Read Look Both Ways Online

Authors: Carol J. Perry

Look Both Ways (6 page)

“He could have told me that he was lead detective on that case when we talked about it,” I complained to the apparently sleeping cat. “Why does he keep things from me?”
I knew the answer, of course.
He's a cop. He's supposed to keep quiet about police work.
What was my excuse?
CHAPTER 9
Late afternoon shadows had stretched across my windowsills and spilled onto the floor when Aunt Ibby's gentle
tap-tap
sounded on my door. “Maralee? Come on downstairs and have a bite of supper with me.”
I opened the door and hugged her. “I'd love to,” I said. “I have such a lot to tell you.”
We walked downstairs together, O'Ryan leading the way. It felt good to enter the dear familiar surroundings of my childhood home after leaving the stark setting of my own new living space.
“I hope I can make my apartment as attractive as this,” I said, arriving in the long fireplaced living room, with its tall windows facing Winter Street. “Everything looks so perfect.”
“Nonsense,” she declared. “That's just because there are fond memories attached to the old place. The couch needs reupholstering, the carpet is frayed, and O'Ryan—that naughty boy—has been sharpening his claws on the wing chairs.” She shook her finger in the direction of the cat, who calmly groomed long whiskers. “You're looking at it through the eyes of love, Maralee. Once you get things organized in your place, you're going to love it just as much.”
“I hope so,” I said. “Anyway, I have a new table and chairs and dishes coming tomorrow. I think that'll be a good start.”
“Come on into the kitchen and tell me all about your day,” she said. “I've made a lovely antipasto and your favorite veal Parmesan. We'll have a nice glass of wine first, and you can tell me everything.”
That was exactly what I'd wanted to do all day. I hardly knew where to begin. “Okay,” I said. “I'll start with my visit with Mr. Pennington.”
“I do hope Rupert was able to help you. Was he?”
“He sure was. I start tomorrow as property manager for the summer theater stage productions. They're doing three plays, and just as you said, I'll be working with a pretty slim budget, but I'm looking forward to it.”
She smiled and poured white wine into delicate stemmed crystal glasses. “You always did enjoy a challenge, dear. You'll be a wonderful property manager.”
“Darn,” I said, sipping the wine. “I should have bought glassware, too.”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Now tell me more.”
I told her about my visit to Jenny's Antiques and about the Lucite kitchen set and the Russel Wright dishes. “Jenny was apparently acquainted with Shea Tolliver,” I said, “and she knows Gary Campbell, Shea's ex-partner, too.”
“Really? What does Jenny think about this Gary person being in the shop just before you found the poor woman dead?”
“I didn't tell her I was the one who found the body. She can't believe he'd hurt Shea. Says that Shea told her Gary was trying to get her to forgive him . . . to take him back into the business.”
Aunt Ibby gave an unladylike snort. “What a nerve! Imagine. After threatening her severely enough so that a judge granted a restraining order. They don't hand those out easily, you know.”
“I know they don't. And I don't know what to think about Gary Campbell. I guess we just have to trust the police to figure it all out.”
“Does Pete say anything about the man?”
“No. But you know Pete. He doesn't make small talk about police business. Did you know he was the lead detective on the Helena Trent case? I read it in one of those articles you gave me. He never even mentioned it when I told him about the bureau that came from Helena's house.”
My aunt began to serve the colorful salad. “He might have thought it would sound like bragging if he told you.”
“I guess that's true. He doesn't talk about himself much at all.” I thought about that for a minute and sipped my wine. “And I certainly don't tell him everything about myself, either.”
She frowned. “Like about the gazing?”
“Exactly. And it happened again today. I looked into that blackened mirror and saw . . . something.”
“Oh dear.” She opened the oven and transferred the cutlets to a serving plate. “Was it anything . . . frightening?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Actually, it was quite a pleasant scene. I just haven't the slightest idea what it's supposed to mean.”
She put the steaming platter on the table and sat down. “Tell me about it.”
I described the beach and the waves breaking on the shore. I told her about the crumbling wall and the woman and the small dog in the distance. “The woman threw the stick, and the dog retrieved it. Then she knelt and patted him and threw the stick again. The same action was repeated again and again, until they were little, faraway specks. Any idea what it might mean?”
“Not a clue,” she said. “Could you recognize her? Anyone we know?”
“She was too far away. Anyway, she had her back to me. I couldn't see her face at all.”
“Maybe River can help you figure it out. You should call her.”
“I will. This is delicious.” I felt relaxed and happy there in the familiar kitchen, sharing a meal with the woman who'd raised me. “Pretty soon I'll invite you to my place for dinner.”
