Look Both Ways

by Carol J. Perry

  “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.

  Grandpa took me fishing today in his boat. He said now that I’ve grown taller, I should be able to cast better, and he was right. We both caught some flounder, but I caught two more than Grandpa. Then he showed me how to cook them. Grandpa’s stove isn’t like ours at home. He puts wood in it, and when the top of the stove got hot enough, we put our fish in a big frying pan. It was so good. Grandpa says someday we won’t be able to come here and use this cabin anymore, but he says we should enjoy it while we can, and I said I will always come here in the summer, even if we can’t use the cabin anymore. Tomorrow we are going to plant some pansies. Grandpa says it was Grandma’s favorite flower.

  The words were followed by a little rhyme.

  Grandpa and me in his boat in the sun Catching big flounder was lots of fun.

  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.

  Three blond men.

  See how they run.

  CHAPTER 31

  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?”

  Shea died from a blow to the back of the head with a heavy object.

  “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 rece
ipts 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.”

  I didn’t want to touch it, but I did as he asked, holding it by its base, upright in my lap, trying not to look at it. “Are we going to take it right down to the station?” I asked.

  “I called the chief, and he’s anxious to see it. I’ll just take it in, and then I’ll drive you back to the Tabby. Will they mind if you’re a little late?”

  “Not at all. I’m just making lists, figuring out what else I need to find for the plays. Does the chief think this . . .” I lifted the candlestick a couple of inches. It was heavier than it looked. “This thing really could kill somebody?”

  “I never know what Chief Whaley is thinking.” He smiled. “But I think you could be right about it. Did I ever tell you you’d make a good cop?”

  I laughed. “Yes, you have. Many times. But I don’t want your job, thank you. If the mate to this one really is what killed Shea, now you have to find that one, don’t you?”

  His serious cop face returned. “It would be a big help, that’s for sure.”

  He lapsed into silence, and I looked out the window, watching the familiar Salem scenery pass by. We passed the new commuter rail station and turned onto Washington Street, headed for the police station. I glanced down at the candlestick as we passed the Tabernacle Church. Sunshine glinted on the polished brass surface. I tried to look away, but already the tiny cloud and the pinpoints of light had appeared. I saw Shea Tolliver then, her face distorted because of the candlestick’s curved surface, but recognizable all the same. She smiled, almost laughing, and held her hand toward me, a gold chain dangling from her outstretched fingers. At the end of the chain, the beautiful pink diamond sparkled.