Seaspun Magic

by Christine Hella Cott

  Underwear, socks, nothing unusual. She went through all the drawers to find nothing unusual. She checked the clothes hanging in the old oak wardrobe, and her hands lingered on the softness of a beautiful salmon-hued cashmere sweater. No lumberjacks of her acquaintance wore pink cashmere sweaters. Leo might be fooling some of the natives, but he certainly wasn't fooling her in his plaid shirt and red suspenders!

  And only a certain kind of man could wear a pink sweater like that and get away with it. He had to be extra tough, as Leo was, so as not to appear effeminate. With his broken nose and sweet manners, Leo was an intriguing contradiction, streetwise and yet ever so polished.

  However, the beautiful sweater was not the sort of thing she was looking for. Every creak in the old house had her freezing. Every slight whisper of wind through the eaves had chills tickling up her spine. She couldn't hurry the job, either, in case she made mistakes in replacing the items precisely as they had been found.

  Finally she struck pay dirt. On the table, under a carelessly tossed local newspaper, were cuff links, his gold watch and wallet. She thought, with a faint wry smile, that he certainly did trust his landlady, leaving such wealth lying about. There was over three hundred dollars in the wallet, but to Arianne, the identification cards were of much greater interest.

  Credit cards, and he had them all, fell out of his wallet, all bearing his name, Leo Donev. So that must be his rightful name. She sighed disappointedly.

  But something was amiss, Arianne felt it in her bones, and when she had a feeling as strong as this one she was never wrong. Something was happening and somehow she was involved, but exactly what was going on? Who else was involved, how and why?

  Carefully she put the cards, accordionlike, back into their flap and opened the next one, to be rewarded again. Business cards started sliding out, and she quickly shuffled them back into their initial order. His name was on each card... but each card listed a different business: a travel bureau, a bookstore, a pottery shop, an insurance company, a janitorial service, and a television repair shop. The last one read:

  MICROCON, INC.

  Investigations Branch

  Leo Donev

  On the back was a thumbprint that she noticed only when she held the card up to the flashlight. A pattern in clear plastic, unnoticeable really; it had caught her attention only because of the way the beam of light hit upon it at an angle. That was all there was to that card, only the three lines on the front and the thumbprint on the back. No address, no telephone number, no advertising. How curious, indeed.

  Fascinated, Arianne stared at the nearly invisible thumbprint. This was serious identification, but not the sort she had thought to find! What did it mean? Where was this sort of identification used?

  In sleepy, pretty, old-fashioned Port Townsend, what was he investigating? Puzzling over that question immediately brought the fort to mind and all its recent activity. An admiral, no less, was in residence. Leo was either doing a spot of work for the navy... or to the navy. He was either working for them or against them, and she, merely because she was placed next door, was drawn into the mystery.

  Leo's presence at her house could be for exactly that reason: her proximity to the fort, her bird's-eye view of the proceedings down there. That would explain why he chose to be a B and B guest rather than stay in a 1880s hotel on the quaint main street of the town. And Erin's case of appendicitis had played right into his hands.

  With great attention to detail, Arianne replaced the items on the table just as they had been and tossed the newspaper back over them for the perfect touch. Then she moved on to the books on the table. There were two on history, two concerning advanced computer technology and one that she recognized, for she'd studied it herself: a layman's very comprehensive study of the psychic sciences.

  Her nerves began to quiver. Her heart pumped blood through her veins in a rush. Was she a part of his investigations?

  After replacing the books back into their original haphazard heap, she went on to the suitcase on the chair. It was full of what appeared to be freshly laundered clothes, and Arianne was amazed to discover she hadn't a clue as to how he did his laundry. He'd lived with her five weeks in total, and she'd never seen him coming or going with a laundry bag. Nor had he ever asked her for such a service. He must have it done in town... or at the fort? If he was having it done at the fort, then they must know him, so he must be working for and not against them....

