Look Both Ways (19 page)

Aunt Ibby was still experimenting with recipes from Tabitha Trumbull's collection, and the evening's offering was a creamy corn chowder sprinkled with crispy bits of salt pork, served with tiny oyster crackers. As I ladled a second helping from the ironstone soup tureen, I repeated the story of my day, much as I'd related it to River.

My aunt shook her head as I described the encounter with Gar y Campbell in the antiques store, and tsk-tsked as I told about my surprise at sitting next to Tommy Trent in the dark theater. She had never seen the pool or the ice cream parlor at the Hampton mansion but remembered the gallery of pictures lining the corridors of the sprawling place.

“You're quite sure the old gentleman in the picture you saw today is the same man in the picture you found in your bureau?”

“It's the same man.” I was confident of that. “I saw that man in the mirror in my bureau, too. Tripp says that he's Helena's grandfather and that she used to spend summers with him. I think the notebook we found is Helena's childhood accounts of those summers. I'm going to start reading it tonight.”

“Good idea. I've been curious about that notebook myself. Old documents can be a treasure trove of useful information.”

“Like Tabitha's recipe book?”

She smiled. “Exactly. I'll take care of the dishes. You run up to your apartment and start reading that notebook.”

“I will,” I said. “I've been so busy with my hunt for props, I've been neglecting a lot of the things I've wanted to do personally.”

“Is the prop hunt nearly finished?” she asked.

“Except for some miscellaneous items, I think so, and thanks for dinner. Your recipe book is sure to be a best-seller.”

“It's Tabitha's book, not mine.” She smiled. “And by the way, what's wrong with your hair? Looks like you combed it with an eggbeater.”

I laughed. “I know. It's the humidity. See you in the morning.”

O'Ryan was already in the apartment, sprawled across the windowsill once again. I sat in the chair closest to him and pulled the phone from my purse, then punched in Pete's number. “Is your fan club out there again, boy?” I peered over his head toward the fence where I'd last seen the cats, but didn't see any of them this time.

Pete answered on the first ring. “I called a long time ago. I've been worried about you. Is everything all right?”

“I'm sorr y, Pete. Didn't mean to worry you,” I said. “I went to pick up that coffee table and left the phone in the truck.”

“How'd that go?” he asked. “I wish I'd gone with you. I don't trust that guy as far as you're concerned.”

“It was okay. Daphne was there, too. The main concern I had while I was in the place was finding my way out again. It's like a darned rabbit warren!”

He laughed. “I remember. When we were doing the investigation of the murder, the chief marked the way to Helena's room with pieces of blue tape.”

“Good idea. Better than dropping bread crumbs.”

“Hansel and Gretel? Wicked witch stuff ?”

“Sure. This is Salem, after all. Want to hear about the rest of my day? I ran into Tommy Trent at the school again.”

“You did? His car's been in his driveway all day. We didn't see him leave the house.”

“Probably took a cab with Daphne, I imagine. Anyway, he apologized for scaring me,” I said, “although he didn't sound as though he meant it.”

“What was he doing? Watching Daphne's performance again?”

“No. Oddly enough, he was down in the student theater, watching a rehearsal for
Hobson's Choice.
I sat next to him, thinking he was Gar y Campbell and—”

“Wait a minute,” Pete interrupted. “Why'd you think Gary Campbell would be there?”

“Didn't I tell you? He decided to let us borrow the cash register. Brought it over himself and stayed to watch them position it on the stage. It looks perfect.”

“Lee, I thought we'd agreed on something.” His serious cop voice was back. “You're supposed to keep me—the department—informed about where you are and what's going on.”

“You knew where I was,” I said, annoyed. “I was at the school all day, and then I went over to Tripp's house, then came home here. You knew all that.”

“I knew you went to school, and I knew you went over to Hampton's place. Had a tail on you.” He sounded more annoyed than I did. “But I didn't know you'd been hanging around with a couple of murder suspects when we weren't watching.”

