Light from Her Mirror (Mirrors Don't Lie Book 3) (16 page)

At
promptly eight fifteen the next morning, the sisters met with the frosty
reserve of Clarice Canter. Instead of the man from yesterday, a woman sat
behind the desk at the newspaper office, wearing a no-nonsense blue suit and a
cool gleam in her eye. The bun atop her head was pulled so tight, it stretched
the smile right off her face. 

“I’m
afraid those files are no longer here,” the woman informed them.

“I
don’t understand,” Makenna said. “We were told yesterday that we could access
the microfiche this morning.”

“Yes,
well, you were told wrong. We have out-sourced those files to be computerized.
I’m afraid you’ll have to come back at a later date.”

“How
much later?”

“I
imagine it could take some time to transfer such extensive work.”

“And
when exactly did you ‘out-source’ these files?” Kenzie’s voice was as icy as
the other woman’s was.

“I
hardly see why that matter concerns you. All you need to know is that the files
are no longer here.” The woman shuffled a stack of papers and pushed away from
her desk. “Now if you ladies will excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Yes,
I’m sure you have to practice your Miss Congeniality acceptance speech,” Kenzie
said with false sweetness. With a toss of her head, she flounced out the door,
not bothering to lower her voice as she seethed. “Can you believe that woman?”

“I
bet those files were ‘out-sourced’ about fifteen minutes ago,” Makenna agreed.
She blew out a frustrated sigh. “The cafe is right across the street. Let’s go
grab a bite to eat and talk to this infamous Mel.”

The
cafe was busy with breakfast customers, but Kenzie and Makenna found a booth
alongside the front windows and slid in.

“Is
it my imagination, or did everyone stare at us as we walked past?” Kenzie
hissed across the table.

“They
not only stared, they stopped talking. It’s a small town, but surely tourists
aren’t
that
big of a topic!”

“Morning,
ladies!” The waitress appeared with a big smile, a carafe of coffee, and two
over-sized menus. “Coffee?”

“Please.”
Makenna turned over the waiting mug and pushed it forward.

“Is
Mel in?” Kenzie asked hopefully, glancing around in search of the cafe owner.
She imagined him something like the character with the same name in the old
television sitcom ‘Alice’, big and gruff and almost bald.

“Crazy
thing,” the waitress said, expertly pouring two cups of the dark steaming brew.
“Never missed a day of work in thirty-some-odd years, and called in sick this
morning.”

Kenzie
slid a suspicious glance at her sister. “Imagine that,” she murmured.

“Crazy,
ain’t it? I’ll give you gals a few minutes to look over that menu and be back
with you.”

The
moment the waitress was gone, Kenzie all but snorted. “Seems like a pretty big
coincidence, don’t you think?”

Makenna
blew out a frustrated breath. “Something strange is going on here.”

They
were almost through with breakfast when Makenna nudged her sister’s foot
beneath the table. “Don’t look now, but there’s a woman to the left in the back
corner. Nicely dressed, pretending to be reading a paper. She keeps watching
us.”

“You
mean like those three men over there? They’ve watched every move we’ve made.”

“At
least they are being open about it. This woman is trying very hard to be
covert.”

Kenzie
allowed a solid ten seconds to settle between them.

“Oh,
look at all those mugs.” She pretended sudden fascination with the shelf
running along the perimeter of the building, lined with assorted mugs touting
advertising slogans and tourist stops. She followed the shelf with her eyes,
using the excuse to crane her neck and spot the woman in question. An opened
newspaper hid the woman’s face, but Kenzie could see polished nails, the sparkle
of several diamonds on her fingers, the arm of a beige linen designer jacket,
and, if she was not mistaken, a pair of Prada low heeled pumps.

“I
see her,” she said, turning back to her sister. “How long has she been there?”

“I’m
not sure if she was there when we first sat down. I noticed her right after
they brought our plates.”

“Hmmm.
What’s she doing now?”

“Actually,
it looks like she’s leaving.”

“See
what kind of car she gets into.”

Makenna
watched the woman’s progress toward the front door. “She looks like she’s
probably in her early sixties. Expensive shoes, nice jacket over her skirt. Not
too fancy, not too casual, but somehow very elegant.”

“Rich.”
Kenzie surmised her status with one word.

“She’s
out the door now and heading to that brown Ford. Oops, no, she’s going around
the corner. And… I can’t see her anymore.”

“Let’s
follow her!”

“We
don’t have our check yet. And maybe I was wrong, maybe she was just being
curious. Just like those guys over there.” Makenna offered a little wave to the
three older men across the way. One of the men looked away guiltily, one waved
back, and one continued to stare.

“You
know what?” Kenzie murmured. “I’ve had enough!”