  She was about to close the suitcase on the neat stack of shirts, faultlessly pressed, and consider the snoop done, when she figured she had better finish the job properly. Having come so far and trespassed so completely, there was no reason to stop short. Memorizing the configuration of shirts on top, she began to empty the suitcase very methodically. Right at the bottom was a slender leather file folder and inside, a sheaf of papers.

  With a return of the warning prickles, she drew the material out. There were many sheets, but because of the quality of the paper they made only a very thin sheaf. Training her flashlight on the pages, she saw at first glance that they appeared to be photostats of newspaper clippings and business letters.

  She put the papers on the table. Bending low over them and holding the flashlight to best advantage, she began to read some of the print. After a second she caught her breath and peeled the first page over to scan the next and the next. And there on the third was a small black-and-white newspaper photo of her, column width. There was one of Reggie, one of Reggie's mistress and one of her supposed lover, the insurance-agency detective.

  Arianne moaned in the darkness of the room. Everything was there, the whole horrifying kidnapping case, as well as background on her and her mother, the medium. There were personal statements witnessed and signed by several of her clients, among them the agency detective and the police captain who had used her services.

  Then there were more clippings, about Reggie's affair and the divorce and the settlement—the one candlestick, the cloisonne candlestick that stood downstairs. Her disgust mounted as she saw an article concerning the supposed romantic relationship between her and the young detective who kept on coming to her for help in proving insurance fraud. But there was more yet, about her sudden disappearance, and at last, a letter written by a professor of psychic studies. Before her marriage to Reggie, Dr. Mathias Dickenson had requested her as a test subject for ESP experiments, and she had agreed.

  But, later, Reggie and Mrs. Sutherland had shown the professor the door on more than one occasion. In the end Arianne had refused to see him, to preserve the peace at home.. .and it was all down in black and white, in Leo's suitcase, all of it.

  Arianne spotted the date on Dr. Dickenson's letter and there was another gasp of dismay in the quiet of Leo's room. Apparently it had been signed not more than three weeks ago! She must have made an impression on the doctor for him to remember the details of events that had happened so long ago!

  At the end of the letter she came across a few sentences that said such was the case:

  Arianne Sawyer, or Anne Sutherland as she was known during her marriage, was the most profound example of psychic phenomena I have ever discovered. The few test sheets enclosed will bear me out. At times in our short acquaintance her accuracy made my hair stand on end, and, Mr. Donev, I am a man of science. My hair does not easily stand on end. What a sad day for me when she refused...

  Arianne put her hand over her heart to try to muffle its pounding. She straightened and wiped a trembling hand across her brow. The doctor's letter, addressed to Leo and referring to him more than once in the contents, was ample proof that this delicate sheaf of paper was his effort. There was enough information here to sink a ship. Just whose ship was Mr. Donev looking to sink?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Painstakingly Arianne restacked the sheets and returned the papers to the leather file. Then she put the file back in the suitcase and arranged the shirts as before. She closed the suitcase and studied the room to assure herself everything was as it had been
when she came in. Tiptoeing to the door, letting herself out, she felt sorry for every spy who had ever had to tiptoe out of a dark room. Out on neutral territory of the landing a vast sigh of relief escaped her.

  To what purpose was Leo going to put that information, so smartly presented? Why had he gone to so much trouble to track down a detailed history of her sight and collect it in one place? Had he done all that work during the three weeks he'd been gone? But if he was investigating her, why was he spending all his time at the old naval fort? And didn't that file just prove that he was after the ESP, not the lady who owned it, or, as her mother would say, he was after the witch's broom and not the witch.

  A rousing knock at the back door had Arianne jumping what felt like a mile high. Trying to calm her breathing, she went quickly down the stairs. She really did not relish a visit from Jill right this minute, not with everything she had on her mind…

  And when all a depressed Jill wanted to talk about was her ex-husband, Arianne had to bite back her impatience.