“You had me followed?” I didn't know exactly how to react to that, whether I should be mad because I didn't know about it or happy because it made me feel safe. Then the rest of his words began to register. “Murder suspects? Trent and Campbell?”

“Trent's already admitted to one murder, and Campbell stands to profit from Shea Tolliver's death. Besides that, everyone is interested in the damned pink diamond, and that includes your friend Hampton.”

My redhead's temper began to flare. “Tripp Hampton is
not
my friend, and everyone knows by now that I don't have the diamond. Anyway, you said that you think Daphne and Tommy have it stashed away somewhere.”

“You weren't listening. I said the chief thinks that. I don't.”

“But the chief is usually right. You said so yourself.” I knew that this conversation was deteriorating rapidly into a verbal food fight, but I couldn't seem to stop it. “You told me Gar y Campbell was at some bank when Shea was getting hit over the head.”

Pete's cool, calm cop voice was back. “Take it easy, Lee. It's just that I worry about you. I can't be with you every minute, so I need to know what's going on.”

“I'm not totally helpless, you know! I don't
need
you to be with me every minute.”

“I know you don't. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. But until we get this case figured out, I have to suspect everyone. Maybe Campbell is just an innocent antiques dealer. Maybe Daphne is just a dumb blonde and maybe Hampton is just a rich mama's boy and maybe Tommy Trent has found Jesus. But until I know for sure, I need to know you're safe.” He paused and rubbed his forehead. “Hell, Lee. I sound like an ass. It's just that when I think about anything happening to you, it makes me crazy. I'm sorr y.”

I felt a warm rush of tears as the tension fell away. “I'm sorr y, too. What's the matter with us?”

“Shhh. Let's not be sorry about anything. I have tomorrow night off. Want to do something? Take our minds off all this?”

“I'd love to,” I said, “and I promise I'll let you know if anything unusual happens at the Tabby. I mean it.”

“Good girl,” he said. “Good night. See you tomorrow.”

O'Ryan had left his perch on the windowsill in favor of the chair opposite mine. He sat upright, ears forward, golden eyes fixed on mine. I returned his stare, trying hard not to blink. This was a cat game he liked to play sometimes, one he almost always won. This time he blinked first, which pleased me. He jumped down from the chair and disappeared into the bedroom. I turned off the kitchen light and started to follow him but paused in the darkness to look out the window. The three cats, illuminated by the moonlight, were back on the fence.

I changed into pajamas, took off my make-up, retrieved Helena's notebook from the bureau, and turned on my cute new reading lamp. I climbed into bed, and a loudly purring O'Ryan curled up beside me.

“Pete just wants to protect me,” I told the cat. “I shouldn't have been such a witch.”

“Mrrow,” said the cat, cuddling a little closer.

“You want to protect me, too, don't you?”

“Mrrup,” he said, licking my cheek.

“You let me win the blinking contest, didn't you?”

He didn't answer, but I knew he had.

I opened the composition book to the first page and began reading. It was, as I'd suspected, a little girl's journal recording a summer vacation. The page wasn't dated, but I guessed from the handwriting and the occasional misspellings that the author was probably around ten years old.

The words were followed by a little rhyme.

I stared at the page for a few minutes, thinking about the happy little girl who'd written about her summer adventures, then put the composition book on my bedside table, set the alarm clock, and turned out the light.

“Good night, O'Ryan,” I said to the sleeping cat. “I'll read some more soon.” In the darkness a silly tune played softly in my head.

Breakfast at the diner had become a regular ritual, and since I'd become acquainted with most of the summer theater staff and players, I rarely ate alone. Jenny was a regular patron, too, and Gary Campbell even showed up occasionally. On the morning of the opening of
Hobson's Choice,
I shared a booth with Daphne, Jenny, Mr. Pennington, and a tall, slim girl named Amanda, who played Maggie, Hobson's oldest daughter.

