Look Both Ways

by Carol J. Perry

  “Come on in,” I said, returning his warm kiss. Then I turned, facing into the living room. “Look. Furniture!”

  My recent shopping forays into furniture stores, antiques shops, and yard sales had provided the essentials for a contemporary living-room arrangement. By no means complete, it still lacked what Aunt Ibby would call “character,” but at least it was equipped with the basic necessities. There was a nice Oriental rug, a black leather couch with one matching chair, and an offbeat wing chair in a bold zebra print. Jenny’s shop had yielded a great-looking vintage glass-fronted barrister’s bookcase, which I had yet to fill with books. I hadn’t hung any wall art, and the room needed some lamps, but I thought it was a good beginning.

  “What do you think?” I asked. “So far, so good?”

  “I like it,” Pete said. “I like it a lot. When you get through here, maybe you can come over and help me with my apartment. It’s mostly my mom’s old castoffs and some stuff my sister picked out. Nothing matches.”

  Is this sort of an invitation to Pete’s apartment?

  “I’ll be glad to,” I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “And things don’t have to match. I like it better when they don’t.”

  “It’s a deal, then. Do I smell Chinese food?”

  “Sure do. Come help me set the table. I just got here. You won’t believe where I’ve been.”

  In the kitchen, I handed Pete the plates and silverware, and while he set the table, I retrieved the food from the warming drawer.

  “I promise I’ll believe you.” He smiled. “Where have you been?”

  “I gave Daphne a ride home. She lives in a guesthouse behind the Trent place. But you probably already knew that.”

  “Yeah. Chief’s keeping an eye on her and on Tommy, too. Did she have any trouble sneaking that index card back underneath his socks?” He pulled a chair out for me, and we sat together at the Lucite table.

  “She hasn’t done it yet. But she thinks maybe the previous tenant left it in the drawer. Did you check that possibility?”

  “We did. The place had been vacant for over a year. The landlord’s daughter was the last tenant, and she moved out before you came to Salem. Dead end there. Daphne have anything else interesting to say?”

  I passed him the crab Rangoon and thought about the brief conversation I’d had. “She likes being an actress, and she’s apparently been living in that guesthouse rent free since before Helena died.”

  “Did she say anything at all about Tommy?”

  “Just that she’s been spending a lot of time with him, but that she enjoys having her own space.”

  “I think you do, too. Mind if I have another egg roll?”

  “Help yourself. I do like having this apartment, and I like being close to Aunt Ibby at the same time. She’s getting on in years, although she’d never admit it, and I’m the only close family she has.”

  “I understand. Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about Gar y Campbell?”

  “I know you can’t talk about police business,” I said, “but I’d really like to know if he’s going to wind up with Shea’s inventor y.”

  “It looks that way. I can tell you this much. The DA isn’t going to charge him with her murder. Her time of death doesn’t match up, and there’s apparently no motive there. They were actually planning to get back together—business-wise—and Campbell can prove it.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’ll probably think it’s silly, but there’s something in the shop I want to borrow for one of the plays, and I didn’t know whether or not it was okay for me to approach him about it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The cash register.”

  “Do you want to know if it’s safe to approach him? Or just if it’s appropriate?”

  “Both, I guess. If you think it’s a bad idea, I’ll just use a cash box or something.” I was beginning to regret this whole conversation. It sounded petty, even to me. After all, Pete had important things to think about, and finding props for an amateur play performance suddenly seemed trivial.

  “No. It’s not that it’s a bad idea,” Pete said, evidently taking my question seriously. “Of course he’ll probably recognize you as the redhead he bumped into on his way out of the shop and realize that you’re the one who fingered him.”

  “I’d thought of that. Never mind. I’ll use a cash box. Forget I asked.” I pulled open the flaps of a little folded take-out container that had come with our meal. “Want a fortune cookie?”

  “I’ll have one if you will.” We each selected a cookie, and Pete’s expression turned serious once more. “You have a pretty good relationship with Jenny, don’t you?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “It might be a good idea for you to see if she’ll make the request. Then, if he says no, you’re out of the picture. If he says yes, you get the very cool cash register for the show. Make sense?”

