Look Both Ways (3 page)

At that moment, O'Ryan strolled into the bedroom and jumped onto the bed, scattering papers in every direction. Stretching a big yellow paw next to one of the pillows, he rescued a page from sliding to the floor. Then, tilting his head and fixing those golden eyes on my green ones, he uttered, “Mmrrup,” which the way he does it, always sounds as though there's a question mark at the end.

Aunt Ibby and I had each lifted our mug out of harm's way just as O'Ryan had made his perfect soft landing, so the new bedspread was spared coffee stains.

“What was that all about?” my aunt asked, reaching for the paper still under the cat's paw. “You think we should read this one, boy?”

I could see the headline from where I sat on the edge of the bed. “How does he
do
that?” I asked before reading it aloud.
WHERE IS HELENA'S PINK DIAMOND
? queried the bold print. “Whoever heard of a cat who could read?”

My aunt shrugged. “Nothing about this cat surprises me anymore.”

She was right. The cat, who'd once belonged to Ariel Constellation, my ill-fated predecessor on the
Nightshades
show, had shown unusual behavior from the first day he arrived at our house.

Aunt Ibby passed the paper to me. “As I was saying, there's the missing pink diamond.”

I scanned the article. Apparently, Helena Trent's first husband had given her an enormous pale pink–colored diamond pendant. I'm pretty sure ten carats qualifies as enormous in the diamond world. Anyway, the report said that until John Hampton's death, the necklace was locked in a safe, and Helena wore it only on special formal occasions. But after his passing, she began to wear it quite casually. The reporter noted that some of the members of the garden club were astonished to see Helena wearing the precious gem on a simple leather thong around her neck while digging up tulip bulbs. Others said that she often wore it that way, usually with jeans and a black turtleneck.

My aunt had picked up the scattered papers, and I took another look at the photo of Helena. “She's wearing some kind of necklace in this picture. Do you suppose it's the diamond?” I asked.

“Quite likely,” she said.

“What's it worth, anyway?”

“The paper said several million dollars.”

“Insured?” I asked.

“Sure. The insurance company is still looking for it.”

“If they had money problems, I wonder why she didn't just sell it.”

“They say Tommy wanted her to. But her friends said she just loved wearing it. Her thought was, ‘Why have beautiful things locked away in a safe? It makes more sense to just enjoy them every day.'”

“Can't say I disagree with the philosophy,” I said.

“It's generally a good one,” Aunt Ibby said. “I'm heading for the library in a few minutes. You sure you don't need anything else for your dinner date with Pete?”

“I'm almost all set, I think. Except for dishes. I never got a chance to pick any out today.”

“Please help yourself to any of my china,” she said. “You know I have extra place settings.”

“Thanks. May I use the ivy pattern ones?”

“The Franciscan Ware? Of course. It was always your favorite when you were little.”

“Thanks. I still love it.”

“All right then. I'll see you later.”

I followed her downstairs, picked up two place settings of the green-and-white dishes and a couple of serving pieces, and hurried back to my apartment. There were several more newspaper articles I wanted to look at, but I decided to put them away until I had more time. I looked around the room.
Put them where? Aha!
I now had a bureau. I pulled open the top drawer. Just as Shea had promised, there was an envelope marked
DIRECTIONS TO SECRET COMPARTMENTS.
It made me sad to think that putting the envelope in my bureau drawer might have been one of Shea's last actions. I closed the drawer and lifted the center panel on the bureau's top.

There was a mirror, all right. But what I saw there made me slam the panel shut in a hurry. Oxidation or moisture or something had turned the glass almost entirely black—and shiny black surfaces meant bad news for me.

I'm apparently what's known in paranormal circles as a “scryer.” My friend River North calls me a “gazer.” River happens to be a witch, and she knows all about such things. Anyway, I'd found out fairly recently that I have the weird ability to see things in shiny black objects—things that have happened or are happening, and even things that could happen in the future. River calls it a “gift.” I don't think of it that way. It had come in handy a couple of times, but mostly all it had ever shown me was death and dying. I'd learned a little bit about controlling a vision once it started, but I much preferred that it didn't start at all. River and Aunt Ibby were the only people who knew about the gazing thing. I hadn't even mentioned it to Pete yet. Didn't know how to without sounding crazy and scaring him away.

