Look Both Ways (10 page)

“Did you say something about apple pie?” Pete asked as I replaced everything in the top drawer.

“Sure did,” I said. “And there're a couple of slices of leftover pizza, too, and samples of Aunt Ibby's newest cookie offering from Tabitha Trumbull's recipe collection. I'll put the coffee on.”

O'Ryan was waiting by the refrigerator when we came back to the kitchen. “He must have heard me say there's pizza. River slipped him a few pieces of pepperoni, and he's probably hinting for more.”

Pete took off his suit coat, hung it on the back of a chair, and loosened his tie. “He may have to fight me for it. Chief had us working right through dinner.”

“Sorry. This is pretty slim pickin's. Haven't had much time to cook.” I started the coffee, then popped the leftover pizza under the broiler until the cheese began to bubble. “How about a glass of wine with the pizza? And coffee with pie and cookies for dessert?”

“Sounds great. If there's still some vanilla ice cream left, I think that'll cover all the food groups.” Pete leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “I feel as though I should get up and help, but to tell the truth, I love watching you.”

“Now that I know you're watching, I'll probably drop something,” I said. “And yes, there's plenty of ice cream.”

“Lee, can I ask you something?” His tone of voice had changed. He sounded serious.

I slid the hot pizza onto one of my new plates and poured a glass of wine. “Of course,” I said, hoping his question would be one I could answer completely honestly. The half-truths were wearing on my conscience. I put the plate and the glass on the table and took the seat opposite him. “What would you like to know?”

“It's about last night,” he said, reaching across the table and taking my hands. “When I opened the top of that bureau and you got so upset. You actually turned pale. I was afraid you might be about to faint. I thought at first it was because of finding Shea. You know, all the questioning and identifying Campbell. But I've been thinking about it all day. It was something else, wasn't it?”

I couldn't meet his gaze. I looked down through the clear tabletop A pair of golden eyes looked up into mine. O'Ryan, the witch's cat, almost imperceptibly shook his head.
No.

Pete spoke again, his voice soft. “It has something to do with that bureau, doesn't it? I'm only asking because I care about you. My God, Lee. Helena Trent owned that thing, and she's dead. Murdered. Then Shea Tolliver owned it. Now she's dead. Murdered. Now you own it. Is it any wonder that I'm worried about you?”

I hadn't ever considered the bureau's history in quite that way. When Pete connected it to two murders, I had to rethink my own situation. “I've never thought about it,” I admitted. “But you're right. The two women who owned it before me were both murdered. But they were killed years apart. You think my bureau is connected to those murders, and now it's connected to me?”

“I think they were connected by a pink diamond on a gold chain.” He held my hands more tightly. “There's something about the bureau that you haven't told me. It may be important in solving one of the murders. Maybe even both of them. Mostly, though, I want to be sure nothing happens to you.” His voice broke. “Will you tell me what frightened you last night, when you saw me looking into the top of your bureau? Was there something in there I wasn't supposed to see? Do you think you know where the damned diamond is?”

I pulled my hands away. “Is
that
what you think? That I'm hiding a stolen diamond? That I'm mixed up somehow in a couple of murders?”

“Of course I don't think that. I'm just afraid that someone . . . someone out there somewhere . . .” He waved toward the open window. “Someone else might think that. After all, you were the first person on the scene at the antique store. You ID'd Shea's partner. And now you have the bureau and everything that was in it.”

His words were chilling. I looked down through the table top again, but the cat had moved back over to Pete's side of the table, probably hoping for pepperoni. No help there. “Pete,” I said, meeting his eyes. “There was something about the bureau that scared me last night. But please believe me, it has nothing at all to do with Helena or Shea or the diamond. It's something about the piece of furniture itself. Something that goes all the way back to when I was a little girl and . . . something bad happened. The tarnished mirror behind the top panel reminded me of it. I hated looking at it. That's all. And Aunt Ibby had the mirror repaired today, so I'm not afraid anymore. Okay?”