  I nodded. “It does. Thanks.”

  “I’d just as soon you stayed away from him, Lee. He seems like a reasonable man right now, but remember, he once threatened Shea with some really bad stuff.” He reached for my hand. “I don’t exactly trust him. Don’t get involved with Campbell. Okay?”

  “Okay. I promise. Let’s see what our fortunes say. You first.”

  He broke open his fortune cookie, read the slip of paper inside, then laughed. “This is good advice for anyone. ‘It never pays to kick a skunk.’”

  “No doubt about that,” I agreed. “Let’s see what mine says.” I pulled the strip of paper from my cookie, smiling. “Here’s another truth, at least in this household. ‘Dogs have owners. Cats have staff.’”

  “O’Ryan sure doesn’t have any worries with you and your aunt pampering him,” Pete said. “Where is he, anyway? He usually meets me at the door.”

  As though on cue, the cat door opened, and the big yellow boy strolled in and sat, ears straight up, directly under Pete’s chair.

  “There’s your greeting,” I said. “A little late, but sincere.”

  Pete reached down and patted the cat. “Maybe he thinks I am part of the staff and don’t need to be checked out before I come inside.”

  “I think you’re right. It’s true about cats. They don’t have owners, like dogs do. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but Ariel never really owned O’Ryan. And I’m pretty sure Aunt Ibby and I don’t, either.” I paused. “Speaking of dogs, did you know Helena Trent once had a dog? A gray schnauzer named Nicky. Daphne said Helena was heartbroken when the little dog died.”

  Pete looked thoughtful. “Must be the dog in that picture you found. I wonder if the license we found in the bureau belonged to him.”

  “I’ll bet it was his.”

  “Did Daphne happen to mention when the dog died?”

  “No. Why? Is it important?”

  “Maybe. Could I take another look at that license?”

  “Sure.” I couldn’t think of any reason why Helena’s dead dog would be important, but I got up, put the dishes in the sink and, with Pete following, headed for the bedroom.

  “More furniture here, too,” Pete said. “Looks good.” He was right. With the addition of the white Biedermeier bedside table, a new TV, and a cute antique writing desk, the bedroom had lost its stark, empty look. I pulled open the top drawer of the bureau, unwrapped the dog license and handed it to him.

  “No more mirror troubles, I hope,” Pete said, nodding toward the closed center panel. He took a pen and a small notebook from his pocket and copied the number from the tarnished tag.

  “No problem.” I spoke a little too heartily, but he didn’t seem to notice. He replaced the license in the drawer and pushed it closed. “Do you have time for coffee?”

  “Always time for coffee,” he said, slipping an arm around my waist and propelling me back toward the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 24

  We had our coffee, I packed up the Chinese leftovers for him to take with him, and once again, we parted early. P
ete had promised to pick up his young nephews for hockey practice. He’d invited me to come along, but I’d declined, with a promise to attend one of their games soon. We shared a prolonged good-night kiss and walked, single file, down the two narrow flights of stairs. I waved a reluctant good-bye as he crossed the yard to his car. I double-checked the lock, secured the dead bolt, then crossed the foyer and knocked on Aunt Ibby’s kitchen door. She opened it immediately.

  “Come in, come in. I’m dying to hear how your day went. Did you find some good props? Rupert says he’s delighted with what you’ve done so far. Have you eaten yet? That was Pete leaving, wasn’t it? Is everything going well between you?”

  “Whoa. Slow down.” I laughed. “You’re full of questions. Yes, I found some good stuff today. Pete and I had Chinese for dinner, and everything is fine in that department.”

  “I’m pleased. Let’s go into the living room and have a nice chat. I just made some iced tea. Want some?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” I waited while she poured sweet tea from a frosty pitcher, and then, carrying my tall glass, I followed her to the living room. O’Ryan was already there, curled up on his favorite needlepoint cushion on the window seat.