“I shall look forward to it,” she said with a smile. “Now, tell me some more about your visit with Rupert.”
Aunt Ibby and Rupert Pennington had begun “keeping company” the previous winter. At first I hadn't been thrilled to see my boss and my aunt dating, but they seemed to have a lot in common, and they were each obviously happy in the relationship.
“Well, as I told you,” I said, “the summer theater group will be presenting three plays in the student theater at the Tabby. Mr. Pennington said that he had me in mind for the job of property manager all along.”
“That must please you. What plays are they planning to do?”
“I don't know yet. He's going to give me the scripts and general set outlines tomorrow. He said he's been gathering up some props for the first play himself, so that gives me a head start.”
“I'm sure you're about to have a truly productive summer, Maralee,” she said. “Now, how about some nice strawberry ice cream for dessert?”
“Sounds good. And I'm going to take your advice and call River.”
We cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher together. “I think I'll sleep in my old room tonight,” I said. “I'll set the alarm. Don't want to be late on the first day of my new job.”
“Good idea. Why don't you just spend the evening here? Rupert and I are going to a poetry reading later, but I'll be back early, and you can tell me what River says about your new vision.”
I glanced around at the comfortable surroundings, thought about the near-barren space upstairs, and decided to do as she suggested. Besides, O'Ryan was already curled up on a needlepoint cushion on the window seat. “I think I will,” I told her. “O'Ryan and I will just play couch potatoes in your living room.”
Aunt Ibby went to her room to change for her date, while I opted for my trusty old gray sweats and a seat on the couch, which may or may not have needed reupholstering. O'Ryan ran for the front door before the bell chimed, announcing Mr. Pennington's arrival. Aunt Ibby, looking lovely in gray silk, waited as usual for him to ring twice so that she wouldn't appear anxious. He stepped inside the foyer and the two, looking so darned cute together, peeked in at me through the arched living room doorway.
“I won't be late, Maralee,” she said. “You and O'Ryan have a pleasant evening.”
“Have fun, you two. See you in the morning, Mr. Pennington.” I picked up the cat, and we watched from the window as the school director's brown Lincoln pulled away from the curb.
We'd just resumed our spots on the couch when my phone vibrated. The caller ID showed River North's name. “I was just about to call you,” I told her.
“What's going on?” she said, sounding a bit uneasy. “You've been on my mind all afternoon, so I read the cards again. A couple of cards turned up next to yours that haven't been there before.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Maybe. I'm not sure. The Ace of Wands is close to you. It means the beginning of an enterprise. Like something of a creative nature might be offered to you. Does that make sense?”
“Sure does. What else?”
“Okay. This one's not so clear. The Knight of Wands is there, too. He's a man, usually with blond hair and blue eyes. Ring a bell?”
I immediately thought of Gary Campbell. “I guess I know lots of men who fit that description,” I admitted. “But yeah, there was a recent, um, encounter with one.”
“You mean the blond guy who bumped into you at the antique store? Possible, but this one might be a friend of yours. He can be generous, but he can be cruel or brutal.”
“That's one of those cards that can mean practically anything.”
She sighed. “I know. But listen. Just be careful around blond, blue eyed men, okay?”
“I'm careful around all men, River. You know that.”
“True. Anyway, tell me about the creative opportunity.”
“I don't know how to handle all this free time, so I've been looking for something to do during school vacation,” I said. “Mr. Pennington offered me a chance to work as property manager for the plays the summer theater classes are producing.”
“Creative for sure. Congratulations. Now, what were you going to call me about? Please tell me you've opened all those secret compartments. I'm dying to know what's in that bureau!”
“To tell you the truth, so am I. But I kind of promised Pete we'd open them together and um . . . he had to leave early.”
“Wow. You have a lot more self-control than I do. I would have had those little guys emptied out ten minutes after the thing was delivered.”
“Yeah. But I promised. What I wanted to tell you is that . . . a gazing thing happened today.”
“Really?” Her excitement was obvious. “Tell me everything.”
I explained about the messed-up mirror and how I'd seen the lights and colors while Pete was in the room. “I kind of freaked out, I guess. That's why Pete left before we'd opened any more of the compartments,” I told her. “I knew there was something I was supposed to look at, but I waited until this afternoon to do it.”
River sighed. “So I guess you didn't have the enchanted evening I was visualizing. You're such a chicken. When are you going to tell that man what you can do?”
“I don't know.” Deep sigh. I really didn't know. Would I ever work up the nerve to tell Pete the truth?
