CHAPTER FOUR — Lila Mae, the Batting, and One Very Judgmental Raccoon
Miss Mabel tightened her grip on her walker as the shadow behind the fallen shelf shifted again. Not fast more like a slow wiggle. A “help me, but also my back hurts” wiggle. Elmira Gail gasped. “Girls… that ain’t demon movement. That’s arthritis.” I stepped forward carefully, one foot at a time, aware of Elmira muttering half-Baptist, half-Mormon prayers behind me like she was rebooting a religious computer. “Hello?” I called gently. “Is somebody hurt back there?” Another wiggle. Then a muffled sound. Mabel’s eyebrows shot up. “That sounded like somebody with a mouth full of batting.” We exchanged a look. Then we lifted the fallen curtain the rest of the way and eased around the spilled glitter and crooked Santa. And there she was. Lila Mae. Tied to the metal storage pole with what looked like two mismatched extension cords, and gagged with a wad of colorful quilt batting that somehow still sparkled with last year’s craft fair glitter. Her eyes were wide, indignant, a...