“You nervous, Amanda?” Daphne asked. “On account of opening night?”

“A little bit,” the actress admitted. “I worry about forgetting my lines or missing a cue. Don't you?”

“It's my first play ever.” Daphne stirred sugar into her coffee vigorously. “I don't know how I'll feel when there's an audience.”

“From what I've seen in rehearsal, you both have your lines down perfectly,” I said. “Don't they, Mr. Pennington?”

“Indeed they do.” The director smiled at each actress. “Gifted young women, each with a great future on the stage. Mark my words.”

“I carry my script around, reading it every minute I get,” Amanda admitted. “I bet you do, too, Daph.”

“Nah. Can't read mine.” She tapped a finger below one long-lashed eye. “Bad eyesight. Rupert—Mr. Pennington—reads all my lines into a little tape recorder for me, and I memorize them that way.”

“Cool,” said Amanda. “Whatever works for you, I guess.”

Daphne's revelation surprised me. “Isn't there some way . . . Can't your vision be corrected?”

“Oh, sure. But I'd have to wear glasses.” She wrinkled her perfect little nose. “That's not happenin'!”

“The child is quite vain, I'm afraid,” said Mr. Pennington. “But with a talent such as hers, we allow for small peccadilloes.”

“That's why I can't drive a car,” Daphne said. “I know how, naturally, but they won't give me a license unless I get some glasses. Bifocals, for God's sake!”

I remembered the TV clip of her at the wheel of Tommy Trent's Mercedes. “But don't you drive Tommy's car sometimes?”

“Only once. His car was still in the garage at Tripp's place. Excuse me. Tripp calls it the ‘carriage house,' but it's a garage. Anyway, somebody had to go pick him up from jail. And I still had the keys.” She shrugged. “Tripp wasn't about to do it, so I had to. Drove real slow, and as soon as we got away from the cameras, Tommy took over. Didn't you ever wonder why I didn't have a car of my own?”

“Well, yes. But it was none of my business,” I said.

Daphne smiled. “You rich girls. So polite all the time.”

By then Amanda had excused herself, saying she had to get back to the set. Whether that was true or whether Daphne's tales of astigmatism and incarceration had scared her off, I couldn't tell. Meanwhile, Jenny hadn't contributed much to the conversation at all. A lined yellow legal pad, covered with scribbled words and scrawled numbers, was propped against the stainless-steel napkin dispenser in front of her. She leaned back in the booth, put her pencil down, and rubbed her eyes with both hands.

“What a pain in the butt this is,” she said. “Some of it doesn't make a darn bit of sense.”

Mr. Pennington's tone was sympathetic. “Are you having problems resolving the inventory of the antiques store?”

“Oh, I'll get it done, but Shea had so much stuff! Lots of smalls. Way more categories than I carry over in my place.” She picked up the pencil. “First, I have to count everything, like a regular inventor y.”

“Do you research every article?” I asked.

“Shea had most everything in the shop marked. That's a big help. I have to determine the insurance value of each piece, and that takes some research, but in the end, the item is worth whatever the customer is willing to pay for it.”

“A lot of work, but interesting, I'll bet,” I said.

“Interesting but confusing.” She turned the yellow pad toward me. “Look at this. Fourteen-inch brass candlesticks, four hundred dollars for the pair.”

“Yes,” I said. “The Victorian brass candlesticks. I saw them when I bought my bureau. Thought about buying them, until I read the price tag. Beautiful things.”

Jenny dropped the pencil. “Wait a minute. I was confused because I couldn't figure out why she priced a single candlestick as a pair. You say you saw two of them? Then where the heck is the other one?”

“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to make a phone call.”

I used the diner's front door and stepped out onto Essex Street, speed-dialing Pete's number as I walked. I crossed the parking lot, opened my car door, and turned on the air conditioner. The Corvette offered the most private space I could think of, and I didn't want anyone at the Tabby to overhear my conversation. He answered on the second ring.

