my. I never would have even considered…” She brightened a little. “I’m willing to try anything. Have you assisted other families in this situation?”
    Jilly searched her brain for an answer that would reassure the woman but before she could answer, Zander spoke. “She’s an experienced psychic, Mrs. Saxon. May we come in?”
    Mrs. Saxon stepped aside. “Of course.” She led them into a pristine room filled with expensive looking antique furniture and an oriental rug Jilly was afraid to step on. A grandfather clock chimed the half hour.
    Jilly studied the woman, searched for an aura, but it was difficult to find.
    “Can I get either of you a drink? I have ice tea or soda.”
    Zander shook his head.
    “Nothing for me, thanks.” Jilly finally caught a glimpse of a murky blue haze around Mrs. Saxon. The mother was afraid. A natural reaction.
    “Would it be possible for me to see Hannah’s room, to look at her things?” she asked gently.
    “I suppose that would be okay.” Mrs. Saxon took them upstairs and down a short hallway lined with framed portraits of the girl and a young boy who resembled her.
    Jilly stopped in front of a recent photo of Hannah and touched the glass over the girl’s face. She felt nothing but cold stillness. Was Hannah already gone? A lump caught in her throat. No, she refused to go there.
    They continued to a spacious bedroom that was strangely neat to belong to a teenage girl, but then again, Hannah lived in a perfect home. A collection of frilly pillows and assorted stuffed animals sat atop a white canopy bed with pink floral linens. The matching dresser and desk held the usual perfume bottles, textbooks and trinkets.
    Mrs. Saxon stood at the