The tiniest flicker of doubt crossed his face before he smiled. “Okay. I guess you're not ready to tell me what it was that happened when you were a child. But remember, Lee, I'm always here to listen whenever you feel like talking to me about anything. Anything at all.”

“Thanks for understanding,” I said.

“I didn't say I understand.” His smile was tender. “But I believe you. And if you don't mind, I'll be keeping a very close eye on you, anyway.”

I returned his smile. “How could I ever mind that?”

“Okay then. If we're through with the serious stuff, how about that pie and ice cream?”

Relieved, I heated what was left of the pie, added a hefty blob of ice cream, put a couple of Aunt Ibby's cookies on the side, and served it with a flourish—along with a cup of coffee and a dash of Baileys.

Pete wasn't kidding about being hungry. He polished off that sugar-laden dessert with obvious pleasure. O'Ryan, who apparently had no interest in apple pie or molasses cookies, returned to my side of the table, curled up and went to sleep at my feet. On my feet, actually. I sipped my coffee, enjoying the company of both cat and detective.

“Are you still interested in NASCAR races?” Pete asked, looking up from the empty plate. “I mean, if that brings back sad memories, forget that I asked.”

“No sad memories,” I said. “Just good ones. I still love automobile races. Why?”

“Chief scored a couple of tickets to the Sprint Cup at the raceway in New Hampshire. He says I can have them. Want to go with me?”

“You bet. Love to,” I said. “Just let me know when.”

I was interrupted by a sudden motion under the table. I reached down to pat the cat and felt the muscles tense beneath his fur. He streaked toward the cat door, pushed it open, and disappeared into the hall.

I followed and opened the door a crack. I motioned to Pete to join me. “He's heading down to the front door,” I whispered. “Someone must be coming.”

“He always does that, doesn't he? And why are we whispering?”

I shook my head, laughing. “I don't know. Come on. Let's see who it is. I don't think Aunt Ibby is home yet.”

Together we walked down to the second-floor landing and looked over the railing. O'Ryan was poised, ears alert, with hind legs on the floor and front paws against one of the narrow windows on either side of the front door. I waited for the doorbell to ring.

Instead, I heard a key scraping in the lock and Aunt Ibby's voice. “Thanks so much for the ride. Do come inside and have a cup of tea. It's early yet.” She appeared in the doorway, stooped and patted O'Ryan, and then stepped aside as a tall, slender man wearing white slacks and a navy-blue blazer entered the hall. I knew that my aunt had left to go to a concert with my boss, the director of the Tabby—and this man was definitely not Rupert Pennington.

Aunt Ibby looked up and saw us standing there. “Oh, Maralee. And, Pete. Come meet an old friend. He rescued me when Rupert had to leave suddenly.”

We hurried down the stairs.

“Is Mr. Pennington all right?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, he's fine. Had to rush over to the school. Some sort of plumbing problem. He may stop by later.” She linked arms with the man beside her. “This dear fellow is Tripp Hampton. Tripp, my niece, Lee Barrett, and her friend Peter Mondello.”

Tripp Hampton extended his hand first to me and then to Pete. “How do you do? I'm so very pleased to meet you, Ms. Barrett. Your aunt speaks of you often. And, Detective Mondello, we met many years ago. Perhaps you don't remember. It was under such sad circumstances.”

“I do remember you,” Pete said, grasping the man's hand. “Tragic circumstances. You'd just lost your mom. How are you?”

“I'm well, thank you. Life goes on. Although I still miss her every day.”

That annoying “It's a Small World” song from Walt Disney World started playing in my head. Helena's bureau was in my bedroom. The lead detective on her murder case was standing beside me. A sheaf of newspaper articles about a woman I'd never met was in my top drawer, along with some of her belongings, and now her stepson was in my house. Small world indeed.

“Come along, ever ybody,” my aunt said. “Into the dining room. I'll make some tea while you all get acquainted.”

Dutifully, we followed her into the pretty hexagonal-shaped room and sat at the round mahogany table. There was a moment's awkward silence while we just looked at each other. Then we all spoke at once.

