The Stranger Vanishes

By Wendy Corsi Staub

New York Times bestseller Wendy Corsi Staub is back, with a new heart-warming cozy mystery set in the magical village of Lily Dale

In the quirky, picturesque lakeside community of Lily Dale, where the residents can talk to the dead, young widow Bella Jordan is the lone skeptic among believers. She doesn't believe in ghosts . . . but after a year in the village, she would admit that her new friends do sometimes seem to know impossible things.

Still, when a Black stranger dressed in old-fashioned clothing arrives unexpectedly at Bella's guesthouse at midnight on Juneteenth, only to vanish the next day as if he'd never existed, Bella's sure there has to be a logical explanation. One that has nothing to do with the strange warning Odelia, the medium next door, delivers from the Spirits: Beware of . . . Barry?!

Bella doesn't know a Barry, and she has enough people in her life already, what with her young son Max and their two kitties, handsome vet Drew, a plethora of kind but nosy neighbors and a full house of summer guests. But as the mystery of the missing stranger deepens, she starts to wonder: did the Spirits really mean Barry? Or did they mean bury . . .

If you're a fan of gentle mysteries filled with quirky but endearing characters, and haven't met Bella and her friends yet, you're in for a real treat! The Stranger Vanishes is the fifth Lily Dale cozy, and it's safe to jump right in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Severn House
• Release date: Oct 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781448307746

Wendy Corsi Staub

USA Today and New York Times bestseller Wendy Corsi Staub is the award-winning author of more than seventy novels and has twice been nominated for the Mary Higgins Clark Award. She lives in the New York City suburbs with her husband and their two children.

Book preview

ONE

‘It’s been a year.’

Odelia Lauder’s words startle Bella Jordan. Not just because she’d been lost in thought and forgotten she’s not alone here at the water’s edge behind Valley View Guesthouse, but because Odelia seems to have read her mind.

That probably shouldn’t be startling either, given, well … Lily Dale.

On the surface, the gated lakeside colony is like any other in this picturesque corner of New York State. Narrow lanes are lined with ancient shade trees and ramshackle cottages. Many homes, including Valley View, date back to the town’s nineteenth-century roots, with gingerbread trim, fish-scale shingles, turrets, and mansards. A few, like Valley View, are winterized and occupied year-round, but the majority are empty from Labor Day till June.

One distinct feature sets this cottage community apart from the others. As the birthplace of modern spiritualism back in the 1800s, Lily Dale remains populated to this day by people who talk to dead people.

Most homes have a sign bracket and shingle announcing the occupant’s specialty.

DORIS HENDERSON, SHAMANIC HEALER

MISTY STARR, PSYCHIC CONSULTANT

And of course, right next door to Valley View: ODELIA LAUDER, REGISTERED MEDIUM

As a newcomer and outsider, Bella is pretty much the lone skeptic among believers who spend their days channeling thoughts, spirits, healing energy, auras – just about all things paranormal, as far as she can tell.

Sometimes, her friends here do know things they couldn’t possibly have known. And sometimes – like now, with Odelia – they really do seem to be reading her mind.

It’s been a year.

Just before Odelia uttered those words, Bella had been gazing at the shimmering sunset on Cassadaga Lake and thinking of Valley View’s previous manager, Leona Gatto, found dead almost on this very spot last June nineteenth.

Not merely dead.

Murdered.

‘Odelia? It’s June nineteenth, so when you say it’s been a year, are you talking about—’

‘It’s Juneteenth. That’s the official name for today’s date.’

Bella nods. It’s all their mutual friend Luther Ragland has talked about for weeks, as chair of the Juneteenth committee in neighboring Dunkirk, where he resides. This evening’s events include a statue dedication, speeches, and a banquet to benefit Black youth.

‘It’s a federal holiday now, you know,’ Odelia goes on, ‘commemorating the emancipation of African American slaves.’

‘Wait – is that what you meant when you said it’s been a year?’

‘My goodness, no! That happened in 1865!’