  “Now then,” my aunt said, leaning forward in her chair expectantly. “Tell me all about your day.”

  “It’s been a busy one, that’s for sure. I hardly know where to begin.”

  “At the beginning,” she said. “Go on.”

  “The first thing that happened was I found out that that old black shoe display piece at the Tabby still works.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean, it works? It showed you a . . . vision?”

  I nodded. “It did. Just a brief picture. Nothing scary. Just a woman’s face. And, Aunt Ibby, I’m sure the woman on the beach is Helena Trent. I recognized her from the newspaper pictures.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “I thought it might be. I’m glad she didn’t frighten you. What else?”

  I thought back, trying to put things in order. “I needed two fur coats for Born Yesterday. I had two leads, and both of them paid off.” I described the mink coat and the stole. “Oh, and I learned to operate the freight elevator today. I’ll take you down in it sometime, but I warn you, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

  “Bette Davis,” said my aunt. “All About Eve.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. I’m so used to trading movie quotes with Rupert, it’s becoming automatic whenever I hear one. The ‘bumpy ride’ line is from a nineteen fifty film.”

  “Now that you mention it, I think I knew that. But speaking of nineteen fifties movies, do you have Born Yesterday? I promised Mr. Pennington I’d watch it.”

  “I do. I’ll give it to you tonight, and you and O’Ryan can watch it on your new TV.”

  “The props for that play are coming along nicely, but I still need a couple of things for Hobson’s Choice. A cobbler’s bench and an antique brass cash register.”

  “Cobbler’s benches were quite the fad as coffee tables at one time,” she said. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find one of those. But the cash register might be tricky. And probably expensive.”

  “I know where there’s a beauty I’d like to borrow,” I said. “With the pop-up numbers and a bell that rings when you pull the handle. That’s what I wanted to talk to Pete about tonight.” I explained about the one in Shea’s shop and that Gar y Campbell would probably be the person who wound up owning it.

  “That Campbell person doesn’t seem very nice,” she said. “Perhaps you should avoid contacting him—cash register or not.”

  “That’s what Pete thinks, too. I’m going to ask Jenny to see about our getting it for the play.”

  “Good idea. You listen to Pete.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Something else pretty interesting happened today, too. I gave Daphne a ride home. Guess where she lives.”

  “I have no idea. But I do know that Rupert is delighted with her portrayal of Billie Dawn.”

  “She lives in the Hampton guesthouse. She’s been there since before Helena died. Without ever paying any rent.”

  “That’s an odd arrangement, isn’t it? Whatever is Tripp thinking?” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear. You mean Daphne and Tripp Hampton . . . may have some sort of relationship?”

  “Could be, I guess. None of my business. But, anyway, Daphne told me that Helena had a little gray dog named Nicky. Did you know that?”

  “Now that you mention it, I do remember seeing a small dog when I went to that spider web party. Helena had dressed him up as a spider in a gray sweater with little gray velvet legs sticking out. So cute.”

  “I think Nicky is the dog in my vision,” I told her, “and Pete thinks the dog license we found in the bureau belonged to him. Pete copied the numbers from the tag tonight, but he wouldn’t tell me why they might be important. What do you think?”

  “There are several things he can learn from those numbers.” She put down her glass of tea and counted on her fingers. “The license bureau will tell him what kind of dog it was, the dog’s name and age, if he’d had all his shots, and in what year he died.” She shrugged and picked up her glass. “Of course, I have no idea why any of that would be important now.”

  “I don’t, either. Well, if you’ll lend me that movie, I’ll do my homework and watch it. Thanks for the tea.” I stood up. “Come on, O’Ryan. Let’s go home.”

  “I’m so glad you’re thinking of the apartment as home,” she said. “It’s beginning to take shape nicely. A few more books, some pictures on the walls, some lamps and plants, and a few little tchotchkes, and it’ll be a perfect reflection of you.”

  “Speaking of reflections, River says that for proper feng shui, I need a large mirror in the bedroom, placed so that I can’t see myself in it from the bed. I know I need a full-length mirror in there, anyway, but I’m getting kind of skittish about mirrors in general.”