I ran down the stairs to my old second-floor bedroom and grabbed a white lace runner from the top of a maple dresser. I hadn't meant to use anything from that room, pretty as it was; I wanted a totally different look for the apartment. But covering the mirrored panel with the runner would make it go away, and that was all I wanted just then.

Enough pots and pans had come with the new kitchen, so I was well prepared for dinner in that area. I planned to broil a great big sirloin steak, bake the Idaho potatoes in the microwave, and serve them with sour cream and fresh chives from Aunt Ibby's herb garden. A healthy salad with fresh greens and homegrown tomatoes would round out the meal, and dessert would be hot apple pie with vanilla ice cream, both from the grocer's frozen dessert department.

I double-checked the items I'd bought for dinner, then, satisfied with the menu, poured another cup of coffee and turned on the TV. WICH-TV was showing a roundup of local news stories. Field reporter Scott Palmer stood in front of Tolliver's Antiques and Uniques, speaking in hushed tones. “This morning, Shea Tolliver, the owner and manager of the shop behind me, was found dead, apparently the victim of a robbery. Ms. Tolliver suffered a fatal blow to the head. Police are looking for a man who may have information about the matter.” The sketch artist's rendering of the man who'd bumped into me filled the screen. “Police chief Tom Whaley has released a statement saying this man is a person of interest in this case. If you can identify him, please contact the Salem Police Department.” A phone number in bright green appeared above the drawing.

“I hope my description is good enough for someone to recognize him,” I told the cat, who'd found a pleasant square of sunshine on the hardwood floor and was busily grooming his whiskers. The rest of the news broadcast consisted of a rundown of recent happenings at city hall, the local weather, a feature on kids' summer camps, and some footage of a sidewalk sale on Essex Street. No more than twenty minutes had passed before my cell phone buzzed. Caller ID showed Pete Mondello's name.

“Hi, Pete,” I said. “What's up?”

“Just wanted to tell you that your description of that blond guy was so good, we had an ID on him right after the drawing aired on TV.”

“No kidding? Who is he?”

“Name's Gary Campbell. Seems he was Shea Tolliver's ex-business partner. We've already picked him up. He admits to being in the store. His fingerprints were on the doorknob and on the counter. Shea had a restraining order on him, so we're holding him right now on a violation. Can't charge him with anything else yet.”

“A restraining order? Did he abuse her?”

“Verbal threats. Serious enough for a judge to grant one.”

“Poor Shea.”

“I know.” His tone was sympathetic. “Gotta go, babe. Just wanted to tell you how that ID worked out. See you tonight.”

“See you,” I said, but he was gone.

I checked my watch. Now would be a good time to pop the frozen apple pie into the oven, and it was late enough in the day to call River North. She'd taken over the time slot of my canceled show,
Nightshades.
... Now it was
Tarot Time with River North.
Being on camera until two in the morning meant sleeping in the daytime, so I never phoned her until the afternoon.

Pie centered in the spotless new oven, timer set, I dialed River's number. She sounded just a tad sleepy when she answered. “Oh, hi, Lee. I've been thinking about you. You okay?”

That's usually an easy question for me to answer, but today . . . not so much. “Ummm. I guess so,” I said. “It's been an unusual day.”

That woke her up. “What's happening? Wait a minute. Let me get my cards. I'll read you while you tell me all about it.” There was a short pause. “Okay. Shoot.”

“That was fast. Do you sleep with the tarot cards under your pillow?”

“Sure do. Now, tell me what's going on.”

“All right, but first, have you watched the news today?”

“Of course not. You know I never do. Too depressing.”

“Well, then, it's going to be a long story.” I began with how we'd seen the bureau on TV and how I'd hurried to Shea's shop before someone else could grab it. I told her about having one just like it when I was a kid.

“I know you got the bureau. I can see it here,” River interrupted. “The Six of Cups. It's right here beside the Queen of Wands. That's you. But listen, Lee. You'd better let me come over and check on where the bureau is. Proper feng shui, you know.”

“What?”

“Feng shui.” She pronounced the words carefully. “F-u-n-g S-h-w-a-y balance and harmony. Furniture placement is important.”

“I've heard of it,” I said. “And you know you can come over anytime. But what about the Six of Cups? What does it mean?”

