Look Both Ways (24 page)

I was up early on Saturday morning, even though I'd had little sleep. Aunt Ibby wasn't in her kitchen yet, so I picked up the morning papers from the front steps, started the coffee, and fed O'Ryan. I was anxious to tell her about the full-length-mirror visions.

My aunt appeared in bathrobe and bunny slippers and joined me at the kitchen table. “You're the early bird,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“I think so,” I said. “I found out last night that the new mirror, the oval one I bought in Essex? I can see visions in it, too.”

“Visions? Like the ones in the mirror in the bureau? Or in Ariel's obsidian ball?”

I nodded. “Like those. Only much, much bigger.”

“What did you see?”

“Two different visions. Both of Helena. One of them was almost exactly the same way I saw her in the black shoe.”

“Was she cr ying?”

“She was, and she was carrying something in her arms.”

Aunt Ibby leaned forward, her hands clasped together. “This time, could you see what it was?”

Thinking about it brought tears to my eyes. “It was a small metal coffin,” I told her. “I'm afraid it was her little dog, Nicky.”

“No wonder she was crying. You say there were two visions. What was the other one?”

“It was even stranger. She showed me
two
pink diamonds. One was on the dog's collar. All the visions I've seen have had good reasons behind them, and this one must be important, as well.”

She poured us each a cup of coffee. “Let's think about what she's shown you so far. It started with the scene on the beach, didn't it? Where she threw the stick to the dog?”

“Right. And later I saw the old man and the cabin.”

“Between what you've seen in the various surfaces and what we've learned from Helena's notebook, everything is connected to the old cabin on Misery Island, her grandfather, and Nicky the dog.”

“Right,” I said, excited. “And there's a map in her notebook that ties those three things together. Wait a minute. I'll show you.” I ran all the way up the two flights of stairs to my apartment, grabbed Helena's book, and was back in the kitchen in minutes. “Here. Look at this.” I turned to the bookmarked page and put it on the table in front of her.

She studied the map without speaking, turning it this way and that, just as I had.

“Are you trying to figure out what the cur vy, round thing is? O'Ryan knew what it was right away. A pansy.”

“Of course. I can see it now. There's the grandfather's house, the place where they planted the grandmother's favorite flowers, and the little dog Nicky.” She snapped her fingers. “Maralee, could you see where Helena was when she first showed you the dog's coffin?”

“She was on a long, empty stretch of beach, all alone.”

“Well, then, do you think she might have buried Nicky out there, too?”

“That's just the kind of thing she'd do,” I said. “That explains that. Thanks, Aunt Ibby.”

“You're welcome, dear. Want a blueberry muffin with your coffee?” She stood, opened the freezer, and removed a package of muffins. “I made them.”

“Love one,” I said, then frowned. “But why does Helena want us to know where she buried her dog?” I was pretty sure I knew, but it seemed too crazy to be believed.

She popped a couple of muffins into the microwave. “Maybe River would have some ideas.”

“She's coming over for lunch,” I said. “Maybe between us and her deck of cards, we'll figure it all out.”

 

 

By lunchtime I'd done a little housework in my apartment, made some sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade, and carried the still unopened cardboard box down from the attic. This time, although he'd accompanied me up to the fourth floor, O'Ryan hadn't attempted to prevent me from picking the thing up, and thankfully, there were no cats yowling at the window.

I'd told River to call me when she was on the way so that I could go downstairs and unlock the back door. She called just before noon.

“More news about Helena,” I told her. “More puzzles to figure out. She drew a map and I think it's important. Maybe you can figure it out. Got cards?”

She laughed. “Yep. Playing with a full deck today. See you in a minute.”

I disarmed the alarm system and unlocked the downstairs door, then ran back up to my kitchen, set the table, and waited for my friend.

The bell chimed “Bless This House,” and I opened the door.

“Thanks for inviting me. I'm star ving,” she said. “Skipped breakfast. Dying to know what's new about Helena.” She looked around the living room. “Wow. New furniture since I was here last. Looks good. Move that lamp, though. It's interrupting the energy. Never mind. I'll do it.” She unplugged the floor lamp and moved it to the opposite end of the couch, then stood back to admire her handiwork. “There. That'll work.”

