Legacy of Lies (6 page)

I carried my dessert to a table by the bay window, glad for a chance to sit down. There was a sign in the window, its letters faded but readable: Fortunes Told
Here. Well, I didn’t need a psychic to tell me I was headed for two tough weeks. Why did Matt dislike me so much? I wondered. I had never had trouble making friends. It was as if he’d made up his mind about me before we’d met.

I took a forkful of cheesecake, then another. Stop trying to figure Matt out, I told myself. He’s a jerk.

“Everything okay?”

The round-faced man had come from behind the counter to wipe down tables. “If you don’t like your selection, help yourself to something else.”

I realized I must have been frowning.

“Whatever you want. On the house,” he added.

“Oh, no!” I said quickly. “It’s the best cheesecake I’ve ever had.”

He smiled. “And you know, it doesn’t have a single calorie-as long as you just look at it.” He laughed at his own joke and I laughed with him. “You’re not one of my regulars,” he observed. “Just visiting for the day?”

“For a couple weeks,” I replied. “I’m staying with my grandmother.”

“And who might that be?”

“Helen Barnes.”

He stopped wiping a table and gazed at me with surprise. I readied myself for another strange Scarborough story, but as it turned out, I was the cause for amazement.

“I didn’t know she had a granddaughter.”

“And two grandsons,” I said. “I mean in addition to Matt. I have two younger brothers.”

He straightened up. “Really! So you all must be Carolyn’s children.”

“Carolyn and Kent Tilby.” I worked hard to keep my voice from sounding brittle. It wasn’t this man’s fault that Grandmother never mentioned us.

“The Tilbys. They had a farm up Oyster Creek. But they passed away.”

I nodded.

“Carolyn and Kent hooked up in college. I remember now. I just didn’t know they had kids. Well, welcome. It’s a pleasure to have you. Tell your folks Jamie says hi. Riley’s the last name, though nobody calls me anything but Jamie.” He held out a damp hand and I shook it. “Back when they knew me, my father ran this place, and I had dreams bigger than puff pastry. But it turned out baking is what I do well,” he added.

“Really well,” I agreed, sliding another bite of cheesecake into my mouth. “Who does the fortune-telling?”

“My mother.” He glanced toward the window. “I should get rid of that sign. She’s getting too old. Of course she’s always happy to do a reading for a local. How about it? I’m sure Mama would be interested to meet you,” he added before I could refuse. “She’s known the Scarboroughs all her life. When she was a teenager, she worked for them, even lived at the house for a while.”

“She did?” His mother would probably know if there was anything to Alice’s story. “I’d love to have my fortune told.”

“I’ll call upstairs and ask if she’s free. We live right above here,” he added, pointing to the stairway that ran up the side wall of the cafe. “Makes it an easy commute to work.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

After finishing the cheesecake, I walked over to the bakery case to buy some pastries for Ginny and muffins for myself. I had just made my final selection when I heard Jamie’s voice behind me: “Here she is, Mama.”

I turned around. Mrs. Riley was a small woman with dark brown hair, my grandmother’s age or older.

“Mama, this is Megan Tuby.”

“Hi, Mrs. Riley.”

She looked at me but didn’t speak.

“This is Mrs. Barnes’s granddaughter,” Jamie added a moment later. “Carolyn and Kent’s girl,” he said, as if trying to nudge a response from her.

But she just stared at me. The hair dye she used made her face look pale. The lines around her mouth were deep.

“Hi,” I said again, a little louder this time, in case she had trouble hearing. “It’s nice to meet you.”

I held out my hand. She didn’t take it.

“Mama?” Jamie seemed as puzzled as I. “This is the young lady who wants her fortune told.”

She turned on him, her eyes blazing. “You were a fool to say I’d do it. I will not look into the cards for her.” Then she stalked across the room and up the steps, moving quickly for an old woman.

