Moonshadows

by Mary Ann Artrip

  After a supper of grilled cheese and tomato soup, Janet carried a cup of hot tea and the photo album to the sofa and tucked her legs beneath her body. Running her fingers over the cover, she touched cracks in the leather. They were like raw sores that refused to heal. Now she knew why the album had ceased to be maintained, what lay behind the disruption of the Lancaster line. Where are they now, she wondered? Aunt Isabella and Etienne? Her wonderings short and without answers, were interrupted by the telephone. She stretched to the end of the sofa for the receiver.

  “Hello.”

  There was the faintest chuckle: “Riddle me out. Riddle me in. Now’s the time the fun begins.”

  “Sorry, you must have the wrong number.” Janet laughed. “No big deal, I misdial quite frequently.”

  “I don’t make mistakes.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  There was a tisk-tisking: “Riddle a penny, riddle a pound. Follow the clues and truth will be found.”

  Before Janet could arrange her thoughts to respond to the strange message, the line went dead.

  She frowned. “Riddles and clues?” she repeated. That made no sense. “Why would the caller think I would be interested in riddles?”

  Dismissing the call, she went again to the album. Turning the pages, she looked at the pictures and wished that she had known the people, her family from the past. “If wishes were flowers, we’d all be orchids,” her grandmother used to say.

  Sliding the heavy album onto the coffee table, she stood up, stifled a yawn and started for the bedroom when she remembered the mess left on the sidewalk. She climbed into jeans and a sweatshirt, stuffed her feet into loafers and went out the door. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the air chilled and sharp. She walked down to where the accident had happened. The area, well lit by the many streetlights, showed a neat and tidy sidewalk. Janet was amazed to see that every bit of the mess had been cleaned away. She stood for a moment, hands on her hips, and considered the situation.

  “Well,” she grunted, “the elves have been busy tonight.”

  Back inside the apartment, she flicked the loafers into the closet and they clattered against the back wall. Just as she started to tug the shirt over her head, the chimes of the doorbell sounded.

  He stood there holding a small bag of groceries. Minus the hat, his dark hair, heavy with dampness, separated in the middle and flipped little wings back from brown eyes flecked with specks of golden topaz. He fingered back the hair and the porch light picked up a few errant strands of silver. He grinned rather sheepishly as Janet got her first clear look at the man who had nearly knocked her down earlier.

  He held out the paper bag. “Excuse me for popping over, but I wanted to bring you this.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know, but I wanted to. I hope I got everything that was ruined.”

  Janet dug into the bag and shuffled items around. She looked up and frowned. “Where’s the Rocky Road?”

  “You didn’t have Rocky Road.”

  She thunked her head. “I didn’t? Darn, it sure would be great right about now.”

  The man laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “By the way, the name’s Stephen Prescott. I just spent the last couple days moving into number fifteen.” He pointed to the apartment across the way, directly in line with Janet’s front door.

  “Nice to meet you, Stephen. I’m Janet Lancaster.”

  “How did I miss you earlier?”

  “I’ve been out of town and just got back.”

  “And I had to ruin your homecoming.” He shoved the dark hair back from his face. “Some neighbor I turned out to be.”

  “If you ask me, I think you’ll be a great neighbor.” Janet hefted the bag on her hip. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.”

  Janet laughed. “Maybe we will.”

  They stood for an awkward moment, each waiting for the other to speak.

  “Well, goodnight,” he said, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and backing off the porch.

  “Goodnight,” Janet said and closed the door.

  Later as she prepared for bed, the handsome face of Stephen Prescott kept skipping across Janet’s brain, and she felt just the slightest seduction of leaning into his wide shoulders and getting herself thoroughly lost in the depths of those gold-flecked eyes.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded herself. “He’s probably married to a gorgeous corporate power-broker who blends her own teas and buys strictly organic.”

  Besides, had she healed enough to become emotionally involved again? She decided not.

  Changing into a flannel granny-gown, Janet dove beneath the covers and pulled the down-filled comforter to her chin. She lay motionless until the bed warmed then she reached for the bedside phone and punched in some numbers.

  “Hello,” Chelsea answered.

  “I’m home.”

  “I’m glad. I worried about you. You okay?”

  “Yeah. No. Lord, I don’t know. Want to come for breakfast? I’ll make blueberry waffles.”

  “It’s serious, isn’t it?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because it’s breakfast. Lunch is strictly library stuff, supper’s pleasure. But breakfast means serious discussions are on the agenda.”

  “See you at nine?”

  “Nine.”

  “’Night.”

  “You too.”

  Janet hung up the phone. She switched off the lamp and lay for a moment in the darkness. The only illumination in the room was the green glow of the lighted dial of the clock. It was 10:03. Burrowing her head into the pillow, she dragged her hair from beneath her shoulders, fanned it out and let it tumble against the headboard. Exhaustion and a sense of loss overtook her and she slept.

  By the time Chelsea arrived the next morning, Janet had breakfast ready. She layered the waffles on their plates and set them on the table next to maple syrup and butter. They sat down at the table and Chelsea sipped her coffee in silence while Janet related to her all that had happened over the past week.

