“How terrible! How is it you suspect that she was murdered?”
“I'm not at liberty to say,” Bill said, glancing at me as if there was something I should know about it. That's what I was getting from him, and it bothered me. It was like I had forgotten something, but I didn't know what it was.
“I understand,” she said. Gathering herself, she stood and replaced her glasses on her face and smoothed one hand over her white-gray hair. She'd taken her gloves off by this time, and had them in one hand. “Well, I don't want to bother you any further.”
That was when the vision came on. Flames were shooting out of an old barn. I saw nothing else; not Bill or Belladonna, or the room. It was as if I were standing outside, in the snow looking right at the barn. “You have an old barn, built in 1839,” I
