Look Both Ways (9 page)

“Whatever you say.”

“Good. Got any red candles?”

“I've got one of those candles in a jar that makes the place smell good. Cherries Jubilee. It's red.”

“That'll do. And next time you go shopping, get a big mirror. Put it where you can't see yourself when you're in bed.”

“Big mirror. Okay.”

“Speaking of mirrors . . .” She frowned, facing the bureau once again. “Can I get a look at the black mirror please?”

“All right. Just lift the top section there. You'll see it.” I turned away from the bureau and closed my eyes. “I won't look, if you don't mind.”

I heard the creak of tiny hinges as she lifted the panel. “I don't get it, Lee,” she said. “Looks like an ordinary mirror to me.”

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. I stood and walked across to where River stood, her hand still holding the panel upright. She was right. It looked like an ordinary mirror to me, too. A bright, shiny beveled edge, a perfectly clear mirror, without a trace of tarnish or a spot of blackness anywhere.

I moved closer, peering over River's shoulder. “It's not the same mirror,” I said. “But how can that be?”

“If it's a different mirror, someone replaced the old one,” River said with perfect logic.

“Aunt Ibby,” I said, remembering her promise of surprises. “She said she knew a good furniture refinisher who could fix it.”

“You must be relieved. At least you won't be seeing visions in your own bedroom.”

I thought about that for a long moment. “I guess so,” I said, looking at my reflection in that clear, unblemished surface. “But still . . .”

“You want to know where the woman and the dog were going. What they were trying to show you.”

“I think you're right,” I admitted. “I must be nuts. I've been complaining about this gazing thing from the minute I learned about it, and now, well, I was kind of getting used to having it.”

“Don't worry. I'm sure there are plenty of black, shiny objects around here that will work just as well. Let's open those compartments. Okay?”

“Okay.” I knew she was right. “Here we go. Shall I open the one Pete and I opened first, so you can see the coin and the dog license?”

“Yes, please. I want to see ever ything.”

I pressed the tiny indentation in the wood that Pete had spotted and pointed out the compartment with two pockets. “You go ahead and take them out if you want to.”

“Oh, I want to.” She reached into the first one and unwrapped the coin. “Real silver,” she said, placing it on the bed, just as Pete had the evening before, and followed it with the tarnished dog license. “That's nice that somebody saved it to remember a dog they loved.”

“That's just what Pete and I thought,” I said. “Well, let's get started on the rest of them.” I pulled out the top drawer, tossed the envelope containing the directions and the sheaf of newspaper clippings onto the bed, and tapped the back of the drawer gently. “Watch this. There's a false back in this one.” It took a bit of prying, and one broken fingernail, but a smooth section of wood soon moved upward, revealing a narrow hiding space.

“Holy cow!” River leaned forward. “Is there anything in it?”

I slid my hand gingerly into the opening and grasped a slim, flat tissue-wrapped item between two fingers. I pulled it out and placed it on the bed. “Want to do the honors?” I asked my friend.

“Really? Me?” River removed the tissue paper, revealing an ordinary composition book, the kind with a speckled black-and-white cover and lined pages inside. She opened the cover. Neat, childlike handwriting covered page after page with rounded cursive letters. Here and there items had been pasted in—postcards, ticket stubs, and the like. It reminded me of notebooks I'd kept when I was a kid.

“Some of it looks like poetry, the way the lines are spaced,” River said. “Want to read it now or keep opening?”

“Open now. Read later,” I said, putting the clippings and the directions back into the drawer, replacing it, and laying the composition book on the bed. I smoothed the tissue paper and laid it carefully on the bolster in front of the headboard. I moved around to the same side of the bureau where Pete had found the first compartment, and knelt on the floor. “Here's another one,” I said, pointing at a spot a few inches above the floor. “This is my favorite. It works from a spring inside.” I pressed on the spot and watched as a small section of wood slid silently to one side, revealing yet another tissue-wrapped item, this one much smaller than the previous one. “My turn to open.”

I unwrapped the package, trying not to tear the tissue paper, and revealed a silver picture frame holding a faded color photo of an elderly gentleman. He stood, smiling, in front of a rustic-looking cottage, holding a large fish at arm's length. “A nice big cod. He looks really proud of it. I wonder who he is.” I turned the frame over. Written in pencil on the cardboard backing was the word
Grandpa
and the date
1974.
“Somebody's grandpa,” I said, putting the frame next to the notebook and the tissue paper on the bolster.

“This is fun.” River's eyes sparkled with excitement. “Could I open a compartment? Will you show me how it works?”

“Sure. The next two are on the back. Help me move it away from the wall. I'll show you.” Together, we pulled and wiggled the bureau far enough so that we could both fit behind it. “You have to sort of pr y this one a little. Wait a minute, until I get a kitchen knife or a nail file or something. I've already broken one fingernail today.”

