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to keep developing my own intuition, and I can't always depend on Emily as my CliffsNotes to the paranormal realm.
    I clear my throat and sit up straight. "Okay, well, first I'll need something personal of yours."
    Evelyn reaches down, gets a very large Louis Vuitton bag, puts it on the table, and withdraws a matching tan and gold wallet. "Will this work?"
    "Sure."
I think so
.
    Miss Evelyn hands over the wallet, and I turn it over and over in my palms, feeling the soft leather and listening to the change rattle within. I breathe deeply and try to see the contents. Many quarters, a lot of pennies, and a stack of five, no, six Benjamins. Wow. I didn't know anyone walked around Radisson with six hundred dollars burning a hole in her pocket. Must be nice.
    Must. Focus.
    Then Loreen screws up her face.
    "What?"
    "That's nice that you're seeing what's in the wallet," she says. "But you need something with some metal in it to help you pick up on Evelyn's energy—like jewelry or keys."
    "Oh! You're right. What was I thinking?"
    "Here, dear," the woman says. "Try this."
    She hands over a heavy knob of various keys that jingle and swing from a double-C Chanel chain.
    "That's more like it," Loreen says. "Keep going."
    I start my breathing and concentration again. Immediately, I pick up on the vibrations of energy from Evelyn Crawford. In my mind's eye, I see it all so clearly. "I'm traveling down a long path, lined with tall cedars on either side. A large white house sits at the end of the drive. There are—one, two, three—four large columns on the outside, and the shutters are painted black."
    I hear a sharp intake of breath. Evelyn's, I assume. "That's my house. On Crow Lane."
    "Oh, right, near Mrs. Lockhart's."
    The woman nods. "Mother and Daddy live in the carriage house on the south end of the property. Well, I suppose it's just Mother now," she says with a sniff.
    Loreen pats Miss Evelyn's hand and signals for me to continue.
    I mentally wipe away the fog and cobwebs of the image to try to describe further what I'm seeing. "There's a woman on the porch in an old-timey dress."
    "How old-timey?" Loreen asks. "Be more specific about the style, Kendall."
    "Right," I say. "She looks like an extra from
Gone With the Wind
, with, like, an apron and petticoats and a parasol. She's a babe, too," I tack on with a laugh. "She's got this chestnut brown hair that's piled on her head in all of these crazy curls and twists and stuff. Man, that must have taken hours!"
    "Kendall...," Loreen fusses.
    I peek with my left eye. "Well, it's true."
    Suddenly, it's like I'm leafing through a family-history book. Information flies at me. Words scroll by, telling their story. Conversations dotted with laughter and arguments, colored with tears. There is much passion in the house surrounding this beautiful antebellum-times woman. I'm absorbing it as quickly as possible, hoping to remember every tiny detail in order to share. After a moment, I force the sequence to stop so I can relay what I've seen.
    Opening my eyes, I look at Miss Evelyn. "This woman on the porch. She's related to you?"
    "Possibly," she says.
    "I'm hearing the name Larry. No ... Harry. No ... Airy?" I shake my head, tossing my hair about with frustration. "Why can't I get this?"
    "There's a
p
sound that I'm getting," Loreen chimes in.
    I nod my head. "P-P-P..."
    "Could it be Parry?" Evelyn asks.
    "Yes! That's it. Not Larry or Harry. Parry. Is that a name in your family?"
    Evelyn's smile brightens. "It is indeed. My great-great-grandmother. She was—"
    My hand lifts to stop her. "Please. Don't tell me anything. Let me see what I can get." I concentrate again, squeezing the keys even tighter in my fist. "I'm getting an
A
name and I'm getting"—I listen for it, waiting for the sound to come to me—"Ada? The name is Ada," I say with much confidence.
    "Amazing," Evelyn shouts out. "How did you know that?"
    It's sort of hard to explain. I could see Adam Bostwick from my