Look Both Ways

by Carol J. Perry

  “What kind of wine do you like? We’ve got all kinds.”

  “I don’t really care for any. Thanks,” I said. “I’ll take a Pepsi, if you have it. What a cute room this is.”

  She popped the cap from a Pepsi bottle and carried it to the table, then took the seat opposite me. “We used to have all kinds of ice cream and syrups and cherries and whipped cream and all that good stuff in here. But ever since Helena died, it’s just booze and mixers.” She gestured toward a long shelf laden with liquor bottles. I thought it was a shame to repurpose such a charming space that way, but didn’t say so.

  I sipped from the bottle and turned toward the glass wall overlooking the pool. “Guests with kids must have loved this place. A pool and ice cream cones, too.”

  “They did. And Helena loved the little kids, even though she never had any of her own. The first husband was too old, and Tommy sure didn’t want any. So Tripp was her only child. Him and that little dog, Nicky.” She smiled. “That dog. She used to dress him up. He even had a tiny orange life preserver of his own for when she used to take him out in that boat of hers.”

  “Helena had a boat?” I’d become more and more interested in this woman, who had once owned my bureau . . . and had lately been appearing to me in shiny surfaces. “I hadn’t heard that about her.”

  “Yeah. A neat little speedboat. She used to take me for rides in it sometimes.” She paused, eyes downcast. “Before . . . well, before she caught me and Tommy doing things brothers and sisters don’t usually do.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that bombshell, so I didn’t say anything. But she wasn’t through with what River called TMI—too much information.

  “She saw us through this glass wall,” she said, pointing toward the pool. “One day—”

  Tripp chose that minute to reappear, interrupting Daphne’s narrative, thank God. He’d changed into chinos and a blue chambray shirt with rolled-up sleeves. “Ready to see the cobbler’s bench now, Lee? Just follow me. It’s in one of the small TV rooms.” He looked at the bottle of Pepsi in my hand. “Jesus, Daph, don’t you know enough to give our guest a glass?”

  “This is fine,” I said. “I like the bottle. Nice and cold.”

  I hoped to save Daphne from more criticism, but Tripp’s words didn’t seem to bother her at all. She just smiled, said, “Sorr y,” wiped down the bar and the table, and headed back to the pool. “Next time bring a bathing suit, Lee. See you tomorrow at work.”

  Tripp opened a side door, and I followed behind him. “That Daphne,” he muttered. “Cute as hell, but dumb as a brick. I’ve made it kind of a project—almost a hobby—to tr y to make a lady out of her.” He laughed. “My Henry Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle.”

  “She’s doing awfully well in the play,” I said, feeling as though I should come to her defense. “Everyone loves her in the part.”

  “Really? I haven’t been to any of the rehearsals, although she’s invited me. I don’t want to run into that murdering son of a bitch she’s sleeping with. You met him yet?”

  “Mr. Trent? Yes. We’ve met.”

  This house seemed to be full of corridors and side rooms. As I followed Tripp, I realized that without a map I’d never be able to find my way back to the pool, or to the front door, for that matter. I quickened my step to keep up with him. “I feel as though I should be dropping bread crumbs,” I said, “like Hansel and Gretel in the woods.”

  “Didn’t do them much good,” he said. “They wound up at the witch’s house, anyway, remember? Come on. I won’t let you get lost.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him. I began to wish I hadn’t come here, cobbler’s bench be damned.

  I pulled my hand away. “Just lead on,” I said, getting behind him again. “I can keep up with you.”

  He gave me a long look with those narrow blue eyes. “You think so?”

  CHAPTER 29

  We arrived at what Tripp had described as “one of the small TV rooms.” By most anybody’s standards, the room wouldn’t be called small, and neither would the very large wall-hung television set. The furniture was large in scale, too, with a long and very comfortable-looking couch flanked by two matching chairs. In front of the couch was the object of my visit—the cobbler’s bench coffee table.

  “It’s absolutely perfect,” I said. And it was. It was larger than I’d expected, and it had the slight depression where the cobbler could sit, the separated sections for tools and nails, and just the right amount of wear. “It’s so kind of you to let us borrow it. I promise we’ll take good care of it and I’ll return it just as soon as the play is over.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Do you think between us we can carry it out to your truck? It’s fairly heavy.”

  I put both hands under one end and lifted it a couple of inches. “Not too bad,” I said. “I’m sure we can manage.”

  “I used to have servants for this kind of thing,” he said, a frown creasing his forehead. “No more. Had to let them all go.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “Well, let’s head for the truck, shall we?”

  “All right.” He positioned himself at one end, and I took the other. “One, two, three, lift!”

  I picked up my end, and with Tripp walking backward and me facing forward, we moved crab-like into a long corridor.

  “We can stop and put it down every so often, you know,” he said. “Just say when.”

  The corridor walls were lined with framed photographs. Some were of men and women in old-fashioned clothing and formal poses. Others were of a more recent vintage. “This is quite a portrait galler y,” I said. “Are these people all your relatives?”

  “They’re mostly Hamptons, but there are some of Helena and her folks, too. Want to stop for a sec? My hands are starting to hurt. This thing is heavier than it looks.”