“Enjoyment and pleasant memories coming from the past.”

“You're exactly right,” I said. That bureau did remind me of happy childhood days. River's accuracy with her cards used to amaze me every time. But I was beginning to get used to it. “Pleasant memories, for sure, and I'm going to enjoy having someplace to put my clothes.”

“Still not enough furniture, huh? Go on. Tell me more.”

“The rest of it is not good news,” I said and described how I'd gone back to Tolliver's to look for china and how the blond man had bumped into me. Once again, she interrupted.

“I see him. The Seven of Pentacles reversed. He's impatient for success. He's anxious about money he owes to someone.”

“You're probably right about that, too,” I said. I told her how I'd found Shea dead and called 911, how Pete had come to the store, and how I'd worked with the sketch artist and helped to capture Shea's ex-partner.

She didn't comment right away, and I could hear the swish of the cards. “I'm sorry you were the one who found that woman. The Nine of Pentacles reversed. Danger from thieves. Was she robbed?”

“It looks that way. The cash register drawer was open.”

“She felt safe among her possessions.” River sounded sad. “I'm sorry,” she said again.

“I liked her.”

“I can see Pete, too,” she said, her voice brightening “He's the Knight of Swords. His card moves closer to yours every time I read you. How's that going?”

“He's coming over tonight. I'm cooking him dinner.”

“Uh-huh. Get a bed yet?”

“River, you're terrible!” I felt my face coloring.

“No, I'm not. You know you're thinking about it.”

She was right about that. I'd been thinking about it for quite a while. Had even refilled my birth control prescription, just in case.

“To answer your question, yes. I have a bed. King size, pillow top, Egyptian cotton sheets.”

“Sounds nice. Be sure the bed doesn't face an open door. Bad feng shui.”

“It doesn't,” I told her.

I could hear the smile in her voice. “Good. Have a
really
pleasant evening, then. Talk to you later. Bye.”

The oven timer buzzed, and I took the perfectly browned pie from the oven. The apartment was filled with a delicious smell—if not much else. I'd exchanged shorts and a T-shirt for my favorite Hawaiian-print halter dress and strappy sandals. There wasn't too much I could do with my red hair—humidity made it too curly—so I just pulled it back with a silver barrette and hoped for the best.

The table looked pretty good with Aunt Ibby's white linen tablecloth, and a small bunch of lilies of the valley in an ironstone mug added a summery touch. I'd brought my wedding gift sterling silverware with me from Florida, and it looked nice with the ivy pattern Franciscan Ware. I wished I'd taken those candlesticks I saw when I bought the bureau.

I'd told Pete he could use the entrance at the back of the house and come upstairs that way instead of coming to the front door, as usual. Aunt Ibby had thoughtfully provided me with a separate entrance from that side. “So you can come and go as you please,” she'd said, handing me a pair of bright new keys.

I left the pie cooling on the counter, passed by the bedroom, and entered the totally empty space designated to be my living room. I checked to be sure the door to the back stairway was locked. I'd come in that way only a couple of times, still in the habit of using the downstairs backyard entrance to Aunt Ibby's kitchen or the familiar front door on the Winter Street side.

At exactly six o'clock the vintage chimes over my apartment's living room door played “Bless This House,” and I hurried to let Pete into my sparsely furnished new space. O'Ryan was already waiting by the door, sniffing along the sill and purring a resonant welcome. Pete stood grinning in the narrow hall, balancing a vase of yellow roses and daisies, a bottle of wine, and a gift bag with
CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR GRADUATION
in sparkly letters.

“It smells great in here,” he said, leaning forward for a quick but awkward kiss, which landed on my forehead. He glanced around the empty room. “Where can I put this stuff down so I can try that again?”

“Follow me,” I said and led the way to the kitchen.

Pete put his predinner offerings on the counter, next to the still-hot pie, pulled me close, and delivered a lovely, slow, satisfying toe-tingling kiss, followed by another with a lot more urgency behind it than usual.

I think we were both surprised by the intensity of that moment. Holding my breath, looking up into those dark eyes, I took a tiny step backward. “Pete,” I said, my voice ragged, “I think . . .” I wasn't sure what I was going to tell him, because O'Ryan chose that instant to scratch on the door leading to the front hall.

“Cat wants to go out,” Pete said, his lips still close to my ear.