  “A cousin you didn’t even know about?” Chelsea’s lovely pearl-gray eyes widened with astonishment. “A cousin who’s an actor.”

  “And an aunt—Aunt Isabella. Lord Chels, I wonder where they are.”

  “Do you think they’ll turn up—either one of them? Or maybe both?”

  “Who knows? It certainly would be to their advantage—there’s a lot of money involved.”

  “Maybe they don’t need it,” Chelsea said. “And since they’ve scarcely kept in contact with your grandmother, maybe there’s still hard feelings.”

  Janet frowned. “Could be, but I’m betting on the contents of the will. Money, sudden riches, can do strange things to people.”

  “It didn’t to you,” Chelsea said.

  “But then I’ve always had it.”

  Chelsea took the last bite of waffle, raked her fork though the remaining buttery syrup and licked the tines.

  “True.”

  Janet got up, walked to the counter and picked up the coffeepot. She turned. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if Mr. Newkirk’s private investigator can find them.”

  Chelsea held up her cup for a refill. “The waiting’s going to be tough.”

  Janet nodded and poured the coffee.

  “In the meantime, you need to keep busy,” Chelsea said. “Speaking of which, there’s a Hitchcock film festival next weekend. Want to go?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “You love Hitchcock. Besides, it’ll take your mind off things for a while.”

  Janet smiled. “You’re right, as usual.” She slapped Chelsea’s hand. “I hate it when you do that.”

  Chelsea leaned back in her chair and smiled at Janet over the rim of her coffee cup.

  “I missed you those days you were gone.” H
er eyes misted. “I’m sorry your grandmother died, but I’m glad you’re back.”

  “We’re quite a pair,” Janet said. “Lucy and Ethel—that’s us.”

  “With that hair, you’re Lucy all right, and always getting half-baked ideas.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like dousing Miss Austin with water to see if she’ll melt.”

  “I bet she would.” Janet frowned. “But I can’t quite see you as Ethel Mertz.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, then you’d have to be married to Fred. That, my dear friend, is way beneath your capabilities.”

  “Hah! So far my capabilities have been less than zero. Give me another year and old Fred will start looking pretty good.”

  They laughed and talked the morning away. Janet listened as Chelsea filled her in on what had happened while she was away. Nothing much, but Janet liked listening to the sound of her voice.

  On Monday morning, the library welcomed Janet like a much-loved old friend. She passed through the doors and felt as if she’d been away a lifetime. In a way, she had.

  Amanda Austin glanced up from her paper. “You look tired, Janet. Has this been a terrible ordeal for you?” Then she shook her head. “What a ridiculous question. Of course, it’s been terrible. Is there anything I can do?”

  Stuffing her things into the locker, Janet turned to face her. “I appreciate your offer, but everything’s been taken care of.”

  The older woman fanned her paper.

  “Have things gone all right around here?” Janet asked.

  “All right?”

  “With my being gone. I know it was rough on the rest of the staff, being short-handed, I mean.”

  “We’ve had more than enough work to keep us busy.” Amanda Austin pursed her lips and frowned. “What we really need is another employee, but I suppose that’s out of the question with tight budget restraints and all.” She tapped her lips lightly. “Still, it’s something to think about.”

  Janet glanced at her watch when she heard the front door open. “That must be Chelsea,” she said.

  Miss Austin looked at the wall clock then lowered her eyes. “Janet, when you have the time, come to my office.”

  Janet nodded and turned away.

  The morning passed quickly as Janet tackled the backlog of work piled on her desk. Lunch was hurried, with little time for conversation. It was well after three before she looked up and stretched her arms. The stack of work had dwindled sharply. She sighed and arched her back. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, creating ribbons of color around the circular interior, and flickered into the upper stacks where the light was dim. Except for an occasional rustle of paper, the room was quiet.

  A man sat at a corner reading table. He stopped occasionally to scribble on a note pad. A few tables away, a young couple’s disagreement over something contained in the book in front of them was beginning to rise above a whisper.

  The dependable Mrs. Goldman, wearing her standard green felt hat, sat in her usual chair. The old lady came to the library every weekday at precisely two-fifteen, read the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times, and left around three-thirty. Janet had never known her routine to vary more than a few minutes in either direction. Now, as if to prove a point, Mrs. Goldman folded the newspapers, placed them back into their proper racks, and reached for her fur-trimmed chesterfield. Her rubber-tipped cane leaned against the side of the lamp-table on which rested her purse. Gathering these together, she shuffled toward the door. Janet looked at the clock. It was twenty-eight minutes after three.

  Hilda stood behind the counter and accepted a handful of change from some poor soul who had failed to get his books back on time. She frowned as she jingled the coins in her hand and Janet could hear the hateful thoughts running through her head: responsible library patrons do not let books run beyond their due dates. Yanking the small metal cashbox from a shelf under the counter, Hilda flipped open the lid and dumped in the money. She slammed the box beneath the shelf with a heavy thud. The collection was deposited annually, at the end of the year, so by now the box was pretty well full.