“Miss Russell is such a delightful person,” said Tripp Hampton.

“How was the concert?” I asked. “Did you have to leave early?”

“Where'd the cat go?” Pete looked around the room and under the table.

Our laughter relieved the tension of the moment, and before long we were chatting easily, making small talk about the weather—perfect for the tourists; the concert series, Tripp had season tickets—and my new job as the Tabby's property manager, since Tripp had some old furniture he'd be glad to donate.

Aunt Ibby reappeared with a tea tray, O'Ryan following along behind her. After she placed the tray on the table, I stood to help with the cups and saucers, while Pete put the plate of cookies in the center of the table. Tripp pulled out a chair for my aunt and stood until she was seated.

“Well, then, isn't this nice?” she said, pouring tea for each of us from her best Reed & Barton silver teapot. “Maralee, I told Tripp how pleased you were to find the duplicate to your own childhood bureau. He's interested to know what you found in the secret compartments. Aren't you, Tripp?”

“Of course I'm curious.” His smile was gorgeous, testifying to either great genes or a talented orthodontist. “I never even knew the compartments were there. When I learned about them, I felt rather like Monsieur G——, the prefect of the Parisian police in Edgar Allen Poe's ‘The Purloined Letter.'”

It took a moment for the reference to register. Of course, it was Poe's master detective C. Auguste Dupin who found the missing letter in a cabinet's secret compartment.

“No compromising letters, I'm afraid,” I said. “The things we found were more on the sentimental side.”

Pete nodded his agreement. “That's right. An old dog license, a kid's school notebook, things like that.”

“Yes. I called Ms. Tolliver as soon as I heard about the bureau she'd bought from me having secret compartments,” Tripp said. “She told me the same thing. The insurance company had already checked with her, too.”

“The insurance company?” Aunt Ibby asked. “Was that about Helena's diamond necklace?”

Tripp Hampton sipped his tea slowly. “They're still looking for it. It's probably worth well over twice what it was insured for.”

“No kidding. If they find it, then the insurance company gets all the money?” I asked.

“That's the way it works,” Pete said. “If the insurance company has compensated the owner and then they find the item, it belongs to the insurance company, right, Mr. Hampton?”

“Right, Detective.”

I wondered whether Tripp Hampton had accepted the compensation or had held out for full value, in case the missing diamond turned up. I didn't voice the question—none of my business—and neither did anyone else at the table. Aunt Ibby deftly changed the subject.

“I remember going to some delightful events at your home, Tripp. Helena was a remarkably inventive hostess. Do you recall the spider web party?”

“I do indeed! It took the whole day to set that one up. I was home from college, and Helena let me help spin the web,” he said, a little wistfully.

“A spider web party?” I asked. “What is it?”

“It was elaborate,” Aunt Ibby said. “I think it involved every room in that huge estate, didn't it, Tripp?”

“It did. Forty rooms and eleven bathrooms.” Tripp leaned toward me. “There were big piles of red silk cord, the thick, soft kind, one for each guest. Helena attached a gift to the end of each length of cord and hid it somewhere in the house. Then we wandered around, tangling the cords from room to room, weaving them around furniture and lamps. We did one for every guest, of course—I think there were around twenty or so—and the result was an enormous spiderweb. You were handed the other end of your cord, with a name tag attached, as soon as you entered the front door, and you had to follow it all the way to the end to get your gift.” His perfect smile was blazing full blast.

Aunt Ibby nodded. “And that involved a lot of bumping into other guests, crawling around on the carpet, or reaching up over someone's head. It was a fabulous icebreaker!”

“Yes, that was a good one, all right,” Tripp said. “Helena loved that kind of thing. Even my birthday parties always involved some kind of puzzle or riddle or treasure hunt. She was a trickster, Helena was.” He looked in Pete's direction. “Did you ever meet my stepmother, Detective? She liked mysteries. You two would have gotten along swimmingly.”

“I met her once,” Pete said. “A generous lady. She used to donate to the Police Athletic League every year. She came out to the hockey rink to present a check to the kids on the team I was coaching. Paid for new uniforms for every kid there.”