“Don't know what I'd do without you to keep my
bagua
straight. I even found a picture of fruit and hung it where you told me to.” I laughed. “Come on. I'll feed you and tell you what Helena showed me last night.”

Once we were in the kitchen, River nodded her approval of the new watercolor, then looked at the long, still rather dusty cardboard box I'd placed on the counter. She raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

“Later,” I said. “I'll tell you about that later. First, have lunch, and I'll show you what I've found in Helena's notebook.”

The sandwiches were all of the vegetarian variety, since the last time River had shared a meal here, I'd noticed that she'd fed all the pepperoni on the pizza to the cat. After we'd polished off the plate of sandwiches, and as River nibbled on one of Aunt Ibby's sugar cookies, I carried the notebook from the bedroom and put it on the kitchen table, opened to Helena's map.

I pointed out the symbols one at a time. “That's the latitude and longitude of Misery Island. I looked it up,” I said. “You know the place?” She nodded. “There's the grandfather's cabin, and behind it is the place where she and the old man used to plant pansies every summer, because they were her grandmother's favorite flower.”

“Got it,” she said. She touched the stick figure. “And that's the little dog. Nicky. The one the license belonged to.”

“Right. Now, here's the part about the vision I saw last night. It was in the new full-length mirror, so everything was life size.”

“Wow. Scar y, huh?”

I thought about that. “Not so much. It was mostly sad. Some of it was the same vision I saw in the shoe, when she was carrying something in her arms. This time I could see what it was. A small metal coffin, just about the right size for a small gray dog.”

“Nicky died.”

“Yes. And there was more. I saw Helena and Nicky together, and, River, they were both wearing pink diamond pendants.”

“Are you thinking it's possible that there were actually
two
of them? Two diamonds?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it's some kind of symbolism. I don't know.” I pushed the notebook toward her. “There's a poem in there about looking both ways. Maybe that's why she showed me two.” I shrugged. “The receipt from the vet for putting Nicky down is pasted in the book, too. Look through it. Take your time.”

She leafed through the pages, pausing to read the poems and to examine the pasted-in items one by one. Finally, she leaned back in the Lucite chair. “I don't know what it all means,” she said, “but I don't have to read your cards to tell you what you need to do next.”

“I need to go out to that island,” I said.

“Yep. As soon as you can.”

“Pete and I are going tomorrow. Want to come with us?”

“Wish I could. But I need my sleep. I have to work tomorrow night.”

“On Sunday? Why?”

She made a little pouty face. “Special edition of
Tarot Time.
Mr. Pennington's idea. I'll be doing readings for the whole cast of
Our Town.
A little extra promotion for the play. But it's okay. The station's paying me double. But you said you have something to give to me? If I want to take it?” She looked again at the dusty box on the counter. “Is that it?”

I nodded. There was a lump in my throat. Would my friend hate me when I told her the truth about what I'd done to Bridget Bishop's book?

I cleared away the dishes, wiped the dust from the top of the box, and put it on the table in front of her. “You don't have to open it, now or ever, unless you want to,” I said, then sat opposite her and took a deep breath. Once I began speaking, the truth came spilling out. I told her how I'd discovered Bridget Bishop's spell book in the pocket of Ariel's purple cape. I'd been wearing that cape when Aunt Ibby and I were trapped in the attic of our house with a murderer, who'd set the place ablaze. I'd read about what malicious things Bridget Bishop had done back in 1690, and I knew, too, what vile things Ariel had learned to do. As far as I could see, none of it was good. I'd seen my chance to end the evil, and as my aunt and I escaped the raging fire, I'd thrown the book back into the consuming flames.

“The fire didn't burn it,” I said. “Probably didn't even singe it. It's back, and I'm sure it's in this box. I know you and your friends have been searching for it ever since Ariel died. I may have been wrong. Maybe there are good spells in it, too. Maybe something to benefit today's world. It's up to you now, and I hope you can forgive me.”

