“Wait! Don’t leave.” I looked down at Jess and snatched the board and planchette from her, tossing them back into the box and replacing the lid. “See? It’s gone. Come back. I need to tell you guys something.”

Melissa stopped and frowned but slowly stepped back toward us as Jess lowered herself to the grass again, arms out.

“It seems like every time you have to tell us something, it’s something awful. Not like, ‘Hey, I found a new sushi place that has great spicy tuna.’ Or, ‘Did you hear about these new workout leggings on Amazon?’ ” Jess muttered from the grass, eyes closed.

Melissa raised her eyebrows expectantly and held Lucy on her hip like a baby, keeping her distance from the board.

I told them about going to Liz’s house and watching her sleep and the strange movements. I told them about how her skin was covered in scratches and seemed waxy. I then showed the picture of her on my phone, and they shrank back.

“She was also mumbling something.” I clicked over to the Notes app. “I tried to record it phonetically. It was ‘Ahm nays inter fitch ay ray.’ ”

“Why didn’t you just do a voice recording?” Melissa said impatiently.

I shrugged, lifting my phone in the air. “Because that would have made too much sense? It’s not like I had a plan, other than to make sure she wasn’t levitating and vomiting pea soup.”

“The Exorcist. Another reason not to use that Ouija board. The demon contacted the little girl through the board and then she started doing unnatural things with a crucifix,” Melissa said.

“That would be a badass stripper routine.” Jess laughed, still splayed on the lawn like she couldn’t muster the energy to sit up and engage in this ridiculous conversation. “The guy could come out with horns and red body paint and dance to ‘Highway to Hell.’ ” She shot up. “That’s actually a great idea. Maybe I should open my own club.”

I sighed deeply. I would have thought she was joking, except Jess concocted a new business idea every other week. Two weeks ago, she’d wanted to run a nursing home for swingers but then realized there were hurdles like insurance and licensing. (Not to mention the potential medical costs of elderly swingers’ breaking their hips.)

Melissa stared at her phone. Her face was illuminated by the light, shadows bouncing off her face. Even at night, her eyebrows were perfectly filled in and her lashes were long and full, thanks to bimonthly trips to the lash studio in town.

“Say again what Liz whispered,” she said. I did, and she scrolled the screen with her thumb.