“Never mind that now. So, what did you see?”
I closed my eyes and saw the picture again in my mind. “It was a pretty scene. Calm. Not frightening at all, like most of them have been. There's a long beach. Waves along the shoreline. There's a wall. It's old, crumbling. In the distance I see a woman. Her back is toward me, and there's a little dog with her. She throws a stick, and the dog retrieves it. She pats him on the head and throws it again. They move down the beach. She's throwing. He's bringing the stick back to her, till they're just tiny spots in the distance. That's all.” I took a deep breath. “Any idea what it means?”
“Is the dog happy?”
“Seems to be. He's having fun chasing a stick. Why? Does that mean something?”
“If it was a dream, it would mean social activity. Good times. It's probably about the same for a vision, I guess.”
“I like that. How about the beach? And the woman?”
“Have to look in the dream book for that one. Hold on a sec.”
I waited, heard pages being turned. O'Ryan moved to the back of the couch, with his head next to my shoulder, ears up straight. I knew he was listening, too.
“Okay. Here it is. A long beach can mean you're looking for a change in your future. Make sense?”
“Oh, River. Everybody has changes in their future. Doesn't mean a thing. How about the woman with her back to me?”
“Okay. There's a lot here about backs. Is her back naked? Like in a bathing suit?”
“Don't know. Maybe? She's too far away for me to see clearly.”
“If it is, you're keeping secrets from those in your life, it says here. You fear that the secrets may be revealed. Your subconscious wants you to come clean. Wow.”
“Wow, what?”
“Don't you get it? Your subconscious wants you to tell Pete your secret!”
“Come on. She might be wearing a burka, for all I know. I think you'd better stick to the cards.”
She laughed. “You're probably right. Anyway, I'm glad it wasn't a scary vision. Talk to you later. Got to get ready for the show.”
“I'll watch you, if I can stay awake that long.”
After we hung up, I couldn't get what River had said about revealing secrets out of my head. I wished she hadn't looked in that dream book. Maybe it was a scary vision, after all.
CHAPTER 10
It was still early when Aunt Ibby returned from her date, just as she'd promised. O'Ryan ran for the front hall, and moments later the lights from Mr. Pennington's car reflected in the window as he drove away.
“Aunt Ibby?” I called. “That you?”
“Of course it's me, dear.” She peeked into the living room. “I'm going to run upstairs and change into something comfortable. Then I'll come back down, and we can chat.”
“Shall I make tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
I headed for the kitchen, filled the kettle with water, and put it on the old gas range to boil. I picked a red teapot from Aunt Ibby's collection and tossed four Earl Grey tea bags into it. Aunt Ibby always uses loose tea, but I've never quite mastered that art. By the time my aunt appeared in the kitchen in a blue chenille bathrobe and bunny slippers, the tea was ready, and I'd arranged a few slices of homemade marble cake on a red plate.
I put the teapot, the cake plate and a couple of bone china teacups on the round oak table and we sat opposite one another. “How was your date?” I asked. “Poetry reading, was it?”
“It was quite delightful. I was surprised when Rupert went to the podium and read a poem he'd written. Did you know he was a poet?”
“Mr. Pennington is a constant source of surprises.” It was true. Some of the school director's “surprises” had been quite pleasant. Others, not so much. But I could tell from my aunt's happy countenance that she definitely approved of his poetic efforts.
She took a sip of tea. “Well, don't keep me on pins and needles. What did River have to say about your latest vision? Could she figure out the meaning of the beach and the woman and the dog?”
“She wasn't much help with the vision,” I admitted. “She tried looking up the symbols in a dream book, but it didn't make a lot of sense. We agreed she's much better with the cards.”
Aunt Ibby smiled. “I watch the readings she does on her show sometimes, and it surely seems as though there's something to it. Did she read your cards again?”
“She did. She saw an offer of something creative—I'm guessing that's the property manager position—and she told me to be careful around blond, blue-eyed men.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason for that?”
I shrugged. “Kind of vague. He could be a bad guy. I told her I'm careful around all men.”
“Good answer! Say, speaking of bad guys, did you read today's
Salem News?

“Not yet. Why?”
She leaned forward. “That Tommy Trent is out of jail. You remember. Helena's husband? I guess his sentence was reduced for good behavior. Anyway, he's out after only six years. I'm surprised Pete didn't tell you about it.”
“No reason he would, I guess. Other than the fact that I have a bureau that came out of the Trent's house, he'd have no reason to think I'd be interested.” I helped myself to a piece of cake.