Bella heaves an inward sigh, accustomed not just to these circuitous conversations, but to Odelia’s ability to ‘remember’ incidents that occurred centuries ago.

She may have been born in the 1950s – this time around, as she likes to say – but she claims to have been reincarnated as everything from a Native American tribal chief to a nineteenth-century astronomer to a freighthopping Depression-era hobo. So when she talks about the emancipation, it’s not unreasonable to expect her to claim she’d been an eyewitness to the Gettysburg address, or some such milestone.

In this moment, however, Odelia isn’t lost in a past lifetime.

‘What I meant, Bella, is that Juneteenth is the date last year that our dear Leona Gatto crossed over.’

‘Right. I was just thinking about that, too.’

Predictably, Odelia says, ‘I know you were. Seems that it was just yesterday, doesn’t it?’

‘Not for me. It feels like another lifetime. Not reincarnation,’ she adds quickly. ‘I just mean so much has changed since last June, I can’t think of anything that hasn’t changed.’

‘All for the better, Bella. All for the better.’

This time last year, Bella was a widow of six months, coping with her own grief and concerned about her son Max, a shy kindergartner who’d grown increasingly introverted after his father died. She’d just lost her middle school science teacher job to budget cuts, and her landlord sold the suburban New York City building she and Sam had moved into as newlyweds. Homeless, jobless, and penniless, she and Max were heading to a fresh start in Chicago with her mother-in-law when – thanks to a pregnant stray cat – they landed in Lily Dale instead.

‘She’s pleased with how things have turned out for you, Bella.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Leona,’ Odelia says. ‘She’s touching in from the other side to say she couldn’t have chosen a more capable person to take over in her absence.’

A year ago, Bella would have been confused by this. Now, she’s accustomed to the way her Lily Dale friends casually mention ghostly conversations as if they’ve just been chatting with a friend in the next room.

‘She’s saying you’ve done a bang-up job getting Valley View ready for the season,’ Odelia goes on.

The season …

Lily Dale revolves around a ten-week event calendar. Every day is packed with activities, from group readings to renowned speakers to workshops in everything from beginning mediumship to spoon bending. Visitors travel here from far and wide, all of them searching for something – contact with a lost loved one; psychic guidance about the future; physical, spiritual, or psychological healing.

Some are day-trippers, but many need a place to stay. Valley View is the largest guesthouse in the area. Tomorrow night, and nearly every night until September, every bed will be filled. Tonight, it’s just Bella, facing her first solo overnight since her single days living in New York. Max is at his first sleepover.

Though he’s just two doors down Cottage Row at his friend Jiffy Arden’s house, she’d been reluctant to let him go. Jiffy’s mom, Misty, isn’t the most conscientious parent in the Dale.

Still, this is a safe small town – or so Bella keeps trying to convince herself. And her son is flourishing here. He’d recently turned seven and has only one more week as a first grader, growing up fast.

‘Leona is thanking you for taking such good care of her home and the cats,’ Odelia informs her. ‘And for uncovering the truth about the circumstances of her departure from the earthly plane.’

As opposed to her death, because in Lily Dale, there’s no such thing.

Initially, her departure had been deemed a tragic accident. Leona couldn’t swim, but kept a rowboat and kayaks for guests. On that stormy night, the authorities theorized that she might have gone out to make sure the boats were securely tied to the pilings, lost her footing, hit her head, and fallen into the water.

It could have happened that way. Only it hadn’t.

‘Leona’s saying that if you hadn’t come along, her killer would still be at large and she wouldn’t be at peace. She’s so grateful to you.’

‘Oh, well, tell her that it was my …’

Not pleasure. Solving a murder shortly after Bella’s arrival at Valley View had been far from pleasurable.

She runs through alternative words that are closer to reality, yet not quite accurate – duty, responsibility, obligation …

Before she can settle on one, Odelia lets out a little gasp and murmurs, ‘What do you mean?’

She isn’t talking to Bella.

After a moment, her round face crinkles as if she’s heard something she’d rather not have heard, and whatever it is involves Bella.

