The Book of Secrets
Page 14
The office door hung ajar, and I pushed it open further. The room was empty, and the other door, the one leading to the stairs, stood open. “Viv, are you up there?”
“Come on up,” she called out, her voice distant.
I ascended the stairs, following the faint trail of Viv’s footprints as they’d disturbed the dust. A dim light burned at the halfway landing, casting long shadows that would have made me nervous if I’d been the nervous type. Which I wasn’t. I hurried a little faster and found Viv standing at the locked door, grinning like someone who’d just won first place in a cheese-eating contest.
“What are you doing up here?”
“Satisfying your curiosity.” She took hold of the knob, turned gently, and pushed the door open.
“Viv—”
“Nobody’s been up here in years. It’s hardly trespassing. And it’s your store now.”
“Sort of,” I protested, but it was weak and I didn’t believe it myself.
“So let’s explore,” Viv said, and went through the doorway.
The floorboards of the narrow hall beyond still had traces of wax under the dust I kicked up as I entered. The walls here were painted dark cream, interrupted only by a pair of doors facing each other, with a third door a little way farther down the hall. Beyond that, the hallway opened up into a larger space. I dithered briefly over the doors, then hurried along to the end of the hall, following Viv, who hadn’t hesitated.
“This is so old,” Viv said, pointing at a very old-fashioned switch that looked like a bell stuck to the wall.
“Don’t touch it, you’ll electrocute yourself!”
“Please. It’s not like there’s any power in here.” She pushed the switch. To my surprise a few of the lights came on, though one bulb flickered and then went dead with an electric sizzle. I blinked in the sudden light, dazed by my surroundings.
White-draped shapes filled the room, low and hunched as if they were hiding from someone. I lifted the sheet from the nearest one and found a sofa that looked like it had come off the set of a World War II period drama, its maroon velvet upholstery fresh and new. More sheets hid end tables, chairs, and a radio in a cabinet the size of a small refrigerator. I went to the window and looked down on the street, where cars passed in complete ignorance of the find we’d just made.
“This is amazing. It’s like a museum,” Viv said. “I wonder how long it’s been since someone lived here?”
“Seventy years, maybe.” There was a kitchen next to the living room, complete with oven and an antique refrigerator whose electrical cord coiled loosely on the floorboards next to it. When I dared open it, it smelled cool and clean, not of rancid meat. A little wooden table with two chairs stood positioned perfectly in the center of the room, with one of the chairs pushed out slightly as if someone had stepped away for a moment. I rested my hand on the curve of that chair’s back, which was shaped like an ocean wave. “I wonder if Lucia knows about this?”
“Or it’s been forgotten over the years, and we’re the first people to set foot in here since it was shut up.” Viv had the door of the refrigerator open and was examining the tiny freezer compartment, no bigger than a couple of stacked ice cube trays. “The cupboards are all empty. Let’s see what those doors are.”
The single door in the hallway turned out to be a bathroom, with a claw-footed tub (no shower), a pedestal sink, and a toilet that seemed too short for the room. The water was still running, as I found when I worked the faucet a few times and flushed the toilet. “Running water, electricity—why all that when no one is using the place?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t it make you want to take a bath?”
“It just makes me more curious.”
I tried the next door, the one on the right; it creaked as I pushed it open, but the light came on when I pressed the switch. The room smelled of old leather and some woody musk I didn’t recognize, a man’s smell, and the desk taking up most of the space was a man’s desk, all wood and polished brass, like something better suited to a yacht than a mysterious old apartment.
“I’m getting a picture of the guy who lived here,” Viv said. “He wore his hair parted in the middle and greased, and he had a big mustache stained with the nicotine from his pipe, which he always smoked while doing The New York Times crossword puzzle.”
“And he always wore a three-piece suit,” I said, thinking of the man from the photo downstairs. “Except he’s bald.”
“Bald, hairy, whatever. Look, all the drawers are empty too.”
“That’s not.” A waist-high bookcase containing a full set of Encyclopedia Britannica for the year 1932 stood to the left of the desk. I moved the books around, hoping for something useful, but found only dust. I folded back the sheet covering the chair and ran my fingers over the buttery soft leather, red as cinnamon and creased with use. “I’m starting to feel like an intruder.”
“I’m not. I think he likes having us here. I think he’s sad his beautiful home has been empty all this time.”
“I think we’re both talking as if he’s here listening in.”
“Don’t you feel like he is? This place has such incredible personality.”
I nodded, and stroked the leather again. “That last room has to be a bedroom.”
It was an oddly feminine bedroom, in contrast to the office. The headboard and footboard were carved with roses, as was the dresser (when I looked under the sheet), and there was a vanity table that clearly belonged to a woman. I mentally added a woman to the image of the man from the photo. “A husband and wife, maybe?”
“Maybe it belonged to one of the custodians of Abernathy’s.”
“Or maybe to the people who lived here before Abernathy’s arrived in this country. It was moved here in 1938, and suppose Silas didn’t want to live above the store?” But the idea of this being Silas Abernathy’s home, once upon a time, had taken hold of me with both hands. I checked the dresser drawers—empty. “Whoever they were, I hope they were happy here.”
Viv sat at the vanity table, admiring herself in the shadowed mirror. “I’d like to live here. Do you suppose the refrigerator still works?”
“Who knows?” I felt suddenly irritable and didn’t know why. “Let’s lock up and go have dinner. Mom’s making Swedish meatballs.”
“Am I invited?”
“She’ll make enough for an army. Of course you’re invited. I don’t suppose you can lock that door again?”
Viv fiddled with the lock for a few minutes before declaring success. “I don’t know why you want it locked. You might want to come up here again.”