I watched her face. She reached for the box and touched it lightly with one finger, then looked at me. “It's a big responsibility, isn't it? You may have been right about it in the first place. I don't know. Some say that certain people in Salem just had it in for Bridget because she was pretty and she used to wear a scarlet corset over her black dress, something like a bustier, I guess, and she worked as a barmaid.” She patted the top of the box. “On the other hand, a lot of people testified against her in the trial back then. Some of the things they said she did are kind of hard to explain. People who had crossed her seemed to have accidents—bad ones. And they said she could change shape, and they knew that she controlled cats and birds.” She shrugged. “I'll take it with me, but I'm not going to tell the others about it yet. I'll see what the cards tell me. She stood, and picked up the box. “The cards never fail. And, Lee, there's nothing to forgive.”

Together we traced our steps back through the living room and with the box under her arm, River started down the stairs. She paused and looked back at me. “I have a feeling your trip to Misery Island will answer some of your questions.” She lifted the box a few inches. “And don't worry about this. I'll take good care of it.”

Did I do the right thing? I could only hope so. At least it was one less puzzling item on my mind. I still had gazing problems, not knowing what reflective surface was going to spring a vision on me at any given moment. I still didn't know which, if any, of the blue-eyed, blond men I was supposed to beware of. My quandary about how much to tell Pete about my so-called gift and when to tell him hadn't improved one bit, either.

Aunt Ibby had made reservations for the four of us on the Misery Island shuttle boat for Sunday. “I'll pack a lunch in our old wicker picnic basket,” she said. “It will be such fun.”

“Do you think there'd be room in the basket for a small pansy plant?” I asked. “I'd like to put one out there for Helena's grandmother.”

“That's a kind and loving idea, Maralee,” she said. “Let's do it.”

“Good. I'll take a ride over to the nursery and pick one out.”

“As long as you're going over there,” she said, “why don't you pick up a nice variety of them for our garden, too? I love pansies. They have such sweet little faces.”

I bought a whole flat of pansies in an assortment of happy colors, along with a small trowel for planting the purple one I'd selected especially for Helena's grandmother. Then I made a copy of Helena's map and put it in my purse.

Aunt Ibby and I spent some of the afternoon planting a row of pansies along the path leading to the house, while a couple of O'Ryan's cat friends sat on top of the fence, watching us.

“Are there more cats in the neighborhood than usual,” my aunt asked, “or am I imagining it?”

“I think they've always been around,” I said, “but our handsome boy seems to have acquired a fan club of sorts.” I told her about how O'Ryan liked to stretch out on my kitchen windowsill and watch them. I didn't mention the black and gray cats who'd been at the attic window, though. Too creepy.

 

 

Sunday dawned bright and clear, a perfect day for a boat ride and a picnic. Aunt Ibby and I rode with Mr. Pennington in the Lincoln, and Pete met us at the Willows Park Pier, where we joined a dozen or so fellow adventurers. The ocean was calm, sunlight sparkled on deep blue water, and the waves made a pleasant
slap-slap
sound on the twin hulls of the shuttle boat. On the way to the island, I showed the map to Pete.

“It's a pretty rough drawing,” he said, “but if you want to see if we can find the place where that cabin was, I'm game.”

I couldn't tell him about the metal coffin in Helena's arms, though, so I kept silent about that. And how on earth could I explain about the two diamonds? He smiled about my sneaking a purple pansy aboard in the picnic basket, and as soon as we'd docked, and my aunt and Mr. Pennington had selected an appropriate place to picnic, Pete and I set out to follow a trail to where we thought the site of the cabin might be. It was easier to find than we'd thought. Pete simply showed the map to one of the island guides.

“You see where your map has a picture of a house with a chimney?” the man asked, pointing at Helena's drawing. “Well, the house is long gone, of course, but some of the chimney is still there. Can't miss it.” He nodded toward the pansy in its little peat pot, which I had tried unsuccessfully to hide behind my back. “Another lady used to come out here once in a while to plant those behind that chimney. Long time ago. Haven't seen her in years. You folks have a nice day now.”

Pete and I followed the guide's directions and found ourselves alone on a high bluff overlooking a long stretch of beach. I pointed to a tree-covered, much smaller island a short distance away. “What's over there?” I asked.