‘I see. I see. Yes. Yes, I’ll tell her. Thank you, Leona.’

Goosebumps rise on Bella’s bare arms and legs. ‘Tell me what?’

‘Leona has some concerns, Bella.’

‘Concerns about what?’

‘I think his name is … it sounds like Barry.’

‘Whose name is Barry?’

Odelia shushes her, eyes closed, head tilted as if she’s listening intently.

Bella hears only power tools buzzing at a neighboring property, where someone is removing the plywood that covered the windows throughout the rugged snow belt winter.

She leans back in her Adirondack chair and notices a fat crow watching her. It’s perched atop ‘Piano Rock’, an ancient flat-topped boulder shaped like an upright piano, and about the size of one.

Yesterday, Jiffy had produced ‘an antique pirate map’ he claimed to have found. Max believed him, though it was drawn in a child’s hand in black Sharpie on ruled notebook paper. An X depicted buried lakeside treasure between Piano Rock and an ancient Gingko tree. A gaping hole now yawns in the grass where Bella had allowed the boys to dig, keeping them busy while she weeded the flowerbeds.

‘Fill it in before someone steps in it and twists an ankle’ is currently at the top of Bella’s endless To Do list. But it, like most everything else, will have to wait until tomorrow.

With a loud caw, the crow flutters its wings and disappears into the Gingko’s arching limbs. Suddenly chilled in her tank top and cut-offs, Bella notes that the air temperature seems to have dropped several degrees. Daylight is fading fast, the sinking sun igniting hilltops on the opposite shore.

If Max were here right now, he’d be peppering her with questions. He’d want to know why daylight lasted well past his bedtime tonight as opposed to in winter, when dusk descends as he hops off the school bus. He’d want to know about tomorrow’s solstice and meteorological conditions and geographical coordinates.

Not Sam, though. Bella’s poetic husband would prefer to just sit appreciating the ‘sushi sky’, as he’d once memorably called a spectacular seaside sunrise. She’d never shared the phrase with anyone before a Lily Dale medium mentioned it just months ago, purportedly channeling Sam’s spirit.

Bella shivers at the memory.

‘Is someone walking on your grave, Bella?’

‘What?’ She turns to see Odelia’s eyes narrowed behind her red-and-orange speckled cat-eye glasses. The frames complement her dyed hair and freckled skin tone, but clash with her neon purple kimono and lipstick.

‘It’s just a phrase – it’s what you say when someone shivers for no reason, like you did just now.’

‘I have a reason. The breeze … it’s a little chilly, that’s all.’

‘What breeze? It’s stifling out here tonight.’

Bella shrugs. ‘I felt a chill.’

‘What you felt was Spirit.’

‘I doubt that,’ she says, though the lake water is barely rippling, the air is thick with warm weather insects, and Odelia’s ruddy face is moist and flushed with humidity. ‘But if it was Spirit … what did you say Leona was telling you about … was it Barry?’

‘That’s what it sounded like, although clairaudience isn’t high tech by any means. It’s—’

‘Like talking on the telephone with a staticky connection,’ Bella cuts in, heading off a lengthy and oft-repeated mediumship tutorial.

‘At times, yes. Or like hearing a voice underwater. Spirit communicates on a much higher frequency. Often, it can—’ Interrupted by an electronic vibration, she pauses and pulls her cell phone from her pocket, screen glowing with a text. ‘Speaking of communication, here’s Luther at last. I was beginning to think he’d forgotten me.’

‘I still think you should have gone to the festivities, Odelia.’

‘Not with the season starting tomorrow. We have much too much to do.’

‘No, I have much too much to do. You should have gone. I feel terrible that you missed it.’

‘Please don’t. I bought a ticket, so the charity got my donation, and if I wanted to go, I would have. Luther’s much too busy to pay me any mind. Anyway, the last thing I felt like doing tonight was eating rubbery chicken and listening to the guest of so-called honor pontificating at a podium.’