“Where
are you going?” Makenna squeaked. She scrambled after her sister, who was
marching over to the men at the other booth.

“Hello,”
Kenzie said, using her trademark charming smile. “Excuse me. My name is Kenzie
and this is Makenna. We’re trying to track down some of our family that used to
live in the area and hoped you could help. Have you gentlemen lived here very
long?”

“Clem
and I grew up ‘round these parts,” one of the men volunteered. He motioned to
the third man. “Jimmy grew up over in Lincoln.”

“Oh,
good, so you’ve all been here about fifty years!” she beamed. If any of the men
were a day under seventy, she would eat Jimmy’s tweed cap. “We don’t really
know a lot about our family, but we recently found a family Bible that
mentioned the last name of Hannah, from back in the ‘40’s.”

“Might
be Aaron Hannah,” his friend mused, rubbing his beard. “He married round that
time. Cute little gal from over in Vermont.”

“Yes,
I believe that might have been the name. Do you know if they had children? Any
family still living here?”

The
man glanced at the door of the cafe and waved a crooked finger its way. “Well,
as a matter of fact -” With a startled gasp, he cut his words off mid-sentence
and grabbed for his shin. He glared at his friend and finished with a sullen,
“- I don’t rightly recall.”

“Think
they had five or six young’uns,” the first man said, ignoring his bearded
friend’s angry glare. “But you know how families scatter through the years.
Easy to lose track of such a big brood.”

“Oh,
but we were so hoping to find some of our relatives!” Kenzie looked
appropriately crest-fallen.

Makenna
put in her own plea, puckering her face with sadness. “They had a
granddaughter, I believe, with two little girls. We heard a tragic story about
losing them all in a fire.”

“No,
it was a car wreck,” the bearded man corrected her.

“Oh,
so you do know them!”

“Well,
er, I - uh- I didn’t know them myself, I just remember the story.”

“Do
you know where they’re buried, by chance?” Kenzie asked.

The
men looked at each other in confusion. “No, don’t reckon I do,” the first one
said slowly. There was no denying the sincerity in his voice as he seemed to
consider the fact for the first time. “Heard the wreck happened off somewheres,
so guess they never brought their bodies back.”

“Didn’t
get along with the family, after all,” his bearded friend supplied.

“Is
there anything you can tell us about our family?” Makenna asked. The act fell
away and she was completely sincere, her heart hanging on her sleeve.

The
third man spoke for the first time. “You come from good stock. Can’t help if
they married the wrong people.”

“Who-who
married wrong?”

“The
women. But the boys did well for themselves.”

“I
don’t understand. Who is their daughter?”

“If
I were you, Missy, I’d just take comfort in knowing you come from good stock.”

The
men nodded in agreement and turned back to their plates, effectively ignoring
the puzzled young women standing at their table.

Murmuring
a meek ‘thank-you’, Makenna pulled her sister aside. After they paid and were
on the sidewalk, she eyed the charming little town that suddenly did not seem
so charming. “This is getting stranger by the moment,” Makenna said.

“I
know. It’s like there’s some sort of taboo when it comes to our grandparents.
No one will say a thing about our grandmother, not even her name.”

Makenna
let out a deep breath. “At least if they tell us about our great grandparents,
it’s a start.”

“Aaron
Hannah?” the old man at the barbershop confirmed. “Salt of the earth, salt of
the earth.”

“Does
any of his family still live around here? His children or grandchildren?”
Kenzie asked eagerly.

“Nah,
nothing to keep ‘em here. Married people from the cities, moved away. One of
the sons tried to take over the dairy farm, but it didn’t work out. Aaron had a
knack for farming, but his sons weren’t bent that way.”

“What
about his daughter?”

“Same
thing, married and moved to the big city.”

“I
heard something about a granddaughter who lived here back in the early ‘90s?”

The
old man shook his head. “Darn shame what happened to that girl. Married wrong,
but made the best of it, even after her father disowned her. Had those little
girls, cute as buttons, they were. Whole family just disappeared into thin
air.”

Kenzie
frowned. “I heard they were killed in a car wreck.”

The
old man shrugged. “Could have been. Maybe that’s why they just up and disappeared.”
The bell jingled above the door, announcing a customer. The old man ambled to
his feet as he greeted the newcomer and immediately fell into a lively
conversation with the other man. He acknowledged Kenzie’s thanks with a wave of
his hand, never missing a beat with the story he told.  

Kenzie
stepped out onto the sidewalk, pondering why the stories of their disappearance
differed. Belatedly thinking about the rest of his story, the part about her
grandfather disowning her mother, she turned to go back inside, but movement
down the sidewalk caught her eye. The door of another shop opened and a low-heeled
Prada pump disappeared inside.

