Legacy of Lies (16 page)

On my wanderings I passed Tea Leaves, and Jamie flagged me down. He said his mother wanted to see me at four. I used the remaining time to look for Sophie, checking her house and Alex’s, then the college, but didn’t catch up with her. I browsed in a New Age bookstore, looking at covers and reading their fantastic blurbs, till the incense and tinkling music got to me-not to mention the weird shoppers.

They’re probably all Mrs. Riley’s patrons, I thought; and now I’m one of them.

At four o’clock the old woman was waiting for me, beckoning from the top of the café stairway. I climbed it and followed her down the narrow hall. When we sat at the table beneath the fringed lamp, I saw the deep circles under her eyes. There was a tremor on one side of her mouth that I hadn’t noticed before. She lay her palms flat on the table in front of her. Her fingers looked sore, the nails bitten down to the pink.

“What is it you want of me?” she asked.

I hesitated, torn between my own need to get answers and the realization that she wasn’t well.

“You want to know more about Avril and Helen,” she guessed.

“You look so tired,” I said, starting to rise.

“Stay!” She gripped my wrist with surprising strength. “I have been concerned about you and hoping to see you again. Ask your questions.”

I sat down and carefully pulled away my hand, lowering it into my lap. “I want to find out about reincarnation.”

“Go on.”

“Sophie told me it’s a chance to complete things that have been left undone,”

Mrs. Riley nodded.

“She said that if a person died young, she might be reincarnated. Sometimes two people can be reincarnated together if they are separated too soon in a previous life.”

Mrs. Riley studied my face. “And you think that has happened to you?”

“I think I’m Avril.”

The old woman sat back in her chair. After a moment she said, “Do not be misled by appearances. You look like your great aunt, but that is not significant.”

“It’s not what I look like. It’s what I dream about. It’s what I seem to remember.”

The shrill whistle of a teakettle sounded in another room. Mrs. Riley ignored it.

“What do you remember?” she whispered.

“Scarborough House. The dollhouse that looks like it. I dreamed about them before I saw them.”

“And?” she asked, her eyes as bright and sharp as the whistling sound.

“The mill, its basement, the big wheels in it.”

“And?” she pressed.

I bit my lip. “That’s it.” The dream about Thomas, Helen, and Avril was too uncomfortable, too personal to tell.

She looked at me doubtfully. “You must be honest with me if I am to help you.”

I stared down at the table and said nothing.

She stood up. “Very well. Think about it while I get my tea.”

As soon as she disappeared, I covered my face with my hands. What did I hope to prove-that Grandmother was guilty? Why reveal that now? It would only cause a lot of pain. Still, the doubt and suspicion that grew out of that dark secret were quietly poisoning the minds of Grandmother, Matt, and me.

Mrs. Riley reentered the room and set two cups on the table. “It’s cinnamon apple.”

“Thank you,” I said, then sipped the fragrant tea.

“Do you know anything about karma?” she asked.

“I’ve heard of it.”

“It is the belief that we are rewarded or punished in one life according to our deeds in a previous life.” She held her cup in both hands and gazed at her tea as if reading it, then took a long drink. “Karma is just,” she said. “According to it, the victim of an unnatural death will return in a later life and seek out the killer.”

“Seek out the killer?” I repeated.

“It’s justice, dear. If you take away someone’s life, then in the next cycle, your life will be taken by that person. The victim will kill the murderer.”

I stared at her. Did she know what I suspected?

“You’re remembering, aren’t you,” she said quietly.

I sipped my tea, avoiding her eyes.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice soothing. “Avril, tell me what you are remembering.”

“I had a dream,” I said at last. “Helen was very angry
at me. She threatened me, said I would pay. But that doesn’t mean anything,” I added quickly. “Brothers and sisters say that all the time without meaning it.”

“True enough,” the psychic replied. “Do you remember anything else-anything from the day you died?”

“No.”

“And yet you are remembering more and more,” she said. “I don’t know how to advise you.” She rose from the table and walked restlessly around the room. “I have my suspicions. To speak them may influence a clear memory. Not to may endanger you. You know that Helen came to see me yesterday.”

I ran my finger around the moist rim of my cup. “Yes.”

“I warned you, child, not to tell her you were here.”

“But I didn’t. Someone in the café must have told her.”

“Can you trust your cousin?” Mrs. Riley asked. “YouVe hesitating. That tells me you can’t.”

“He’s very protective of Grandmother.”

Her hands worked nervously. “Then it would be foolish and dangerous to trust him.”

“Why?”

“He’s loyal to her, dependent on her money, and you fear the same thing I do-that you were murdered by Helen.”

For a moment the raw statement of my suspicion shocked me. I struggled to think clearly.

“But if I was the victim in my past life,” I reasoned,
“I’m the one who is the threat now. According to karma, Avril would destroy her murderer-that’s what you said. And I would never hurt my grandmother.”

“The act does not have to be intentional.”

“But what if I make sure I don’t hurt her?” I argued. “What if I leave and never come back?”

Was that why Matt wanted me to go? Did he know more about this than he pretended?

“Karma is karma,” Mrs. Riley responded. “There is only one thing that can prevent the victim from achieving justice.”

“What?”

“Her own death.”

I looked at her, startled. “You mean, dying a second time? You mean my death?”

“
Now
you understand why you must remember what happened that day. Just because you would not hurt others, doesn’t mean others won’t hurt you, not when it comes to saving themselves. You must find out your enemy.”

My mouth went dry. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. “I can’t will myself to remember. I’m not psychic like you or Sophie. I have no control-the dreams come when they want to.”

Mrs. Riley came back to the table. “Today is the anniversary of Avril’s death,” she said, her voice calm, steadying me. “There is a window of time when the past will be open to you. Can you get to the mill?”