  I was glad for the break. My hands hurt, too. We put the table down, and I turned to study the nearby pictures. I found myself eye to eye with a black-and-white likeness of a pleasant-looking old gentleman. I moved a little closer. It was the same man I’d seen in the mirror, the same man whose picture, marked GRANDPA, I’d found in my bureau. I was sure of it.

  “Who’s this?” I asked. “He’s quite friendly looking.”

  “That’s Helena’s grandfather,” he said. “I never met the old gent. Helena told me she used to spend her summers with him when she was a little girl. Ready to get moving again? We’re almost there.”

  I picked up my end of the table, and we resumed our slow and awkward pace through this seeming maze of corridors, past doorway after door way, most of them with doors closed. “We don’t use this part of the house much anymore,” Tripp said. “Lucky I remembered which room the table was in.” Again the frown. “It’s hard to maintain a place this size without ser vants.” He gave a genteel shrug. “Daphne does most of the dusting and vacuuming. She’s a good kid.”

  “Yes, she is,” I agreed. “I like her, too.”

  We rounded a corner, and I recognized the entry hall and the front door. “Back where we started,” I said. “The truck is parked right out front, and I’m sure this will fit nicely in the truck bed. I brought some big quilted furniture covers, so I’m sure it will ride safely enough back there.”

  Once outside, I dropped the tailgate, and together we lifted the table into the Ford, wrapped it tightly with quilts and bungee cords. I offered Tripp my hand.

  “Thanks again, Tripp,” I said. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this. I’ll see that you get tickets to the play, and if you like, we’ll include a mention in the program.”

  He held my hand a moment longer than necessary and flashed the perfect smile. “If you really want to show your appreciation, you’ll invite me over to your place sometime soon. I’m dying to get a look at what you found inside Helena’s bureau. Did you say there was a notebook?”

  I withdrew my hand from his and closed the tailgate. “There is,” I said. “I guess she wrote it when she was quite young. I haven’t had a chance
to read it yet, but it appears to be some essays of the ‘what I did on my summer vacation’ variety, along with a few poems.”

  “Oh.” The smile faded a bit. “Anyway, it would be interesting to see what she thought was worth hiding in all those secret compartments.”

  “Sure. As soon as all this play business gets over with, Aunt Ibby and I will be happy to have you come over to our house again soon.”

  “Just let me know when. By the way, your hair looks great that way.”

  “Thanks,” I said, self-consciously running a hand through the tousled mess on my head, and climbed into my truck.

  Daylight was fading fast, and a pale moon peeked through the trees beyond the gray mansion. I turned on the headlights and started for the Tabby. I drove slowly, trying to avoid shifting the table around while I navigated the curving driveway. As I passed the narrow road leading to Daphne’s cottage, I wondered if she was there or at Tommy Trent’s apartment or still in the mansion, swimming or dusting or vacuuming. Maybe those innocent pursuits were what she’d meant when she’d told me that Tripp liked having her around. I felt a little embarrassed about what I’d thought. I wondered, too, if she’d met with Pete and answered his questions about the index card.

  The lot behind the Tabby’s warehouse was empty when I arrived. I opened the wide doors, backed the Corvette out, and pulled the truck inside. I planned to get a couple of the stagehands to move the cobbler’s bench onto the set in the morning. I’d left my handbag in the truck, along with my phone, when I went inside the Hampton estate, so I grabbed them, closed the warehouse doors, and climbed into my own car. I checked for missed calls and found two. River North and Pete Mondello had each called. River’s call was first, so I called her back.

  “Hi, River. You called?”

  “I did. Nothing important. I was just wondering if Pete found anything interesting in the velvet jewelry box.”

  “If he did, he hasn’t told me about it,” I said. “But guess where I’ve just been.”

  “I give up. I don’t do psychic, just tarot.”

  “I was at the Hampton mansion, picking up a cobbler’s bench for one of the plays from Tripp Hampton.”

  “Isn’t he one of your blue-eyed blonds?”

  “Please! None of them are my blue-eyed blonds. But, yes. He is. And now that you mention it, I’ve run into all three of them today!”

  “That’s too weird! Tell me about it.”

  I told her about Gar y Campbell agreeing to lend the cash register, and how I’d sat down right next to Tommy Trent by mistake, then kept my appointment with Tripp Hampton.

  “Hmmm. Three blond men,” River said.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to sing it.”

  “Huh? Sing what?”

  I laughed. “Aunt Ibby sings, ‘Three blond men,’ to the tune of ‘Three Blind Mice.’ I thought you might be about to do the same thing.”

  “I would have if I’d thought of it. What do you think of them? The three?”

  I thought about that for a moment. “You know, I don’t really care for any of them.”

  I told her about the swimming pool and the maze of rooms in the mansion, and about the picture gallery where I’d recognized the man called “Grandpa.”

  “There’s some other stuff I’ll talk to you about later,” I said, “but I’m on my way home right now.”

  “You be careful,” she said. “Talk to you soon.”

  I was going to return Pete’s call, but I was all alone in the empty lot, except for a cat sitting on top of the Dumpster, and I decided to wait until I was safely home.

  CHAPTER 30

  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 Ha
mpton’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?”