“She was an angel,” Tripp said, looking down, smile gone. “An angel.”

An awkward silence was broken by O'Ryan streaking toward the front hall.

“Rupert must be here.” My aunt hurriedly pushed her chair back and stood. “Excuse me.”

“I didn't hear the bell,” Tripp said. “Did you?”

“They don't need a doorbell here,” Pete said. “The cat always knows when someone's coming. I didn't believe it, either, at first. But I've seen him do it so many times, I'm convinced. Lee says it's because he used to be a witch's cat.”

Tripp chuckled. “A witch's cat, hmmm? Thought they were always black.”

Aunt Ibby and O'Ryan were right, of course, and Mr. Pennington joined us in the dining room. “Good evening, all,” he said, taking a seat beside my aunt. “Sorr y I had to be called away like that.”

“Is everything all right at the school?” I asked.

“Yes indeed. All is well, my dear. Thank you for asking.”

“What was the problem?” Pete asked.

“Someone phoned in a false alarm, Detective. Nothing of concern at all.”

“I'm so pleased to hear that, Rupert.” Aunt Ibby poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of him. “I'm sorry you had to leave us, but Tripp and I had a nice chat on the way home. Renewing an old acquaintance is always pleasant.”

“I'm afraid I'll have to be leaving now, Miss Russell.” Tripp stood and bowed slightly toward my aunt. “Thank you so much for the tea. Enjoyed meeting you, Ms. Barrett.” Another bow in my direction. “Please let me know if I can help with any of the props for the plays. There's plenty of furniture and odds and ends at my place. Here's my card. Call me anytime.” He handed me a card.

“Pete, would you see Tripp out, please?” Aunt Ibby said. “You know how to set the alarm after he leaves, don't you?”

“Sure do.” Pete and Tripp left the room together, and I turned toward Mr. Pennington. “I did a little prop shopping today,” I said. “I'll be using the truck tomorrow.”

“Good for you, and do take young Hampton up on his offer of furniture and such. I'm sure that old mansion must be full of interesting artifacts. The more things we can get donated, the better.”

“I will,” I said, “and to tell the truth, I'm looking forward to seeing inside a house that has forty rooms and eleven bathrooms!”

“Of course, it's been many years since I was in there,” my aunt said, “but it's a beautiful old building, and quite homelike for such a huge place. Helena had exquisite taste in furnishings, too. I understand, though, that Tripp has had to sell quite a few things. The upkeep on a place like that must be an enormous expense.”

“That must be why he sold my bureau,” I said, looking at the card Tripp had given me. “Jenny said that Shea had bought several antiques from him, things that were too expensive for Jenny to bid on.”

“Do you know Jenny? The antiques dealer with the shop over near the Tabby?” Pete asked, resuming his seat at the table.

“I wouldn't say I really know her,” I said. “But I bought the Lucite kitchen set and my new dishes from her shop.”

“No kidding. Jenny's going to be doing the appraisal of all the things in Shea's shop, once we get through in there,” Pete said.

“What's going to become of Shea's merchandise, Pete?” my aunt asked. “Did she have family?”

“She had a sister, but there's a problem with the merchandise—and with the business, for that matter.”

“What's the problem?” I asked.

Pete reached for another cookie. “It'll be in the papers soon enough. The problem is Gar y Campbell. Seems that he and Shea had a reciprocal will. If one dies, the other one inherits the whole works.”

“Oh dear. That makes things messy, doesn't it?” Aunt Ibby poured more tea into Pete's cup. “Quite messy.”

“Business should be transacted in a businesslike manner,” Mr. Pennington intoned.

“Sydney Greenstreet to Humphrey Bogart in
The Maltese Falcon,
” Aunt Ibby recited. “That one was too e asy.”

Aunt Ibby, looking pleased with her quick response to Mr. Pennington's quote, turned her attention back to Pete. “It would appear, then, that Mr. Campbell would benefit substantially from Shea Tolliver's death, wouldn't it?”