“Pete, they've never found the heavy object that was used to kill Shea, have they?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“The papers just said it was a heavy object,” I said. “Like what?”

“The ME said it was something smooth, rounded. Sort of like a baseball bat but not wood. Why? Have you heard something?”

“I think so. I was just in the diner with Jenny, and she says there's a brass candlestick missing from Shea's shop, but the mate to it is still there. I remember seeing the pair when I bought the bureau, but now there's only one.”

“What did they look like?”

“They were tall. More than a foot, I'd say, with round bases and regular tops—you know, the part where you put the candle. But the middle part was shaped a lot like a baseball bat, only thinner.” A picture was growing in my mind. “Pete, what if whoever killed her swung the candlestick so that just the middle part hit her?”

“Is Jenny still there?”

“I don't know. I came outside to call you.”

“I'm coming over. If Jenny's still there, will you ask her to wait for me? I'll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay.”

I hurried back into the diner. Jenny was still there with Mr. Pennington and Daphne, but Gar y Campbell had joined the group.

Awkward.

I pasted on a big smile and stood beside Daphne. “Still room for me? I think I have time for some more coffee.”

“Sure, hon. Sit here.” Daphne scooted over closer to Mr. Pennington and made room for me.

I nodded to Gar y Campbell. “Good morning, Mr. Campbell,” I said. “How are you?”

“Well. Thank you, Ms. Barrett. And you?”

“Fine. Thanks.” The polite inanities over with, I turned to Jenny. “Jenny, if you have a few minutes, Detective Mondello would like to speak to you about that missing candlestick. He's on his way.” I watched Gar y Campbell's eyes, which shifted from me to Jenny and back, and then finally he looked out the window, just in time to see Pete's Crown Vic pulling into the parking lot.

“I always have time for the handsome detective,” Jenny said with a wink. “But I don't know how I can help. Look, this booth is getting kind of crowded. Come on, Lee. Let's you and me and the cute cop grab another booth. Come on over to the shop later, Gar y.”

I stood in the aisle while Jenny gave Gar y Campbell a gentle shove. He stood, and she got up and followed me. I motioned to Pete and then pointed toward a small booth beside the back window of the diner, and he hurried to join us there, pausing to nod a brief hello to the group remaining at the table. As soon as we three were seated, Pete began to speak in low tones.

“Jenny,” he said, “Lee told me about the single candlestick you found. Is it still in Shea's shop?”

“Was last time I saw it,” she said. “It was in the back part of the shop. The room behind the beaded curtains.”

“Is that where you saw
both
candlesticks, Lee? In the back room?”

“Right. I remember them because they were so pretty. I considered buying them, but I'd just spent a lot on the bureau, so I didn't make an offer. They were marked four hundred dollars for the pair.”

Pete let out a soft whistle. “For candlesticks? Wow.”

“Well, as Jenny says,” I told him, “the item is worth whatever the customer is willing to pay for it.”

“I get it,” Pete said. “Can you arrange to go over to Shea's shop with me now, Jenny? I'd like to borrow that candlestick. And, Lee, I'd like you to come, too, to make sure it's the one you remember as part of a pair.”

I nodded my agreement, but Jenny frowned. “You mean you want to take it out of the store?”

“Yes.”

“It's okay with me, but you'd better ask Gary. After all, the stuff all belongs to him now, doesn't it?”

We all turned and looked toward the table Jenny and I had just vacated. It was empty. Everyone had left the diner, including Gar y Campbell.

Jenny, Pete, and I climbed into Pete's car and headed for the Bridge Street shop. “I have Campbell's contact number,” Pete said. “I'll call and confirm with him. Shouldn't be a problem. I don't think there'll be any need for a warrant.” Pete was still on the phone, waiting for an answer, when we pulled up in front of Tolliver's Antiques and Uniques.

Gar y Campbell had arrived ahead of us and was inserting his key into the lock on the front door. Pete hurried out of the car and reached the shop's front step just as Gar y pushed the door open. Jenny and I followed, leaving a discreet distance between us and the two men.