“Nothing, really,” he said. “They call that ‘Little Misery Island.' At low tide you can walk to it.”

“No thanks,” I said. “Let's just concentrate on this one.” A crumbling, but still recognizable, brick chimney stood at the edge of a grassy area, and clumps of wild rosebushes bordered what must have once been the grandfather's yard. I stopped to look at a low granite step marking what could have been the doorway where I'd first seen the old man in my dream. But naturally, I couldn't tell Pete about that, either.

Pete walked to a spot behind the chimney, stooped down, and pushed the long grass aside with his hands. “Hey, Lee. Come here. Look at this.”

I knelt beside him and looked at where he pointed. An oblong piece of granite, much smaller than the step I'd just discovered, was embedded in the dirt. “What is it?” I asked.

“Look closer,” he said. “There's a name scratched into it.”

We spoke the name in unison. “Nicky.”

“She buried her dog here,” Pete said. “The dog whose license we found in your bureau.”

“Yes,” I said. “She loved this place. And she loved that little dog.”

“Want to plant the flower here? Where Nicky is?”

“I think that's where Helena used to plant them,” I said, handing him the trowel.

Afterward, we walked slowly hand in hand along the trail leading back to the shore where Aunt Ibby and Mr. Pennington waited.

“So there you two are,” Mr. Pennington called as we approached. “Ready for some lunch?”

Aunt Ibby had spread a red-and white-checked tablecloth on the sand and had placed the wicker picnic basket at its center. My aunt was protecting her fair skin from the noonday sun with a wide-brimmed white picture hat, and Mr. Pennington wore a classic straw boater. The scene was worthy of a Renoir painting. So was all the rest of that beautiful afternoon.

By the time the shuttle came back to pick us up, our tummies were full, our skin was a little bit sunburned, and best of all, our curiosity about Helena's map was somewhat satisfied. We'd found her island; we'd found her childhood summer home. We'd even found her dog. But we hadn't found her diamond, and if Tommy Trent was telling the truth, we hadn't found her killer yet, either.

At the dock Pete and I said a reluctant good-bye as I climbed into the Lincoln with my aunt and my boss, while Pete headed to the police station to work the night shift. The rest of the day stretched before me. Aunt Ibby and Mr. Pennington planned a drive to Marblehead to visit friends. They'd invited me to come along, but I'd declined, saying something polite, if not exactly truthful, about catching up with my laundry.

Alone in the big house, I was restless. I read the Sunday
Globe,
took a bath, and washed my hair. I even threw a small load of clothes into the washer. I heated up a can of soup for dinner, rearranged the books in my bookcase, watched TV for a while, and finally fell asleep on the couch.

It was dark when I woke up. I knew it must be late, because the regular programming was over and an infomercial about an exercise bike was on. I went into the bedroom, knowing I should get undressed and go to bed, but by then I was wide awake. I picked up Helena's notebook and opened it to the bookmarked page—the one with the picture of happy Helena and Nicky in matching sailor hats. I read again the little nonsense verse.

I looked at the photo again. Helena wore the diamond pendant, and Nicky wore an ordinary collar. The pose was exactly like the one in the vision I'd seen in my mirror, except in the vision Nicky wore a diamond, too.

I looked at my watch. One thirty in the morning. Could I be right about this? Was the missing diamond around the neck of a dog long buried on Misery Island? I looked at the page in Helena's notebook again. No mistake. Helena was a trickster. Tripp had told me so. Loved puzzles, games, mysteries. The little rhyme, the drawing on the page added to what the vision had shown me. . . . I knew I was right.

I paced back and forth between the bedroom and the kitchen.

I didn't want to wake Aunt Ibby at this hour, and I couldn't very well tell Pete about what I'd seen in the mirror. But River was at the TV station tonight. She'd be wide awake, just winding up her show. I put Helena's notebook on the table and sat in one of the Lucite chairs, reached for my phone and speed-dialed my witch friend.

“River, I know exactly where Helena's diamond is, but I can't tell Pete yet, because . . . you know why . . . but it's all here in Helena's journal. Come over as soon as you get out of there. Don't ring the doorbell, though. I'll turn off the alarm and unlock the back door. Come on up, but be quiet. I don't want to frighten Aunt Ibby so late at night.”