***

Kenzie
stepped into the clothes store, searching for the woman from the café. It took
a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior after being out in the
bright sunshine.

“May
I help you?” the saleswoman smiled from behind the counter.

“I’m
just looking, thanks.” Kenzie gazed around the small shop, her eyes seeking out
other shoppers.

She
saw only three. Since she did not know what the woman from the café looked
like, she would have to see her clothing to identify her.

Kenzie
wound her way around a colorful display of crocheted summer tops, toward the
woman with graying hair. Upon full inspection, she immediately ruled her out.
Right age, wrong shoes.

She
moved on to the next person, just visible over the top of a jewelry rack. Nope.
Purple blouse and sandals. That left the woman browsing among the t-shirt
display. Kenzie edged closer, disappointed to see a spaghetti strap top,
shorts, and flip-flops.

Kenzie
went back to the register. “Excuse me, did a woman just come in here, wearing a
pair of lavender Prada shoes?”

The
woman laughed at her inquiry. “Prada? Our best sellers are flip-flops and
beaded jewelry. Our customers don’t wear Prada.”

She
could have sworn…

“Thanks
anyway,” Kenzie murmured.

***

“Why,
yes, I recall them quite well,” a woman at the beauty parlor told Makenna with
a friendly smile.

It
was not a typical modern-day salon, with stylists and color specialists and all
the latest in hair trends; this establishment catered to the mature woman, and
had a faithful clientele who came to have their hair washed, curled, and styled
each week. The acrid scent of permanent solution hung in the air, mixed with
fruity hints of shampoo and the cloying fragrance of hair spray. Lots and lots
of hair spray.

The
smell burned her nose, but Makenna was willing to suffer if she gained new
information. “Can you tell me anything about them?” she asked hopefully.

The
full-figured woman motioned for Makenna to follow her as she returned to her
client. An elderly woman, clearly in her eighties judging from all the
wrinkles, waited patiently for the beautician to continue setting her thin
white strands onto rollers. The beautician picked up where she left off, deftly
working in the next roller before answering.

“My
parents were friends with them. I believe my mother and Miss Anne were in the
same garden club. My, oh my, did that woman have a gorgeous yard! She just had
a way with flowers, you know what I mean?”

“I’m
afraid I don’t share the same gene,” Makenna confessed.

“And
you said she was your aunt?” The woman peered at her with sharp eyes.

It
seemed the easiest tale, since she and Kenzie were supposedly killed in a car
accident. “Yes, I think so. I’m trying to piece it all together. I only have an
old Bible to go by.”

“You
might be one of Anne’s sisters’ great-granddaughters. I think most of her
people still live in Vermont, but there was one sister who lived over round
Conway. She had a lovely yard, too. I went there one time with my mother to get
some clippings off a gorgeous yellow rose bush she had.”

Makenna
carefully pulled the conversation back on track. “Do you know where Anne lived,
by chance?”

“Why
of course. They had a lovely place between here and Sugar Hill. Aaron had a
dairy farm.”

“Is
it still there? Is the house still standing?”

The
woman’s face settled into hard lines. “It was until a couple of years ago. Then
that power company came through, bought up all the land, and started putting in
those horrible wind turbines.”

“NorthWind?”

“Better
not say that name too loud around here, Missy. Most folks don’t care too much
for them.” She gave a discreet nod to the elderly woman in her chair. Leaning
down, she asked in a loud voice, “Miss Ethel, are you doing okay?”

“Fine,
dear, fine. Did I hear you mention that god-awful power company?”

The
beautician rolled her eyes. Out of the side of her mouth, she muttered to
Makenna. “Can’t hear a train roll by, but she picks up that name every time.”
Bending near her ear again, she patted the woman’s bony shoulders. “We said the
wind seems to be out of the north today.”

“Oh.
Just so we’re not talking ‘bout that power company that stole my Pappy’s land
and put up those giant wires. Nothing ruins my day faster than hearing that
name.”

Having
heard similar sentiments the first time she was in New Hampshire, Makenna knew
that most of the local people were against the power company’s expansion. She
could only imagine their response when they learned that the   company was
originally part of the Modern Power conglomerate. Even though NorthWind was a
legitimate company focused on green energy, the earth-friendly company would be
sucked into the mess surrounding its parent company’s scam.

She
sympathized with the people affected by the march of progress, but right now,
she had other things on her mind. “Isn’t there anything you can tell me about
my family?”

While
Miss Ethel continued to rail against the electric company – the one she didn’t
want to talk about – the beautician only half-listened, nodding when it seemed
appropriate, even while she carried on a conversation with Makenna.