“I'm going to buy him a cat door tomorrow,” I murmured as I reluctantly, and maybe wisely, stepped out of that mind-altering embrace. I let O'Ryan out and watched as he trotted toward the stairway, a cat smirk on his fuzzy face.

Pete had moved next to the counter and held the bottle of merlot in one hand and the gift bag in the other. “Here,” he said, offering me the bag decorated with mortarboards and rolled diplomas. “They didn't have any that said ‘Congratulations on Your New Apartment.'”

“Graduation is close enough,” I said, laughing as I reached into a nest of gold tissue paper. “And June is the right month for it.” I pulled a corkscrew from the bag, followed by a pair of crystal wineglasses. “Perfect,” I said. “How did you know that I didn't have either one?”

He smiled, looked around the sparsely furnished kitchen, reached for the corkscrew, and began opening the bottle. “Just a wild guess.” He filled one glass and handed it to me. “Cheers,” he said and filled his own. We clinked our glasses in the traditional way and sipped the fruity crimson liquid.

“Going to show me the famous new bureau?” he asked.

I was about to say, “Sure,” then thought about where the thing was situated, right across from the big, soft bed I'd so recently described to River. “Later,” I told him. “Here. Sit down, and I'll tell you about it first.” We sat opposite one another at the card table, where my simple bouquet of lilies of the valley shared space with the roses-and-daisies creation.

I began with, “Aunt Ibby was watching television this morning. . . .” I described how she'd recognized the bureau as the exact one that my grandmother Forbes had given me when I was a little girl. “The cool thing about it was, it looked like a regular antique bureau, but it had secret compartments,” I said. “And so does the one I bought today.”

“Is there anything in them?” I could see the interest in his face.

“Yes. And it's all still there. I haven't opened them yet. I was waiting for you.”

“Really? You have no idea what might be in them?”

“Well, Shea told me a little about it. ‘Nothing valuable, ' she said. But it'll still be fun to open them.”

“I wasn't going to mention Shea Tolliver tonight,” he said. “But since you brought her up, I want to say how well you handled . . . well, everything that went down today.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “It couldn't have been easy for you.”

“No. Not easy.”

I shook away the thoughts. “But I still want to tell you what else she said about my bureau. It came from a house where there was a murder. A really famous one.”

He picked up his glass and took a sip. “Let me guess. Helena Trent, right?”

“Right. How did you know?”

“The ‘really famous' part. Chief Whaley said he hadn't seen that much ink and airtime used on one murder around here since the Beryl Atherton case back in the fifties. How did Shea get the bureau, anyway?”

I shrugged. “Estate sale, I guess. She said the owner didn't even know about the secret compartments.”

“So the missing pink diamond wasn't in it? Bummer.”

“Afraid not. But after dinner I'll show you how to open all the secret compartments. Want to watch TV while I start cooking?”

“No thanks. I'd rather watch you.”

That was just what he did, too. Chin on his fists, elbows on the table, he watched quietly as I put the steak under the broiler, dumped the plastic bag of mixed greens into a Franciscan Ware bowl, and sliced tomatoes on top. Sour cream with fresh chives went into another ironstone mug. I popped the potatoes into the microwave, and miraculously, everything was done at the same time. Steak, medium rare. Salad, crisp and pretty. Potatoes, white and fluffy with golden skins. I served my first dinner in my new apartment proudly.

The pie was still warm enough to melt the vanilla ice cream; the after-dinner coffee with a tiny dash of Baileys was hot and delicious. Pete leaned back in his chair, smiling broadly, as I put the silverware, the dishes, and the bowl in the dishwasher and rinsed our coffee mugs.

“Ready to see my prize purchase? Even if there's no treasure hidden in it?”

Pete patted absolutely flat abs. “Don't know if I can move. That was a perfect dinner, babe. And the apple pie was just as good as your Aunt Ibby's.”

I refrained from giving credit to Sara Lee, glad that the telltale box had already gone into the recycling bin . . . and silently vowing never, ever to repeat his remark to my aunt.

“Thanks,” I said, with all the modesty I could muster. “Glad you liked it.”

Pete stood, gave me a quick kiss—on the cheek, nothing like the earlier version—and, with one arm around my waist, said, “Lead me to this fine piece of furniture.”