“I'm sure Gar y won't mind if Pete needs to borrow the candlestick,” she whispered. “But he'll give me a receipt for it, won't he? I have to account for every little thing. The man watches me like a hawk. He lives right upstairs from the shop now, you know.”

“I'm sure there won't be any problem,” I whispered back. “Shall we go on in?”

Pete motioned to us from the open door way, and we hurried inside. The shop felt different. Even smelled different. The air conditioner had been turned off, and the musty odor of old furniture and fabrics permeated the place. Jenny dropped her purse on the counter and hurried toward the thermostat.

“Jeez, Gar y,” she scolded, moving the round dial. “I told you to leave the air conditioner on to dehumidify and cool the place. The old wood can't take temperature changes, and this place is as hot as a two-dollar pistol. You should know better.”

“Just trying to save a few bucks. There'll be no money coming in until you finish counting all this, you know, but the bills keep right on coming.”

Pete cleared his throat. “Mr. Campbell, this shouldn't take long. I've asked Ms. Barrett to identify a brass candlestick as one of a pair she saw here on the day Ms. Tolliver died. Jenny says that she's been able to locate only one of them. If the remaining candlestick is the one Ms. Barrett remembers, I'm asking your permission to borrow it.”

“How much is it worth, Jen?” Campbell asked, turning toward the appraiser.

“According to Shea, about two hundred dollars.”

“You'll provide a receipt, of course?” Campbell faced Pete. “Or, considering our temporary dearth of cash, perhaps the department would prefer to buy it.”

Pete frowned. “I'll sign a receipt . . . or I can just get a warrant and take it, anyway. Doesn't matter to me.”

Campbell nodded. “That's what I figured. Oh, well, let's take a look at this thing.” He gestured toward the beaded curtains. “Jenny? Ms. Barrett? After you.”

Jenny and I parted the beads, with Pete and Gar y Campbell following close behind us. Jenny pointed to a long shelf filled with what looked like hundreds of shiny brass candlesticks. She reached toward the last row of the display.

“Let's see. Which one is it?” she said.

“Excuse me, Jenny,” Pete interrupted. “Let Lee find the one she remembers from that day. Then we'll see if it's the one with the missing mate. Okay?”

“Sure. You're up, Lee.” Jenny stepped aside.

It took only a few seconds for me to recognize the tall, graceful shape. I pointed to it, realizing that it had lost its charm for me as soon as I'd visualized the rounded curve of the thing smashing into Shea's head. I hoped that moment had been brief.

“That's the one,” Jenny said. “Are you thinking that maybe the other one—the missing one—is the murder weapon?”

“I don't know.” Pete reached for the candlestick, then hefted it in his right hand, as though judging its weight. “But it seems to be a distinct possibility. We'll need to photograph this one, take some measurements. Shouldn't take too long.” He nodded in Gar y Campbell's direction. “I'll sign a receipt and return this ASAP.”

Campbell shrugged. “Guess it'll have to be all right. Jenny will make out a receipt for it with a full description. And, Jen, be sure to include the value, in case they lose it or damage it or anything, so we can collect the insurance.” He parted the beaded curtains, and we followed him into the front of the shop.

Jenny rolled her eyes in my direction, took a pad of receipts from under the counter, and began to write. When she was done, she showed the narrow slip of paper to Campbell, who read it, nodded, and passed it to Pete, along with a pen.

“Just put your John Hancock right there, Detective,” he said. “Take the damned thing and let me and Jenny get back to work. I'll drive her back to her store when we finish up here.”

Thus dismissed, Pete and I headed back to his car, Pete carrying the candlestick as casually as though it really was a baseball bat. He held the passenger door open for me and, as soon as I was inside the car, handed me the candlestick. “Hang on to this, will you, babe? I wouldn't want it to roll around in the backseat and get dented or anything.”