I hurried back to the kitchen, grabbed a small paring knife, went back into the bedroom, and handed it to her. “There. See that seam between the boards? Stick the knife right about here.” I pointed to the spot, which I remembered from my childhood.

“Wow! Look. It's moving!” I smiled at my friend's delight as yet another secret compartment was revealed. This one held a small, tissue-wrapped blue velvet jewelry box. River gave me a questioning look. I nodded, and she opened the lid. She frowned. “Do you think this is the box the pink diamond used to be in?”

“It could be,” I said. “Is that a card in there?”

“Yep. Looks like it.” She removed the ivory-colored oblong and carried it over to the window, where the fading late afternoon light was better, and read aloud. “For my darling Helena, the sparkling gem of my life. With all my love, from John.”

“Ohh,” we chorused.

“How sweet,” River said, replacing the card in the jewelry box.

“A real love stor y,” I said.

“So, where's the diamond?” River asked. “Do you think Shea found it, after all?”

“I don't know. It's possible, though, isn't it? It could have been in the jewelry box. I ought to tell Pete about this.”

“You think he might want to check for fingerprints?”

“Probably not. We know Shea touched it. She said she'd opened all the compartments and left everything the way it was for the new owner. But I'll tell him about it for sure.”

“The new owner. That's you.” She handed me the velvet jewelry box.

I reached over and gently closed the bureau's top panel, hiding the mirror once again, and then put the jewelry box on the bed and the tissue paper with the others. “Okay. Five compartments, counting the double one. One more to go. Want to take a guess at where it is?”

“You said there were two on the back, so we're probably looking at it. Right?”

“Right.”

She knelt and ran her hands up and down the smooth wood. After a few minutes she sighed. “I give up. Show me.”

“I don't blame you. This is a tricky one. Watch.” I leaned down beside her and pointed to the spot where the leg met the body of the bureau. “Press hard at the top edge of the leg.”

She did as I said, and gasped when a tiny drawer slid open. We both leaned forward and looked inside.

I reached into the little space with thumb and forefinger and pulled out a small unsealed envelope. I opened it carefully. Another photo. This time of a dog. A pretty little gray schnauzer. “The dog on the beach,” I said, slipping the photo back into the envelope and placing it on the bed. “It has to be.”

River sat back on her heels, then stood. “It's kind of like Christmas morning, after all the presents have been opened, isn't it?” she said.

“Exactly like that,” I said, closing the drawer, standing, and pushing the bureau back into place. “I guess there's no doubt that the bureau belonged to Helena. I suppose it came from her bedroom.”

“You're thinking the woman in your vision is Helena,” River said.

“It would make sense.”

“And maybe the little dog in the photo is the one the license belonged to.”

“I'll bet it is.”

“And you're wondering what Helena and the dog are trying to tell you. Right?”

“Right. But I guess I'm going to have to find another magic mirror somewhere if I'm ever going to find out what she wants me to do.” O'Ryan stepped daintily over the picture of the dog, sat on the bolster, beside the pile of tissue-paper wrappings, and looked at me expectantly. “But did you notice that the tissue the coin and the dog license were wrapped in was torn in half.”

“Are you talking to me or to him?” River whispered, pointing at O'Ryan.

I laughed. “Both, sort of. But I have to admit, I do talk to him quite a lot.”

“Does he ever answer?”

“No. Not exactly. Maybe,” I answered weakly. “It's sort of hard to explain.”

She held up both hands. “Stop. Never mind. Listen. Get that red candle and put it on top of the bureau. I'm going to tr y a quick spell.”

I did as she asked, lit the candle, and watched as she faced the bureau, raised her arms, palms up, and bowed her head. She spoke quietly, with a chanting rhythm. “May the powers of the stars above and the earth below bless this place and this time and this woman and I who am with you.”

Then she turned, facing me, and smiled. “That should help. Thanks for the pizza and the grand opening. It was fun. I have to get going if I'm going to grab a nap before I have to go to the station.”

“Thanks for coming over,” I said. “I love the wind chime, and I appreciate the spell. I'll tr y to watch your show tonight. What'll it be? Zombies again?”

“Nope. An oldie but goodie.
The Curse of the Cat People.
”

“Great. O'Ryan will love it.”

I let my friend out through the living room door and watched as she headed down the stairs to the backyard.

After River had left, and I'd cleaned up the kitchen, I went back into the sweet-smelling bedroom and stood silently, just looking at the things spread out on the white bedspread. Helena's things. After a moment O'Ryan strolled into the room, put his front paws on the edge of the bed, and appeared to be studying each item.

“Well, boy, what do you think? Is it just a random collection of odds and ends, or does it all mean something?”