She’s referring to high profile medium David Slayton, host of the cable television program Dead Isn’t Dead and author of a bestselling memoir by the same title. He comes from a long line of mediums, and devoted an entire chapter in his book to his illustrious ancestors, including the famed abolitionist John Slayton.

That connection had earned David a prominent, if controversial, role in the Juneteenth festivities. Odelia, like many, felt that the honored guest should have been a person of color – say, Terry Truman, the incumbent congressman Slayton’s planning to run against this fall.

The committee was leaning in that direction before Slayton’s publicist pitched him as a local. He does own a house just outside Lily Dale, but everyone knows he divides his time between Hollywood and his Manhattan penthouse.

Still, the committee chose Slayton, counting on his celebrity to boost fundraiser attendance.

It’s been an ongoing cause of friction in Luther and Odelia’s fledgling romance, and Bella has been privy to many a contentious conversation about it.

‘The Underground Railroad transported thousands of slaves, including my own ancestors, to freedom,’ Luther pointed out to Odelia just yesterday. ‘John Slayton was a true American hero, and he was from this area. So is David Slayton.’

‘Oh, please. He’s not even coming to town until right before your event, and there’s nothing heroic about him,’ she retorted. ‘Or his son, for that matter.’

‘What does this have to do with his son?’

‘He’s a Slayton. They’re not to be trusted.’ Odelia types a quick reply to Luther’s text and pockets her phone. ‘Good. He’s on his way to the Dale. We have a date.’

‘At this hour?’

‘We’re going dancing. The night is young and so are we. At heart, anyway.’ Her flat western New York accent infuses the word ‘dancing’ with an extra syllable – dee-anc-ing – and lends a hearty pirate-like emphasis to the ‘ar’ in are and heart.

‘Wait, Odelia, before you go … What did Leona tell you? About Barry? That’s what you think you heard?’

‘Yes. Do you know anyone by that name?’

‘I don’t think so. Are you sure that was it?’

‘It wasn’t entirely clear, and I’m afraid Luther’s text interrupted my meditation. I’ll try again.’

She closes her eyes and goes still, head bowed.

Bella waits, her stomach rumbling with hunger. She’d eaten her dinner sparingly this evening – spiraled squash ‘spaghetti’ with pina colada meatballs. It’s the latest original recipe Odelia’s been testing for the cookbook she’s writing, with Bella – for better or worse – as chief taste-tester.

After a few moments, Odelia shakes her head. ‘Leona’s energy has moved on. I’ve asked my guides to protect you and bathe you in white light.’

‘Um … thanks.’

Her guides, Bella knows, are various forms of spirit energy upon which – whom? – she relies for support like a staff of personal assistants.

‘You’re welcome. I’ll meditate later and see what else I can get. For now, it’s best for you to err on the side of caution.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just be wary.’

‘But wary of what?’

‘Of …’ Odelia pauses. ‘I never want to frighten you, Bella. I just relay whatever Spirit gives me. And tonight, that’s all there is.’

‘OK, well … thanks. I’ll give a wide berth to any Barry who crosses my path.’

‘And you should be careful in general.’

‘Right. I promise not to, you know, go skydiving or swimming with the sharks tonight. And you have a great time with Luther. I’ll bet he’s like one of those ballroom dancers.’

‘Oh, it’s not like that. We’re going to a disco.’

‘A disco? Are those still around?’

‘Of course, if you know where to look. I’d better get a move on.’ Odelia heaves herself from her chair. ‘Coming?’

‘Yes.’

Getting to her feet, Bella realizes she’d been mistaken; she doesn’t need to warm up as much as she needs to cool off. The night air is still sultry, and she lifts her long hair to get it off her sticky neck and shoulders.

They head across the yard, past a clump of wild blackberries and the new stone firepit, installed last week. Valley View looms above the trees. She should have left some lights on at the back of the house. In the gloaming, the three-story Queen Anne Victorian looks a little like a haunted mansion. Its lavender-gray paint scheme, so charming by day, has gone murky and bats are swooping above the mansard roof and turrets.