“Good
people. One of their sons tried to make a go of the dairy when Aaron died, but
he wasn’t meant to be a farmer. Ended up moving across the state line and
selling insurance for his uncle’s company. One of the sons has a car dealership
in Manchester, another one is a professor at Dartmouth. I don’t remember where
the youngest son ended up.”

“What
about the daughter? Does she still live around here?”

“Oh,
no, she’s too uppity for the likes of us!” With a disgruntled sniff, the
beautician pumped the chair’s foot pedal with gusto, quickly lowering her
client to the ground. “Miss Ethel, you’re ready for the dryer now.” Turning her
back to Makenna, she devoted her full attention to the little old lady slowly
moving from the chair.

Makenna
knew when she had been dismissed. With a puffed sigh of resignation, she called
out her thanks to the retreating figure of the beautician and Miss Ethel.

Leaving
the beauty parlor, she never noticed the silver Cadillac parked across the
street.

***

“The
Hannah family? Good people. Never cared much for the son-in-law, but you can’t
hold that against them.”

“Who
is their son in-law?” Kenzie asked. If they only had one daughter, that
son-in-law would be her grandfather.

The
man behind the cash register eyed her skeptically. “Thought you said you were
family.”

“I
am, but I’m from Texas. I don’t know any of my family here.”

“Texas,
huh? Thought I heard an accent. How many oil wells you own down there?”

“Oil
wells? Me? Not a one, I’m afraid!” Kenzie laughed.

“Thought
all you Texans were soaked in oil. Now if you don’t mind, miss, there’s a line
of customers behind you. Next!”

***

“Nope,
never heard of them.”

***

“Can’t
rightly recall anyone by that name right now.”

***

“It
sounds familiar, but I meet so many people in this business. Say, do you need
an insurance policy, by chance?”

***

“Yessum,
I knew ‘em.”

“Are
any of them still living in the area?”

“Nope.”

“Did
you know their granddaughter Maggie?”

“Sure
did.”

“And?”
Makenna prodded the old man from the gas station.

“And
the poor girl died. Nothing more to say.”

“Do
you know anything about her accident?”

“Told
you. Nothing more to say.”

***

“Think
I remember that name. Clara, wasn’t that Anne Hannah the one that grew those
big peach colored roses?”

“You
mean like the ones you planted in that flower pot you got from Jenny Abraham?”

“I
didn’t get that from Jenny. That came from Molly Perkins. She gave it to me
when I fell and broke my hip.”

“I
thought that was when you had your gall bladder taken out.”

“No,
she brought me a bunch of peonies that time, and I planted them next to the
rose bush. Didn’t I get that bush from Anne Hannah?”

“I
thought it came off a cutting from Joan Heff’s mother-in-law.”

“No,
that was wisteria.”

Clara
shook her head. “I don’t believe I know any Hannahs.”

***

“Have
you been over to Haverhill Corner? Say, did you know the library there is the
old jail? Still jail cells down in the basement. Sight of the last public
hanging in New Hampshire.”

“Were
there any Hannahs there?”

“Nah,
nobody by the name of Hannah ever hung that I recall hearing. But did you hear
‘bout old Pete O’Fallon? Orneriest old cuss ever hung in these parts.”  

***

“Who’d
you say? Hannah? I know Hannah Peabody.”

“No,
the last name was Hannah. Aaron and Anne Hannah.” Kenzie clarified the names to
the man at the repair shop, speaking loud enough that he could hear. Judging
from the display on the wall, his specialty was coo-coo clocks. She guessed the
constant noise had impaired his hearing. Even with hearing aids behind each ear
lobe, he was having difficulty understanding her request. 

“You
say Karen Anne?”

“No,
Aaron. Aaron Hannah.”

“Arrow
hand? You need one for your clock, you say?”

“No.
I’m looking for a family by the last name of Hannah.”

“Oh,
Hannon. Sure, Roy Hannon. Over on Route 5.”

Kenzie
sighed. “Thank you for your help.”

“No,
don’t sell belts. Check down the street at the leather shop.”

Just
as she opened the door, the clocks begin to chime the hour. With a dozen
different birds and at least two musical chimes, all sounding at once and with
varying decimal levels, it was no wonder the poor man was going deaf. 

***

“Maggie
who?”

“Maggie
Mandarino.”

“Sounds
like an orange.” The man snickered at his own joke.

“It’s
Italian. Her husband’s name was Joseph.”

The
smile fell away. “Nope, never heard of ‘em.”

***

“Aaron
and Anne Hannah? Yes, we handled their services. That was about ten years ago,
I think. Such lovely people. Aaron went first, but poor Anne just grieved
herself to death, not a year later.” The woman at the funeral home spoke in
hushed tones. Whether it was out of reverence or an occupational habit, Makenna
was not sure.