He jumped onto the bed, so carefully that nothing was disturbed, and picked his way between the coin and the license, the book and the jewelry box, the envelope and the picture frame, sniffing at each item without actually touching any of them. Then, with barely a backward glance in my direction, he hopped down to the floor and left me alone with my jumbled thoughts and erstwhile treasures. A slight creaking sound from the kitchen let me know that he'd deigned to use the new cat door, after all.

I gathered up all the things we'd found, and put them carefully into the top drawer, along with the tissue paper. In the flickering candlelight, I glanced at my watch. Time for the evening news. I reluctantly blew out the candle, choosing safety over
bagua,
and left the bedroom.

I sat at the kitchen table, poured myself another glass of wine, and clicked on WICH-TV. The familiar face of the station's longtime anchorman, Phil Archer, filled the screen. “Antique dealer Shea Tolliver, whose lifeless body was found two days ago in her Bridge Street shop, was the victim of a robbery. Ms. Tolliver sustained a fatal head wound. The cash register was found open and empty. An attempt had been made to break into a locked display case, but the perpetrator apparently fled the scene without gaining access to the contents. Police have determined that the killer may have entered and left the store through an unlocked back door. The shop had been open for only a few weeks, and although video surveillance equipment had been installed, it had not as yet been activated. The public is asked to call the Salem Police Department with information about any unusual activity two days ago in the area of Tolliver's Antiques and Uniques shop.”

A phone number flashed on the screen. There was no mention at all of Gar y Campbell. I wondered why.

I wondered, too, whether I ought to call Pete and tell him about the things River and I had found. O'Ryan wasn't around to give an opinion, so I decided all by myself. I turned off the TV, grabbed my phone, and punched in Pete's number. He answered on the first ring.

“Lee? You okay?”

“Sure. I'm fine. Just came across something you might want to know about, that's all. Got a minute?”

“For you? Always.”

“River and I opened the rest of the compartments in the bureau.”

“I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for that, babe. Chief's got us hopping around here, between the Tolliver murder and an old case. Anything good turn up in the secret hiding places?”

“It looks as though the bureau must have belonged to Helena Trent,” I told him, “and we found a jewelr y box with only a card from Helena's husband in it. The first one.”

“What else was in the bureau?”

“Just an old picture of somebody's grandfather holding a fish, and a kid's composition book. Oh, and another picture. One of a little gray dog. A schnauzer, I think,” I said. “But I thought the jewelry box might be important.”

“Might be,” he agreed. “The old case the chief's dug out of the files is the Trent murder. He still thinks Tommy Trent and his girlfriend have that diamond stashed somewhere. Trent's out of jail, you know.”

“I know. Saw him on TV.”

“I should be out of here in a couple of hours,” he said. “Would it be too late for me to come over and take a look at that jewelry box? Chief might want to see it, too.”

“No problem,” I said. “I'll be here. Just come up the back way.” I wanted Pete to get into the habit of using my private entrance. I'd even fantasized quite a bit about giving him the extra key.

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Want me to bring anything?”

“I don't think so. I still have a couple of slices of leftover apple pie,” I said, “and I know where there are some great molasses cookies.”

“Sounds good. See you soon.”

“Okay. See you.” I put the phone on the table and turned the TV back on. Phil Archer was still there, the same video I'd seen before of Tommy Trent leaving prison playing as Archer intoned the same information I'd heard on the previous broadcast. This time I paid more attention to the vehicle picking him up. It was a black Mercedes, and a blond woman was driving it.

I had at least an hour to kill before Pete would arrive, maybe more. It might be a good idea to take a shower and put on some clean clothes. I'd had the same faded jeans and school T-shirt on all day. I headed down to my old room, picked out some newer jeans and a much more attractive T-shirt, showered, and washed my hair. Within a half hour, feeling refreshed and looking pretty good, I ran down to the first floor, with the intention of grabbing a few cookies, in case Pete was really hungry. Aunt Ibby had already gone to her concert, but she'd left the big brown glazed cookie jar on the kitchen table. I returned to my apartment with a plate full of Joe Froggers and with O'Ryan tagging along behind me.

I didn't feel like watching TV anymore, and I hadn't brought any books upstairs yet. I felt like kicking myself because I'd left the dream book on my desk at the school. Bored, I looked around the room for something to do. I put fresh water in the vase for the roses and daisies, cleaned the already clean countertops, then wandered into the bedroom and turned on the overhead light.

I smoothed out the white bedspread, centered the bolster against the headboard, then stood in front of the bureau, just looking at it. I moved the candle to the edge of the top and lifted the center panel—not all the way, but enough to peek in. The new mirror looked like exactly what it was. A new mirror. I lifted the panel all the way and moved closer, not so much inspecting my own reflection as trying to look past myself, expecting to see . . . what?