The foundation border’s heirloom perennials are in full bloom, scenting the evening with sweet mock orange and peony blossoms.

Solar path posts light the path and motion sensors illuminate overhead fixtures as they pass. Around the front, the house glows with newly added exterior and landscape spotlights. A freshly painted, floodlit signpost announces VALLEY VIEW GUESTHOUSE, with a line below that reads RESERVATIONS PREFERRED BUT NOT REQUIRED. Below that, a dangling placard announces VACANCIES.

Bella needs to swap that out for the NO VACANCIES one that will remain just about every day of the season. It can wait until morning, she decides, covering a deep yawn.

‘Go on in and get some rest, Bella,’ Odelia says. ‘Maybe take a bubble bath, have some wine, and make sure you finish the book club book.’

‘The meeting isn’t until July third.’

‘I know, but I can’t wait to talk about it with you. You’ll never guess the twist!’

Bella is pretty sure she already has, and she’s only halfway through this month’s read, a buzzy whodunnit. In fiction, as in real life, she tends to zero in on seemingly insignificant clues. If only real life mysteries wrapped up as efficiently as they do in fiction.

They’ve reached the curbside mailbox. Bella’s car is parked alongside it, flanked by several empty spaces marked RESERVED FOR GUESTS.

Valley View is the last house on a rutted tree-lined lane that ends where the lake curves around to a small fishing pier and roped-off swimming area, now obscured in shadows. Lamplight spills from neighboring windows and fireflies are dancing in the grassy green across the way. Somewhere on a gravelly road beyond, kids whir along on bikes, calling to each other.

‘I’ll be over first thing to help with the arrivals,’ Odelia says.

‘You don’t have to do that. You’ll have a late night, and official check-in isn’t until afternoon.’

‘There are always early birds on the first day of the season. Return visitors can’t wait to get back, and the newbies are anxious to see what it’s all about. Especially this year, with all the press about David Slayton.’ Odelia punctuates the name with an eye-roll, as usual. ‘He’s been bashing Terry Truman for weeks. Did you see what he told a reporter yesterday about how his Spirit guides told him that he’s destined to unseat Truman in order to save New York from doom?’

‘What? What kind of doom?’

‘Who knows? But people believe him. His slogan is David Slayton Knows All. The man is shameless. And a carpetbagger. Why doesn’t he go run for office in New York City, or Hollywood?’

‘He is from here, Odelia, and he owns a house in the Dale.’

‘But he doesn’t live in it. And do you know he’s calling himself a family man? He barely sees his son, and they’ve never gotten along. I’m telling you, this campaign is nothing but a publicity stunt to boost book sales and television viewership.’

‘But his book is a bestseller and his show is popular.’

‘Was, Bella. Past tense. The book fell off the bestseller lists back in April, and his ratings slipped this season. He wants to be back on top.’

Bella doesn’t argue. When Odelia’s on a roll, it’s best to let her rip until she runs out of steam.

‘I guarantee you that David Slayton doesn’t have a noble desire to serve the people. He’s full of himself, that’s what he is. Just like his son.’

She’s never forgiven Blue Slayton for breaking her granddaughter Calla’s teenaged heart over a decade ago. Nor does she approve of their rekindled relationship now that they’re both back in the Dale and pushing thirty.

‘I don’t know why any granddaughter of mine would waste her time on someone like him. Maybe if you talked to her, Bella?’

‘She’s never asked me what to do about it.’

‘We can’t wait for friends and family to ask for help figuring things out. If we feel strongly about something that could hurt someone, we have to tell them.’

‘We don’t feel strongly about it, Odelia. You do.’

‘But nothing I say seems to get through to her.’ She sighs, turns toward home, and then back. ‘Thanks again for taste-testing my pina colada meatballs.’

‘My pleasure,’ Bella lies.

‘Are you sure I went overboard on the rum?’

‘Pretty sure. And maybe a little overboard on the rest, too.’

‘The rest? Like …?’

‘Like … you know, the … piña. And the, um, colada.’

‘If I take all that out, it will just be