“If you leave the vehicle, you’ll have to schedule another ride.”
I hadn’t planned to leave the vehicle. “Maybe just while you find a place to park.”
“I’m not parking, buddy.”
He wasn’t? Okay, fine. I needed to decide.
Strands of lights were strung between the pillars of the white-painted front porch, casting a soft glow. About twenty cars lined the road, and the driveway was packed. A banner covered the top half of the entrance, but I couldn’t make out the wording at this distance.
“Can you read what the sign says on the front door?” I was delaying.
“Sure. Happy Anniversary, King and Kendy.”
Almost the same as the invitation? But not quite. Still, it was close. Too close. “Any last name?” Like Chandler, perhaps?
“Are you going to this shindig or not? We’ve arrived at your destination.” He mimicked the tone of an automated recording. “I need to go pick up my next fare or I’ll lose it.”
Right, right. “Sorry, man. Here’s a tip.” I showed him on my phone screen. “Thanks.” I got out.
He revved his engine and roared off, leaving me standing in the front yard of strangers—who were the parents of a woman who probably never wanted to see me again outside a courtroom.
Maybe she wasn’t here. Maybe these weren’t her parents. It could all be one big, strange coincidence, right?
I should call Lola to ask her to come pick me up.
But I knew if I told Lola, she’d go all Alfred Hitchcock freak-out on me, and I didn’t want to inflict that on her. Plus, she’d been asleep when I left. Plus, she would have caught me in The Lie, and Lola hated lies almost as much as she hated paranormal stuff.
“Are you here for the Allens?” A passerby on the sidewalk paused to chat. “They’re such a happy couple. We’re lucky to have them in the neighborhood.” The woman grinned, holding a gift bag at her torso. “I know they like their garden, but that probably means everyone else knows it too, and they’ll get a dozen of these.” From the bag, she pulled out some stabby-looking garden shears.
“I thought the invitation said no gifts.” It had said that, for sure.
“It did, but everyone ignores that.” She gave me a little giggle as she looked me over.
Why did women giggle at me all the time at the grocery store and downtown? They never giggled when I wore my lab coat and stethoscope.
She winked. “See you inside. Fortieth is the new fiftieth, right? Ha!”
“Fortieth anniversary,” I mumbled. The invitation from my dream. All of its details had been accurate from the address to the number of years to the request for no gifts. But were the names right? King and Kendy, the banner said, and I distinctly remembered Kingston and Kennedy on the invitation. Plus, Giggle Lady had said this party belonged to the Allens. The woman in my dream and at my office had most definitely referred to herself as Miss Chandler. Er, Ms. Chandler. Was the term miz anything other than misleading?
“You there? You coming inside?” A man from the porch waved, beckoning me. “They’re about to cut the cake.”
Was I? I’d come this far. I was on the doorstep of finding out just how crazy my subconscious was for concocting all of this—or how crazy my conscious brain was for following it.