“Okay. Come on.” I pushed the bedroom door open and clicked on the overhead light. With a dramatic Vanna White gesture, I indicated the bureau. “Ta-da! The furnishing du jour.”

Pete switched his attention from me to the bureau. He moved from one side to the other, not speaking, not touching it, just looking. He crouched, sitting on his heels, studying the graceful embellishments on each of the bureau drawers, peering closely at the triangular frames around the keyholes. He stood up again. “May I touch it?” he asked.

I sat at the foot of the bed, watching him. “Of course. It's not delicate. It's lasted over two hundred years.”

“Remarkable,” he said and ran his hand down the paneled right side of the bureau. He looked at me, smiled, and gently tapped a spot close to the back edge. “Is one of the hidden compartments right about here?”

“Wow,” I said. “That's amazing. You're right. If you press it slightly, it will move sideways.” I stood closer, watching him. “Go ahead. There are two tiny pockets behind there.”

“Do you know what's in them?”

“Nope. I told you. I haven't even peeked. Waited for you.”

He put his arm around my waist again and pulled me close. “Thank you,” he said, then, following my directions, pressed the spot he'd selected.

Nothing happened.

He frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I don't think so. Let me try.” He stepped behind me, still holding me close, but with both arms around my waist now.

I pressed the panel, just the way Grandmother Forbes had taught me to so many years ago. The wood, which had appeared seamless, gave under my pressure, and a section that was about two inches by four inches slid aside. “See?” I said. “It's easy. Shall I close it again so you can do it?”

“Are you kidding? No. Let's see what's in there.”

I laughed as Pete's concentration returned to the bureau. A compartment with two shallow square pockets, side by side, had been revealed. Each one contained a tissue-wrapped object. “Shall we each take one?” I asked.

“Okay,” he said. “You go first.”

“All right.” I stuck my index finger into the space on the left and pried the article carefully from its hiding place. “Your turn.”

“My fingers might be too big,” he said, letting go of me completely and poking at the tiny shape in the remaining pocket. “This is fun. Like a treasure hunt at a kid's birthday party.”

After a few stabs at it, the little parce fell into his hand. We looked at one another, each holding a slim tissue-wrapped package. “Shall we open them together?” He smiled broadly.

I had to laugh. “You look as though you really
are
at a kid's birthday party. Okay. One, two, three . . . open 'em!”

Mine was a shiny 1951 Benjamin Franklin half-dollar. His was a tarnished brass Salem, Massachusetts, dog license.

“Cool,” he said. “But yours is more valuable. Real silver.”

“I like yours better. It's a remembrance of a pet somebody loved.”

“True. Shall we do another one?” he asked, still smiling.

“Did you figure out any more of them?” I asked. “The panel you found is one of the most difficult.”

“It's the only one I spotted. A tiny indentation in the wood. Did you say you have directions?”

“I do. I left them in the top drawer where Shea put them. Want to get them out while I pour us another cup of coffee?”

“Okay.”

I headed for the kitchen, while Pete spread one of the pieces of tissue paper on the bed and carefully arranged our treasures on it. When I returned with the coffee, Pete was facing the bureau, his back to me.

“I don't see them, babe,” he said. “You sure this is where you left them?”

He stepped aside, and I saw that instead of opening the top drawer, he'd removed the lace runner and lifted the hinged center panel, exposing the black mirror. I wanted to scream, “No!” and race across the room and slam it shut, but instead I managed to place the mugs calmly on the floor and walk over to where he stood. I reached out and closed the thing—but not before I saw the little cloud, then the flashing lights and swirling colors that always preceded the damned visions.

“N-n-no,” I stuttered. “Not that one.” My hand shook as I tugged at the half-moon–shaped wooden drawer pulls. “In here.”

“Lee. Shhh. Come here. Sit down.” He led me to the bed. “You're as pale as a ghost. What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Really. I'm fine.”

“No,” he said. “You're not. I shouldn't have come tonight. You've been through so much today, finding Shea . . . the way she was, and going through all that questioning.” He sat beside me and held both of my hands. “Listen. Why don't we finish going through your bureau another time, okay? Now, you just get ready for bed. I'll let myself out.” He kissed my forehead. “Dinner was great. You get some rest now. I'll call you tomorrow.”