Jamie’s face turned red with embarrassment, “l-l don’t know what to say,” he stammered. “I’m very sorry, Megan. She’s not always agreeable, and hasn’t been that well lately, but I didn’t expect this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I assured him. “She’s probably just tired. I’ll come back another time.”

He nodded, but still seemed concerned, whether for her feelings or mine, I wasn’t sure.

“Really,” I said, “it’s no big deal.”

I paid for my purchases and left, feeling like that woman in mythology-the one who had snakes for hair-Medusa. One look at me, and some people turned to stone.

Grandmother gave me permission to eat with Ginny that evening. We locked up the shop about six-thirty and went out to dinner. During the meal, Ginny asked if I’d be interested in filling in for her sick employee starting Monday. I jumped at the chance. I loved all the activity of High Street and was relieved that someone in Wisteria wanted me around.

By the time I got home that evening, Matt had left for a school dance. I joined Grandmother in the library, eager to tell her what and who I had seen in town. But she responded so negatively to the first few things I told her, I gave up well before I got to the strange Mrs. Riley.

I crawled into bed that night exhausted. Even so, I tossed and turned. The tall clock on the stair landing chimed every quarter hour, telling me the amount of
rest I didn’t get. A cold front was passing through. It rattled shutters and windowpanes and sent wind diving down the house’s chimneys. My bedroom door shook so hard it sounded as if someone was trying to get in. I got up and latched it firmly. Finally I drifted into sleep.

It was some time later, when the rough weather had settled down to an eerie silence, that I again became aware of my surroundings. The voice awakened me.

“My name is Avril.”

My eyes flew open and I glanced around the room. The whisper lacked the warmth of a human voice. I wasn’t sure if it was inside my head or out. I lay as still as possible, listening, my skin prickling.

“My name is Avril.”

I sat up and pulled the quilt around me. My skin felt as if it were crawling off my bones. “Who’s there?”

Silence.

I gazed at the bedroom door, waiting for something to happen, the knob to turn, the whisperer to whisper again. My breath felt trapped inside my chest, my heart pounded in my ears.

You’ve got a choice, I told myself. You can cower here for the rest of the night, or you can prove that it was nothing but a voice in a dream, your imagination playing tricks.

I climbed out of bed, then tiptoed to the door. Taking a deep breath, I cracked it slowly, then yanked it wide open.

No one. Nothing. Just the tick tock tick of the big clock. I walked quietly into the hall. The clock’s white face showed a few minutes after one.

Matt’s door was closed, as was Grandmother’s-which didn’t mean they were actually in their rooms. With the house’s interconnecting chimneys and old heating system, it would be easy enough to whisper something downstairs so it could be heard upstairs. Was Matt having a little fun with me?

I walked quickly toward the hall window to check for his Jeep; he was home. Still, playing ghost seemed like too much trouble for him. Till now, his way of dealing with me was to ignore me and hope I went away.

I listened for a moment by the door of his room, straining for some hint that he was awake. There was no sound but that of the clock. Giving up, I headed back to my room. As I passed the hall mirror, I glanced at it, then froze.

There, in the antique glass, I saw her, more light than substance, a changing wisp of fog, the shape of a girl. I stared at the mist in the mirror, struggling to understand what I was seeing. Avril? I felt icy cold all over.

I ran for my room and pulled the door closed behind me. It didn’t catch. When I reached my bed, I heard the door swing open again, but I was too afraid to look back. Hands shaking, I pulled down my quilt in a rush to get in bed, then gasped with disbelief. She was there! She was lying there in front of me! No, it
was me I was looking down on. And I was dead! I squeezed shut my eyes and put my hands over my mouth, barely muffling screams that echoed deep within me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in bed, warm and safe beneath my quilt. It was a dream, I told myself, just a scary dream. Then I turned my head on the pillow and saw the door I’d latched earlier standing wide open.

six
 

As soon as I emerged from bed Sunday morning, I felt the draft, a river of icy air flowing between the fireplace and entrance to my room. I hurried across the chilly floorboards to close the door. Memories of last night washed over me.