I hung up, then leaned back in my chair. I peered out the window. It had become kind of a habit to look for the cats on the fence. They weren't there. Maybe they showed up only when O'Ryan was on the windowsill. Where was O'Ryan, anyway?

I was sure River would be on her way over the minute she got my message. At two o'clock I tiptoed down the back stairs, disarmed the alarm, and unlocked the door. I'd just turned to climb the stairs when the door swung open behind me. I started to turn as an arm went around my throat and something pressed against my face.
Rough. A towel? That smell.
I remembered it from high school chemistry class.
Ether? Chloroform ?

Then I drifted, floated, slid into soft, soft blackness.

 

 

Awareness came back slowly, so slowly. Throat burning, head throbbing. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, trying to think, to reason.

I opened my eyes, trying to focus, trying to understand what was happening. A car. I was lying in the backseat of a car. Why? Where was I going? I tried to speak, but only a weak croaking sound came out. The car jolted to a stop, and the towel thing was on my face again. The smell was back, too. A voice then, with a faraway sound. “Coming around, eh? Back to la-la land for you, my snoopy little friend.” I welcomed the soft blackness.

When I awoke again, there was no softness, no darkness. Bright light made me blink. Water casaded down my face. I wanted to wipe it away, but my hands wouldn't move. I sat upright in a chair, hands tightly bound behind me, as Tripp Hampton lifted another bucket of water from the pool and dumped it over my head.

“Tell me where it is, Lee, and I might let you go.”

Still groggy, I struggled to speak. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?”

“You know what I want. The goddamned diamond. The real one. Not this piece of crap.” The pink gem sparkled under the lights. He held it toward me, and it swayed back and forth hypnotically on its fine gold chain before he whirled and threw it into the far end of the pool.

“But . . . but . . . Shea had that one. She found it in Helena's bureau. You mean you . . . the candlestick . . . It was you!”

“Of course it was me. You mean, you hadn't figured that out, too? I gave you too much credit. I knew you'd pegged me for dear old Mom's tragic passing. I saw it in your face when Daph made that crack about the tuxedos. Then I heard you talking to the cop about it.” He smiled, but it wasn't the charming toothpaste ad smile I'd seen so many times before. It was a mean, self-satisfied, evil smirk, and it, more than the cold water soaking into my clothes, made me shiver.

He went on. “It was so easy. I swiped Daphne's keys to the Mercedes, ran down to the carriage house. I knew Tommy always kept his gun locked in the glove box, so I put on
my
gloves and took it. Just walked right into Helena's room, aimed the gun at her, and told her to hand over the diamond.” The smile disappeared. “She laughed out loud. Called me a silly boy and turned her back. I don't like it when a woman turns her back on me. Remember that, Lee.”

He moved close to me then, bending so that his face was close to mine. His breath was fetid; the blue eyes were mere slits. “So I shot her.” He shrugged. “Didn't have time to search thoroughly, but I was positive the diamond was in her room someplace. I went back to the carriage house, put the gun right where I'd found it, and ran back to the party. Slipped Daph's keys back into her purse and danced the rest of the night away before Daph and I drove home.” His laugh was high pitched and eerie.

“Slept like a baby till noon the next day. Why not? I knew Helena was dead and Tommy would get blamed for it. Perfect. And I could take my time searching the house.” He stood, grinning down at me. “Oh, well, enough conversation. You told the witch you know where my diamond is. I need it now. Where is it? Where did Helena, that conniving trickster, hide it? I know she put the answer somewhere in that bureau of yours. There's no other place it could be.”

“You heard me talking to River? How?”

He laughed. “Simple. I bugged your phone. An ingenious device. Anyone can do it. Is your daughter dating a no-good jerk? Is your spouse cheating? Are your kids buying drugs? Bug the phones. My phone buzzes every time yours rings.” He stood up straight. “I haven't got time to wait any longer for an invitation from you to see what's in those secret compartments. I need that diamond. I need that money, and I need it now. I'm not like Tommy Trent. Prison would kill me.”

“Prison? So it's true? You've been stealing from your investors?”