  "He's just no good, Arianne! That's his trouble. He's just plain rotten, through and through. No conscience, and you know that's the worst. Not—not a shred of moral fiber!"

  "I get the picture," Arianne murmured sympathetically. Jill did seem upset, though, more than what the situation seemed to warrant. After all, she had been divorced for two years now.... Arianne wondered whether Jill was aware she was speaking in the present tense, and started listening with a bit more interest.

  "That's all I am for him! He just uses me whenever he feels like it, for how long he wants!"

  "Well, why do you put up with it?"

  "I love him, Arianne. I can't help myself. He can talk me into anything, anything! That's what's so scary, don't you see?" Jill cried. Nervously she rubbed the back of her nape. "You've no idea... he tells me everything! It's terrible! I have to carry what he's done around on my back!"

  "No, you don't, Jill, you—"

  "Don't you understand? I helped! It's awful, Arianne. He always has to tell me everything afterward, and then I'm like an accessory, isn't that right?"

  "Oh, Jill! Are you telling me...what you're saying is..."

  "I'm a crook, Arianne, a lousy crook! Or I used to be! And now he's on to something new, and I'm so scared he's going to come looking for me." She shuddered out the words, looking sick with anxiety.

  "For heaven's sake, stop him!" Arianne exclaimed. "You have to stop him, or it'll go on and on!"

  "But what can I do? I can't turn him in, can I?"

  '"Turn him in'? What do you mean... the police? My God, Jill, what is this something new that he's on to?"

  "I don't know. I don't know. Don't ask me, I don't know! I never know beforehand!"

  "Okay, okay, Jill. You'll have a better idea once he makes his request, won't you?"

  "I don't know."

  "You have to break his hold on you. You're going to have to refuse him, Jill, sooner or later. If what he's doing is bad enough that you feel you should turn him in, if it's something so... so..."

  "Nasty." Jill supplied the word.

  "So nasty—but, wait. Didn't you tell me he was in the navy? Doesn't the navy have its own police? They'd be the ones. Jill, you might have to turn him in. If you don't, who will? What if he implicates you in something so serious that you find yourself in jail? What about your kids, Jill, if you land in jail?"

  Jill started to cry.

  "Oh, my God!'' Arianne could scarcely credit the way her quiet Sunday was shaping up. "Jill—" she hiked her chair closer and offered her neighbor a tissue "—I have an idea. Listen carefully. Something must be done. You can't go on living like this. Your charming ex-husband is making you miserable, not to mention terrified. Since you can't turn him in, and I understand why you can't, let's go speak to Orly. You can tell him everything and let him take it from there. At least you can be sure he's a calm, rational type of person who will do the right thing. It's not much better going through him, but at least it's some help. If you won't save yourself, at least save Erin and Lucy from.. .from.. .the.. .the..."

  "The jerk, the bastard, the scum of the earth?"

  "I suppose that's it."

  Jill wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "Of course, he hasn't asked me for anything yet," she assured Arianne hurriedly. "Maybe I'm worrying for nothing. I—I haven't seen him in a long, long, long time."

  "Oh, no? But, then, how do you know about his new get-rich-quick scheme?"

  "Oh, I—I—we have mutual friends. They passed it on. I haven't seen him in ages and ages. But if he does show up—" she gulped "—I might take you up on your offer. You'll come with me to see Orly?"

  "Of course I will."

  Jill nodded her fervent thanks. Unburdening herself hadn't seemed to help much. If anything, she appeared more uncomfortable than ever. Arianne didn't buy that all this worry on Jill's part was over nothing; she was too full of dread for it to be nothing. Her ex must have contacted her already. Too many of her answers were contradictory for Arianne to take everything Jill said at face value. She was a very confused woman. However, pressing Jill to go to Orly seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect. Arianne remained quiet and let Jill do the talking.