  “There are mirrors everywhere, dear. I doubt that very many of them are . . . special.” She stood and crossed over to the long bookshelf under one of the bay windows where her collection of DVDs was filed alphabetically. “Here you go. Born Yesterday. A great film. Enjoy.”

  O’Ryan and I did enjoy the movie. At least I did. O’Ryan stayed awake through the whole thing, which I took to mean he liked it. I was glad I’d kept my word to Mr. Pennington about watching it, and when I saw him at the Tabby the next morning, I was able to sound a lot more knowledgeable about the production. After seeing the movie set, I was happy about my prop selections so far, and I could definitely see why Daphne Trent was a natural for the Judy Holliday part.

  “Would you like to watch Daphne in rehearsal, Ms. Barrett?” the director asked. “We’ve moved the Hobson’s Choice set downstairs to the theater, and the Born Yesterday set is ready up here.”

  “I’d love to watch. Thank you.”

  “Bear in mind, though, that she’s just in the process of learning her lines, so don’t expect perfection . . . yet. With a little more practice, her performance will be smooth as silk.” He looked at his watch. “She’ll be here in an hour or so. I’ll let you know when to come over to the rehearsal stage.”

  “I’ll be in my office,” I said. “My aunt is contacting some of her Twitter friends, in search of a cobbler’s bench for Hobson’s, and I’m still working on getting an authentic cash register.”

  “I have every confidence in you, Ms. Barrett,” he said, with one of his courtly little bows. “Ever y confidence.”

  I’d left a few small items in the truck overnight, nothing too heavy for me to carry by myself, so I took my first solo trip down to the warehouse in the freight elevator. It was, as I’d told my aunt, a bumpy ride. I wondered if, with a little more practice, to quote Mr. Pennington, my elevator performance would be “smooth as silk.” The ride back up to the third floor wasn’t much better than the ride down, and I had to steady a couple of cartons with one hand while pushing buttons with the other.
I was relieved when the wooden cage shuddered to a stop at the far end of my office space. I picked up one of the cartons and stepped out onto the floor. My relief at landing there safely was short lived.

  Over the top of the corrugated brown box, I looked straight into the flushed and angry face of Tommy Trent. I looked around the room. Nobody else there. I was alone with a convicted murderer—and from the look on his face, I was alone with a very angry convicted murderer.

  “What do you want?” My voice came out as a squeak. I took a deep breath and tried again. “Please leave!” That sounded stronger, but pretty stupid under the circumstances.

  “What the hell is this all about?” He waved a wrinkled index card close to my face. I was glad to have the carton between us and clutched it more tightly to my chest. I recognized the card, of course. It was the one with my name and address on it. The one that was supposed to be safely reposing in the murderer’s sock drawer.

  “Where did you get that?” I tried to match his angry tone. Shifting the carton to one arm, I reached for the card with the other. “I gave that card to Shea Tolliver. It’s none of your business. Give it to me!”

  He pulled the card away and took a step back. “Look, lady, I don’t know what your game is, but I caught my girlfriend sneaking this into my bureau last night. Who the hell are you, and what does Shea Tolliver have to do with it? Who put Daphne up to this? She’s too friggin’ dumb to think anything up all by herself.”

  I took a chance and turned away from him, walked as steadily as I could manage to my desk, put the carton down, and sat in my chair, back to the wall. At least now the desk was between us, and my phone was right next to my hand. He had followed close behind me and now stood on the opposite side of the desk, jaw thrust forward, blue eyes narrowed.

  I tried to remember exactly what I’d packed in the carton that now formed a flimsy barrier between me and Tommy Trent. Was there anything in it, near the top, that would serve as a weapon if this scene turned really ugly? If I risked a quick glance down at the box, would he guess what I was thinking? I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have a gun. A convict so recently out of jail wouldn’t have one, would he? What about a knife? They were easy enough to come by. There was a chrome cocktail shaker in there. I was sure of that. A pretty heavy one. Could I reach it in time to disable a murderer?