It was just a dream, I told myself-the whisper, the ghost in the mirror-they were nothing more than a nightmare seeded by what a customer had said. As for the door being open, old houses weren’t airtight; it wasn’t surprising after a windy night.

I dressed quickly, glad my mother had made me pack a long-sleeved turtleneck and sweater. When I arrived in the kitchen, neither Grandmother nor Matt was around. I made a steaming cup of tea and took it out to the kitchen garden.

The river mist was suffused with early-moming sun
light. In the garden every dew-drenched leaf, from the flat needles of rosemary to the smallest teardrops of thyme, shimmered. I walked to the picket fence that edged the garden, stopping at the gate, gazing toward the family cemetery. From a distance the roses looked like soft pink and white smudges against the brick wall. I thought of the voice from last night. Was it possible-had the girl buried there come up to the house? I shivered.

“Need another sweater?”

I hadn’t heard Matt approach. “No, thanks.”

“You look cold.”

He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt with his jeans. I’d turn into an iceberg before admitting to him I had goose bumps beneath my sweater. “I’m not.”

“How did you sleep last night?” he asked.

“Fine. Great.”

I could see it in his eyes, he didn’t believe me. “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked.

He shrugged. “If you’re not used to an old house, it can be a spooky kind of place when the wind kicks up.”

He studied my face, and I, in turn, studied his.

“Guess I’m a solid sleeper,” I said. “How about you?”

“I’m a light sleeper. I hear just about everything.”

Like a girl’s muffled scream? I wondered. I took a sip of tea.

“So, did you have a good time last night?” I asked. “1 mean at the dance, not afterward.” I watched him over the rim of my cup. But if he had been up to
something afterward, like whispering in a ghostly voice, he didn’t show it.

“No. I’ve always hated school dances.”

“Then why did you go?”

“Everyone expects you to,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Do you always do what others expect?”

One side of his mouth pulled up in that smirky smile of his. “Not always.”

“You’re right about that. Most people would expect you to be friendly to a cousin you’d just met, or at least polite to a house guest.”

He glanced away.

“Listen, Matt, I didn’t want to come here.”

“Then why did you?”

“Grandmother asked me to,” I replied.

“Do you always do what others ask?”

“Not always,” I said, giving him the same smirk he had given me a moment ago. “My father talked me into it. And I’m not brownnosing Grandmother-l’m not here for her money, if that’s what you’re worried about. Dad’s hoping I can heal things between Grandmother and Mom. I think he’s wrong, but, as it turns out, I’m glad I’m here.”

Matt remained silent.

“I believe in making the best of a situation,” I added. “Why do you keep trying to make the worst of it?”

He didn’t reply, just stared down at my face as if he were searching for something.

“Too bad you have such beautiful eyes.”

Seeing him blink, I realized I had said that aloud.

“You have no problem speaking your mind,” he replied, those eyes now bright with amusement.

I turned away from him. “Grandmother’s standing in the window, waiting for us to come in, and looking annoyed.”

I headed toward the porch and Matt followed.

“Good morning, Grandmother,” I greeted her as we entered the kitchen.

“Good morning, Megan. Matt, you’re up early for Sunday. I heard you come in before midnight last night. Were you ill?”

“No.”

“Well, for once, you can get a good start on your studying,” she remarked.

He nodded, strode over to the kitchen cupboard, and got out a glass.

She turned to me. “Megan, your mother has written that you’re an honor student. Perhaps you can help Matt.”

I saw Matt’s hand tighten around the glass and I shook my head. “No, he’s a year ahead of me.”

“But you’re taking Advanced Placement courses and getting straight A’
s,”
Grandmother insisted.

I looked at her, surprised. Apparently she had more contact with my mother than I’d realized.

“Matt, most definitely, is not getting A’s or even B’s,” she went on.