“Yes.”

“Go straightaway. Walk around it, breathe it, touch
it. Listen to its sounds, let it become part of your life again. Go inside and make yourself quiet there, let the past come back to you. Your life depends on it.”

I sat still as a stone.

Her brow creased, then she rested her veined hand gently on mine. “Finish your tea, child, then hurry. You haven’t much time if you want to be home before dark.”

sixteen
 

I didn’t run fast, but when I reached the mill, I was out of breath and had a stitch in my side. I walked slowly around the building, waiting for the pain to ease, mulling over what I had learned from Mrs. Riley. If Grandmother had murdered Avril, then I, the reincarnated Avril, was destined to take Grandmother’s life. Did she know that? When she had gone to see Mrs. Riley, what had they talked about?

Grandmother would never harm me, I told myself. But then I thought, if she murdered her own sister, how hard would it be to do away with a grandchild, an adopted grandchild? With sixty long years in between, another accident would not seem suspicious. And she could count on Matt to protect her.

Matt’s attitude toward me had changed in the short time between our first meeting and that
moment on the dock. Had he exploited my attraction to him to keep tabs on me?

“Tell me,” he’d said later, holding my face gently in his hands, seeming as if he wanted to help. Perhaps all he wanted was information and to keep me from looking further. I was more determined than ever to find out what had happened in this place.

Breathe it, touch it, listen to its sounds, Mrs. Riley had said. I pulled on the long grass, feeling its sharp edges. I took a deep breath and smelled the salty water. The creek lapped gently, slipping between grasses and stones. The birds sounded exceptionally loud and sweet to me. I emptied my mind of everything but the mill and felt as if I were walking in a dream.

Since I had left both basement doors open, I entered the mill easily. I looked across the room at the wheels, then forced myself to go to them, to touch the biggest one. I wrapped my fingers around a metal tooth and gripped it hard. Rusted saws and metal circles that looked like disembodied steering wheels lay here and there. It wasn’t a cozy place for two people to meet. The next floor up would be drier and brighter, I thought.

I saw the stairway along one wall, the same as in my dream, like a tilted ladder with wide wooden treads and no handrail. I walked under it and pulled on each step to see if it would support my weight. One split in half and two others cracked, but they were spaced well enough for me to climb to the trapdoor.

When I was near the top of the steps, I pushed
against a square piece of ceiling. The trapdoor was heavier than it looked. I managed to shove it up, swinging it back against a wall, carelessly assuming the door would stay. It slammed down on me. I was stunned by the force and clung to the top step, feeling dizzy. There were small, scurrying sounds-the mill’s residents.

Determined to get to the next floor, I pushed against the trapdoor again. Then I grabbed a long piece of wood and placed it diagonally between the floor and the hinged door to prop it open. I climbed through and looked around the first-floor space.

Though the windows were shuttered, crooked seams of light shown through cracks in the plank walls. In one corner of the room was a round iron stove, missing its chimney pipe. Barrels and bins, burlap bags gnawed apart by rats, and frayed rope were strewn about. Narrow chutes built in long rectangular sections with elbow joints looked like the arms of wooden people coming down through the ceiling. The ceiling itself gaped with holes. The trapdoor above the stairs to the second floor appeared to be open. Gazing up into it, I suddenly felt light-headed.

I found a millstone, half of a pair used for grinding, and sat on it. Closing my eyes, I ran my hands over its rough surface, feeling the long, angled ridges. Waves of confused images and sensations washed over me: the sound of voices, Thomas’s face, Matt’s, the clock chiming, the sound of engines, my name being called, footsteps against a hard surface. I wasn’t sure what was inside my mind and what was outside. I couldn’t
tell what was then and what was now, when I was Avril and when I was Megan. Everything seemed real but distorted, the sounds and images stretched at the edges.

Hunching over, resting my head on my knees, I saw moving lines of light. I struggled to focus.

Light between the floorboards-that was it. Someone with a flashlight was walking downstairs. Did the person know I was here? Instinct told me to hide. I crouched behind a pair of barrels.

Peering around the edge of them, I saw the orb of light dodge its way up the stairs, held by an unsteady hand.

“Child? Are you here? It’s Lydia,” she whispered as she climbed the last step.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“I need to talk to you. I have seen something and must warn you.”

Before I could emerge, another voice cried out. “Megan! Are you in here?”

It was Matt. At the sound of his voice Mrs. Riley moved quickly, hiding behind a bin.

“Where are you?” Matt called. I heard him walking below us, then hurrying up the steps. “Megan? Answer me!”

His words brought back the memory with sudden force. “Answer me! Answer me, Avril!”

Thomas’s hands gripped my shoulders. He shook me so hard my head snapped back. He started dragging me down the mill steps. My chest hurt. It felt like
straps of steel had tightened around it. Every breath was agony.

I pushed away from Thomas, gasping, desperate for air. He held me tighter. I tried to speak, but the darkness was closing in on me. I needed air!

I staggered to my feet, grasping the barrels to steady myself. Matt spun around. I was in the present again. I was Megan. But Matt’s eyes were identical to Thomas’s.

He started toward me.

“Run, child!” Mrs. Riley cried. “Run before he hurts you.

We both turned toward her. The surprise on Matt’s face quickly changed to anger.

“Shut up, old woman,” he said. “You’ve done enough.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she replied, her eyes bright, challenging the fire in his. “Are you remembering now, Thomas?” she asked. “Are you remembering all of it now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s why you came to me three years ago, isn’t it?” Mrs. Riley continued. “You were seeing
her
face. She had come back to haunt you.”

Matt glanced at me, then back at Mrs. Riley.