I knew from the fairly extensive reading I'd done about scrying ever since I learned that I had been blessed—or cursed—with this “gift” that scryers throughout the centuries had used all kinds of reflective surfaces to see the kinds of things I'd been seeing. Nostradamus had used a bowl of water. Jean Dixon had used a crystal ball. My “magic mirrors” had always been black, shiny objects—first my little Mary Janes when I was a child and later a black obsidian ball I'd found on the set of
Nightshades.
When I'd started work at the Tabby, it had been a giant patent-leather pump in a vintage shoe display; and most recently, the tarnished mirror in Helena's bureau.

I got an answer immediately. My reflection was still there, but it looked like a pale, floating etching of my face superimposed on another picture. I saw the sandy beach and the crumbling wall, too, but this time there was a cottage in the background. I moved even closer to the mirror and squinted, trying to focus better, to see more details in the scene. As I did so, the cottage door swung open and a white-haired man stepped out onto a flagstone path.

At that moment the back door chimes rang out, and the vision—if that was what it was—blinked away. Nothing there but a reflection of me. I smoothed my hair, closed the hinged panel and hurried to let Pete in.

It was clear that he'd come straight from work. His suit coat and tie looked professional, but not too comfortable for a warm summer evening.

“Hi. Missed you,” I said.

“Missed you, too. A lot.”

We shared a lovely, long, luxurious kiss; then, with arms around each other's waist, we walked through the empty living room into the comparatively well-furnished kitchen.

“Hey, I like the new table and chairs,” Pete said. “That's Lucite, isn't it? My grandmother had a coffee table made out of it.”

“Glad you like it. O'Ryan likes the chairs. Not sure how he feels about the see-through table yet. But look. He has a cat door.” I pointed to the new addition to the front hall entrance.

“Thanks for remembering that,” he said, pulling me close once again. “No more cat interruptions.”

I felt bad enough about taking credit for the pie, so I ducked his kiss and told him the truth about the cat door. “I was going to get it done, but Aunt Ibby beat me to it,” I admitted. “It was all installed when I got home from work today.”

“Good for Aunt Ibby.” He laughed, and his kiss landed on my forehead. “Smells good in here. You been cooking?”

“Afraid not. It's just a nice-smelling candle.” I decided against telling him about River's cleansing spell.

“Smells good,” he said again. “But tell me about the job. Do you like it so far? And what's up with the old truck?”

Surprised, I took a step backward. “You saw the truck? I mean, you knew it was me?”

“Sure. Can't miss that red hair. Didn't you see me?”

“Uh, yes, I did,” I said. “I just haven't figured out where the horn is. I would have beeped at you.”

“So why the truck? I know you haven't traded the 'Vette.”

“Part of the job,” I said, glad to be back on solid ground, telling the truth. “The Tabby provided it. I'm supposed to be rounding up props for the three plays they'll be doing this summer. A lot of it involves furniture.”

“Well, speaking of furniture, want to show me what the bureau yielded? Especially that jewelry box. I told the chief about it, and he's real interested.” He pulled a pair of rubber gloves and a plastic bag from his pocket. “See? Evidence bag. He's serious about looking for that missing diamond.”

“Come on.” I led the way to the bedroom and clicked on the glaring overhead light. “Do you think it could have been in the bureau all these years? And that somebody found it there? Shea Tolliver maybe?”

“I think that's a possibility. But the chief still thinks that Tommy Trent and his girlfriend have it stashed somewhere, and that now that Trent's out of prison, they'll go get it.”

I pulled open the top bureau drawer, and Pete reached across, pointing to the slim blue velvet case. “That it?”

“That's it.”

He pulled on the gloves, picked up the case, and opened it carefully. “Did you pull up the insides of the case, look underneath?”

“No. Never thought of doing that. You mean the diamond could have been hidden under there?”

“It's a possibility. But it doesn't look as though it's been tampered with.” He snapped the case shut and deposited it in the plastic bag. He pulled out a Sharpie pen, scribbled on the bag. He put the pen back into his breast pocket, and slid the plastic-bagged case into an inside pocket of the jacket.
It must be handy, having all those nice pockets. If girls had them, we wouldn't need our big handbags.

“There,” he said. “Mission accomplished. Now want to show me the rest of the loot? And what's the little pile of tissue paper for?”

“Just the tissue paper the things were wrapped in. I'm not sure why I saved it.”

He pointed to the notebook. “Anything interesting in the book?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. “I haven't had a chance to read it yet. Looks like a kid's notebook. Maybe a journal of some kind. Some of it looks like poetr y.”

He nodded and touched the picture frame. “Who's the old gent? Any ID on that?”

“Just ‘Grandpa.'”

“Pleasant-looking fellow,” Pete said.

I picked up the frame and examined the photo. Was this the same old man I'd seen in the doorway of the cottage?