  "I, um, better get home. Lucy and Erin are really tired now, I might as well tuck them into their own beds. Thanks awfully, Arianne. I always feel better after I've talked to you." She sounded just as if she were going to start crying again.

  Arianne wished there was something more she could do. "Anytime, Jill, anytime at all. Don't hesitate to come over. If you know he's coming, take refuge here with me until he goes. I'll field for you. I'll tell him where to go gladly, Jill. If you're not up to it, I can handle him."

  "How did you get to be so brave?" Jill scoffed.

  "I'm getting meaner in my old age," Arianne said with a grin. "And right now I happen to have a grudge against men, and it would give me a chance to get my teeth into one of them."

  Jill left laughing. At least she'd accomplished that much for her. What Jill had accomplished for Arianne, on the other hand, was to start her worrying like crazy. She had already determined that Jill's ex must have made contact. And Jill was backing out of going to see Orly, at least, for now. Maybe she wasn't certain of the degree of nastiness that her husband's new scheme was made of, and was waiting to find out before talking. Or maybe she was too afraid of him to turn him in, even to Orly. Or maybe she just couldn't bear to sabotage him, no matter what.

  In any case, she had seen him recently and probably often, judging by how much she talked about him. She seemed consumed by thoughts of him. How strange that she never mentioned his name. They each had their secrets to hide and only now did she begin to understand why Jill had cried rather bitterly at her easy life.

  But strangest of all, Arianne had the eerie feeling she was all tangled up in Jill's sad story. Arianne's miserable apprehension was complete. She didn't want to be in Jill's story, she didn't want to be helping Larry with his stupid rings and she didn't want to figure in the investigations of MicroCon, Inc., Investigations Branch. She didn't even want to be right next to the fort whose rejuvenation seemed to be causing all the furor in the first place!

  If it weren't Christmastime and the busy season, she might ask Orly for a few days off to go to Seattle. But she had to stay home. Besides work, she had to be there for Jill, and besides Jill, there was Leo. She wanted to be with him, ironically just so she could not talk to him. And besides him, there was a simple case of a huge curiosity.

  ***

  When Leo came in late that night at his usual hour, Arianne was in a near panic, worried that she wouldn't appear normal in front of him, in front of those keen pale-jade eyes.

  He might have violated her trust, but she had violated his privacy. She had the uneasy notion that her guilty feelings were chiseled on her cheeks. With all her wild conjecturing whirling around and around in her head, she could only hope she didn't blurt out something idiotic and give herself away. Neither could
she challenge him with questions that would only prove she'd been snooping! Every minute would be riddled with danger.

  She was going down the hall toward the kitchen, when he came in. She tossed a casual greeting over her shoulder and asked if he wanted a cup of coffee, since she had just been on her way to make a cup for herself. He replied that he'd love a cup, and watched her retreating figure, clad in narrow jeans and a red angora sweater.

  Her mother had given her the sumptuous wool for Christmas last year. She had a penchant for red and it suited her complexion beautifully, with her white skin, black eyes and raspberry-stained mouth. She could have worn something less provocative than form-fitting jeans and a soft, clingy sweater, but what the hell, she thought. It wouldn't hurt to keep his mind on something other than her conversation.

  She was putting some of Mikey's cookies on a plate, when Leo came into the kitchen with Jinx in one hand.

  "I found him locked in my bedroom," he said, and dropped the cat into her hands. The ice-green eyes arrested hers. "How would he have got in there?"

  Arianne, for a second, wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She had been caught, after all! Damn, damn! "Jinx, oh, my poor baby," she crooned, buying time while her mind performed a mad scramble for a way out of this conundrum. "I was looking all over for you!"

  She glanced boldly up into Leo's unflinching gaze and then smiled composedly. "Rae got away from me when I was putting him to bed. He went searching for you, I guess, because I found him in your room. I didn't realize Jinx was with him." Little children were blessedly handy some days; one could blame all sorts of otherwise embarrassing things on them and get away with it.