“True enough. The paper says the reporter asked Pete what he thought about Tommy getting out of jail, on account of him being the detective on the case back then, and he just said, ‘No comment.'”
“Sounds like Pete, all right,” I said. “Want to watch River, as long as we're up?”
“Might as well,” she said.
A few minutes later we were comfortably seated on the couch, teacups and cake plates arranged on the coffee table and the television set tuned to WICH-TV. The late news was just winding up, and my old coworker Scott Palmer wore a serious expression. “Convicted killer Tommy Trent was released from prison over the weekend,” he intoned. “When asked by this reporter what his plans for the future were, he said, ‘No comment.'”
“Seems to be a lot of that ‘No comment' going around,” I said, watching as the image of Tommy Trent emerging from behind prison gates and getting into a waiting automobile flashed on the screen. He faced away from the camera, and a baseball cap shaded his features. “He looks thinner than he did in that newspaper photo.”
“Probably prison fare is quite different from what he was used to,” Aunt Ibby said, reaching for a piece of cake. “And I think I've read that men in jail do a lot of exercising. Muscle building and that sort of thing.”
“I've heard that. Look. Here's River.” Our friend appeared on-screen while her theme music,
Danse Macabre,
played in the background. Her dark red sheath, shot with silver threads, glistened under the studio lights, and a spray of silver stars woven into her long black braid accented her exotic good looks.
“Good evening, friends of the night,” River said, smiling. “Our film tonight will thrill and delight you, I know. Prepare to be scared. But first, let's see what the strange and beautiful tarot cards will offer us with their miracles of psychological insight, wise counsel, and accurate divination.”
She leaned back in her rattan fan-backed chair, bowed her head, and placed the deck of cards in front of her on the round table. A telephone number appeared at the top of the screen, and a moment later River spoke to her first caller, asked for his birth date, and chose a card to represent him. An overhead camera focused on the King of Cups, which she'd placed in the center of the table. While she delivered a rapid-fire explanation of the horoscope method of reading tarot cards, River arranged twelve cards in a circle around the first one.
“The cards are quite beautiful, aren't they?” My aunt leaned closer to the screen. “Like lovely little paintings.”
River's reading seemed to please the caller, and her running explanation of what she was doing and what each card meant kept the audience interested in the process. But when she announced the movie du jour—
I Walked with a Zombie
—I wished my aunt a good night, carried my teacup to the kitchen, and headed upstairs to my childhood bedroom.
I prepared for bed, wearing one of Johnny's old
DAYTONA RACE WEEK
T-shirts. It was faded, soft, and comfortable, as only a well-aged T-shirt could be. A determined scratching at the door announced that O'Ryan didn't want to watch zombies walking, either, and he joined me on the French Provincial bed. I looked across the room, toward a matching bureau. It had five drawers, like the one in my apartment, but no hidden mirror, no hidden compartments. Just a pretty, ordinary piece of furniture, with no secrets, no past, no memories of death . . . or murder.
What's in the other four spaces? River is right. I'm dying to open each and every one. But I promised Pete....
I knew that Pete was probably curious, too—after all, he'd wanted to open them all before dinner. “I'll call him tomorrow,” I told O'Ryan, “and tell him he
has to
come back tomorrow night.”
That matter settled in my mind, I set the alarm for 8:00 a.m., turned out the light, and with large cat purring beside me, fell asleep in minutes.
Anyone would think that after the jam-packed and eventful couple of days I'd had, I'd sleep like a . . . well, like a well-fed yellow-striped cat. That was not to be. Maybe the dream was the result of River's foray into the dream book. Maybe it was because of the vision in the black mirror. Maybe it was because of all those old newspaper clippings. Whatever the cause, it was one of those disturbing dreams that could linger in the mind for a very long time.
I was on a beach. The sand beneath my bare feet was cool and pebbly, not like the sand on Florida beaches. I heard the sound of waves and looked around, wondering where I was. The water was calm and blue, gently lapping at the shoreline. I paused and picked up a large white clamshell. It seemed important that I should keep it, that I should put it in my pocket. I looked down and realized that I was wearing a bathing suit. So I held the shell in my hand, palm up, looking at it intently as I walked. The scene seemed to change then. The sky grew cloudy, and the waves began to crash on the beach. I felt cold. I heard a voice. “Follow me, Lee!” Someone was far ahead, running. I had started to follow when I heard barking. A small gray dog stood in my path, teeth bared, growling. I dropped the shell and began to cry, because it had broken open. I picked it up and saw the sparkling pink diamond inside.

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