A middle-aged woman in a red sweater leaned forward, said, “For me? Who is it? What do they say?” Her hair was a washed-out blond; her skin looked yellow and sickly in the candlelight. She had on thick blue eye shadow all the way up to her eyebrows.

“It’s your sister, Jessa.”

“Oh!” Kay said, eyes wide open, excited. “What does she say?”

“She wants you to know she loves you. And she says…she says she’s sorry.”

“Ohh!” Kay exclaimed, tears filling her heavily made-up eyes, running down her yellow cheeks. “Oh, Jessa! You don’t need to be sorry. I forgive you! Tell her I forgive her!”

She was sobbing now.

The old woman beside Helen smiled. “You’ve made her so happy, Kay. She’s so relieved.”

Jesus, thought Helen. What a complete crock of shit. It seemed cruel, heartbreaking, really, taking advantage of people like Kay, people in grief who didn’t know any better, who clearly had unfinished business with the dead. She imagined that if she had stumbled into this group right after the death of her father, when the rawness of her pain had left her ripped right open, these people would have had a field day with her. And she probably would have bought it all, too. Because she was so desperate to talk to her father one more time, to say the good-byes she felt she’d been cheated out of.

“There’s another presence here,” Dicky said.

“Oh yes, there is,” said the old woman beside Helen. She turned to Helen. Her face was etched with deep wrinkles. “It’s a message for you, dear.”

“For me?” Helen asked.

The old woman nodded, closing her eyes. She held tight to Helen’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Oh! She’s a strong spirit, this one.”

This was too much. Too goddamned much. She should never have listened to Riley, should never have tried this. She wanted to stand up and walk out, but politeness kept her there, holding hands, eyes closed, thinking, This will be over soon and then I can get the hell out of here and never come back.

Her head was starting to ache. The incense and candles were too sweet and cloying, the scent filling the back of her throat, making it feel like it was closing, getting tighter and tighter.

“It’s a woman, but she won’t identify herself. She says you know who she is. She says…she says there’s someone you’ve got to find. I think it’s someone related to you? No, no, that’s not it. The person is related to her. That’s who you’ve got to find.”

Riley gave Helen’s hand a hard squeeze.

“She says you have to hurry. You’re running out of time,” the old woman said, tightening her face into a grimace.

“Is there more?” Riley asked. “Does she say how to find this person?”