  Deciding that this was a good time to take a break, Janet rose from her chair and entered Miss Austin’s private office.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes Janet. Do come in and shut the door.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”

  Like an obedient child, Janet sat down.

  Miss Austin positioned her arms on the desk and laced her fingers together. “How are you, dear? Although you look tired, you seem to be bearing up well.”

  “I’m managing.”

  “I know Mrs. Lancaster’s death has been hard for you. Would you like to talk about it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Nonsense, Janet. When something like this happens it’s always better not to keep it bottled up.” Her voice softened dramatically. “Tell me about your grandmother.” She puckered her lips. “Had she been ill for long?”

  “She hadn’t felt well, but no, not really ill.”

  “She didn’t suffer then?”

  “I hope not. The doctor said her heart just gave out.”

  “I guess the settling of the estate is going to be a big deal. I mean with so much money involved.”

  Janet made no reply.

  “I suppose the rest of the family has been summoned in for the reading of the will?”

  Janet didn’t bother to remind the woman that there were no other family members. Apparently she hadn’t thought the fact important enough to remember.

  “Has a date been set yet?”

  “Date?”

  “For the opening of the will,” she continued to probe.

  Janet was surprised at the woman’s persistence. “It’s already been read,” she said finally.

  “Really.”

  Again Janet made no reply.

  “Such an immense fortune must surely pose legal and dispensation problems. I suppose you’re now a very rich young lady and will be leaving us.” She grimaced an ugly sneer. “Were many people named in the final testament?”

  Janet, feeling slightly violated, rose from the chair. “I have no intentions of leaving the library. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work. There’s still lots to do before I leave for the day, and it’s getting late.”

  “Please forgive me for prying. I know I have no right. But I’m concerned—for the library—of course. Do you know if funding is to continue?”

  “Of course, it will.” Janet’s voice was unusually sharp. “Grandmother was very precise in her instructions. Nothing is to change.”

  “Good. Good.” The woman pursed her lips again. “Naturally, that was my only concern.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Janet said, meeting the ice-hued enameled eyes squarely, “I’ll get back to work.”

  Amanda Austin nodded and turned her attention back to her desk. When she failed to make further comment, Janet left the room.

  Hilda shot an accusing glance in her direction as Janet emerged from the private office. Her bitter glare missed its mark entirely, it was in fact barely noticed, but the probing conversation with Miss Austin left Janet mildly disturbed. A frown puckered her brow and remained there for the rest of the day.

  At five o’clock the staff left the library together. The parking lot was located across a bricked alleyway at the far end of the building and shared space with an office complex next door. The late-autumn wind was brisk and a clear sky promised frost before morning. As they walked to their cars, Janet called goodnight to the other three. Chelsea laughed and waved. Hilda and Miss Austin offered no response.

  Janet reached home. As she started up the steps, she could hear her telephone ringing. Rushing, she lifted the lid to the mailbox beside the front door, yanked out the contents, and hurried inside.

  Tossing the packet of mail on the piano, she picked up the phone.

  “Do you like riddles?”


  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” the voice snapped. “Word games. Riddles. I have one for you.”

  “Look,” Janet said, rubbing her brow. “Get somebody else to play your games with you. I’m too tired to be the least bit interested.”

  “Oh, but you will be, I promise. Come on now, humor me and pay attention: Riddle me thou, riddle me thee. Who did not drown at sea?”

  Janet brushed the tumble of bangs and fingered back a few strands of hair. Good lord, she thought.

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “I was just wondering how smart you are at unraveling mysteries, finding your way though a maze—you know, like a rat. Are you smart as a rat? I have a feeling we’re going to find out.”

  The caller hung up.

  Janet was more annoyed than angry with this immature prankster who apparently had too much time on his hands. She decided that as long as she gave him no encouragement, he’d soon move on to a more able and receptive opponent.

  SEVEN

  It was almost closing time on Friday when Amanda Austin stepped out of her office. She stood in the doorway fingering the top button of her muddy-brown cardigan.

  “I’ve just had a call requesting our copy of the Middlebrook Chronicles,” she said to no one in particular.

  “That old thing,” Chelsea said. “Do we still have it?”

  “I’m sure we do,” she replied.

  She walked to the card file and thumbed through the out-dated books that had yet to be computerized. She plucked an index card from the drawer, squinted at the fading print and shoved the card in Hilda’s direction.

  “You’ll have to swing the ladder around to the far right.” She pointed toward the ceiling, to the topmost row of books. “I think you’ll find it on that last shelf.”

  Hilda’s eyes flickered up from the pile of work in front of her. She accepted the card, frowned at it, and shoved it back.

  “Have someone else do it; I don’t have time. Janet’s not busy.”

  “Here,” Chelsea said, “let me do it.”

  Miss Austin scowled. “You’re supposed to be in the storage room checking off the new shipment that came in this morning. Besides, I didn’t ask you, I asked Hilda.”