Life's A Birch (The Bloomin' Psychic Book 2) by Annabel Chase

Author:Annabel Chase
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Red Palm Press LLC
Published: 2021-05-06T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE AIR HAD COOLED SIGNIFICANTLY NOW that the sun was on the verge of setting, although I didn’t bother to wear a jacket. My menopausal body was generating enough heat right now to power a metropolis. When I was younger, I looked forward to the dog days of summer. I’d gladly sweltered in the sun and relished the new freckles on my skin. Now I dreaded the heat and humidity, knowing that they would trigger more hot flashes and more skin cancer biopsies by an overly enthusiastic dermatologist.

St. Philip’s was a modest Episcopal church with a bright red door outlined in white trim. I climbed the steps and pondered the door. What was the protocol? Did I knock or was the house of worship open to the public? My experience with churches was limited to sightseeing and the occasional wedding.

I decided to try my luck and pushed the door open. The hinges creaked but that was the only sound. There was no sign of life inside. Still, I felt the need to tiptoe past the pews as I made my way to the basement door.

The basement was the entire length and width of the building, creating an impressive space for gatherings. The group currently occupying the basement sat in a circle in folding metal chairs. Between each set of chairs, a basket rested on the floor stacked with balls of colorful yarn. No one noticed my presence until I was practically in the center of the circle.

“Hi, I’m looking for Clive,” I announced. There was only one man seated in the circle, but it was possible Clive wasn’t present this evening.

A pair of thick-lashed eyes drifted up to study me. “I’m Clive.” He looked to be in his forties, although his shaggy hair looked straight out of the ‘70s. His outfit was the most noticeable thing about him though. The rainbow-colored crocheted jumpsuit was open at the top, revealing Clive’s hairy chest, and the bottom was lined with fringe. His feet were swaddled in brown leather sandals, which was about the only type of shoe I could imagine wearing with such an outfit. Barefoot probably wasn’t an option on the cold basement floor of the church.

“Hi. I’m Mia Thorne.”

The elderly woman beside him snapped to attention. “You’re Hazel’s kin?” She scrutinized me from behind her thick glasses. “I see the vultures have come out to pick over the carcass. That’s always the way.”

I frowned. “Am I the vulture in that scenario?”

“Well, you’re not the carcass.”

Clive set down his crochet hook and looked at the woman. “Now, Bertha, you have no idea what their relationship was. Don’t take your issues with Jan out on a stranger.”

“Who else am I supposed to take them out on? I can’t take them out on Jan if she isn’t here.”

I faced Bertha. She wore a peach-colored twinset in a light knit fabric and tan trousers. “If you must know, Hazel was my father’s aunt and he died when I was twelve.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Bertha said.

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