“I just don’t like the idea of it lying open to any intruder.”
“Do you get a lot of intruders in Abernathy’s?”
“I didn’t say it was rational, I said I didn’t like it.”
“Okay, jeez, calm down. You’re acting like I suggested eating puppies or something.” Viv waited for me to lock the front door and pocket the keys. “When what I want to eat is Swedish meatballs.”
I glanced up at the window above the front door. I’d accidentally left it open more than a sliver, though I couldn’t see more than blackness through the gap. “Me too,” I said, but my mind was still on the timeless peace of the lost apartment.
did two auguries Tuesday morning that ended with me stuffing yet more fat envelopes of cash into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. I really needed to figure out where to take it. Abernathy’s had to have a bank account somewhere, right? Though I hadn’t found a checkbook or anything to indicate that this was true.
It also made me wonder who actually owned Abernathy’s. Custodian implied guardianship, not ownership, but Lucia hadn’t said anything, and now I found myself daydreaming about possibilities over the stacks of cash. Maybe it was a shadowy cabal of magi who used the money to fund their covert operations. Maybe it was a corporation traded openly on the New York stock exchange, and if that were the case, wouldn’t the stockholders be surprised at its activities!
I heard the door slam and kicked the drawer shut. “Coming,” I said, “coming!” I hurried into the store. A middle-aged woman waited at the counter, flipping through the pages of Master Your Potential! that I still hadn’t gotten rid of. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for an augury,” she said, holding out a slip of paper. She wore black leather driving gloves and a fur-trimmed white parka, and her hair was pale blond and done in a sort of Marlene Dietrich wavy bob.
“All right, give me a minute.”
“I’m in a hurry.” Her voice, a deep drawl with a Southern twang to it, sounded lazy and not at all in a hurry. I resisted the urge to shoot back a witty, cutting remark, mostly because it was unprofessional and not at all because I couldn’t think of anything witty to say, and read what she’d written: How do I kill my husband?
I dropped the slip of paper, which fluttered silently to the floor. “I—is this really your question?”
“Is there a problem?”
“Well… yes! I don’t think—”
“I didn’t ask you to think. I asked you for an augury.”
“But—”
The woman took a few steps toward me. “The custodian of Abernathy’s swears to keep customer auguries confidential. Are you saying you can’t do that?”
I faced her down. “I’m saying I can’t perform an augury on this subject.”
“That’s also against the rules. You can’t refuse someone an augury.”
“Then take it up with whoever makes the rules, because I won’t do it.”
The woman crouched to pick up the paper. “Do you know who I am?”
“No.”
“Good.” She turned on her heel and slammed out of the store. I ran after her quickly enough to see her get into a rather elderly Toyota Camry and pull away from the curb.
I whipped out my phone and began to call Lucia, but hung up before it rang more than twice. What, exactly, did I expect Lucia to tell me? It wasn’t as if she were custodian of Abernathy’s. But what was my responsibility here? If that woman wanted to kill her husband, there wasn’t any way I could stop her, and I couldn’t call the police and tell them someone wanted me to predict their future murder. I put my phone away and straightened up the stack of books. I really needed that instruction manual, but as far as I could tell, it wasn’t in the store.
The door slammed open again, making me jump. “You leave my father alone,” Judy said, coming up to within an inch of my face. I stepped back involuntarily. “I know you’ve been spreading rumors. Stop now or I’ll make your life miserable.”
“I’m not spreading rumors,” I said, feeling a trifle guilty—but then I’d mostly listened to other people suggesting Rasmussen had cast that illusion, as opposed to claiming he’d done so myself, so what did I have to feel guilty about? “But don’t you think it means something that everyone seems to have come to the same conclusion?”
“As if he’d waste magic on a… a usurper like you,” Judy snapped. “Nobody believes those rumors. You’re making yourself look even less worthy to be Abernathy’s custodian than you already do.”
“Like you care,” I shot back. “You think it’s not obvious that your father would do just about anything to get you into this place? You’re the one who looks like a fool.”
“You don’t know anything and you’re going to destroy the store.”
“I’m doing just fine.”
“You are not. You don’t know a thing about the upcoming augury, you haven’t made any deposits at the bank, you don’t do a thing except fumble around and make cow eyes at Campbell whenever he shows up.”
“I don’t—wait.” I stepped forward, forcing her back. “How do you know I haven’t made any deposits? You’ve been spying on me!”
Judy’s cheeks were already red, but I thought she looked embarrassed. She looked me straight in the eye and said, “This is my calling and I have a duty. You ought to remember that.”
“You only have a duty because you decided you did. I signed a contract and the oracle works through me. Again, I have to wonder—why didn’t Mr. Briggs bring you in instead of me?”
“Nathaniel was unhinged because he knew he was going to die.”
“So you say. Maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe the oracle told him who would be next. And it wasn’t you.”
Judy’s red cheeks paled. “That’s not true.”
“I don’t know if it is or not. I just know I want you and your father to quit harassing me. I may not know much about this world of yours, but I know there are tribunals and I think there are laws about how magi can treat the custodians of Neutralities. Now get out of this store before I have to find out what those are.”
Judy shook her head angrily. “I’m warning you, leave my father alone.” She slammed the door behind herself.
I slammed my fist down on the glass top of the counter, then rubbed the pain away. I was even more convinced Rasmussen was behind the illusion, because why would Judy have bothered denying it if she weren’t afraid people were getting too close to the truth? And if he were behind the illusion because he wanted Judy as the custodian, why couldn’t he have murdered Mr. Briggs, too? I pulled out my phone. “It’s Helena,” I said to Lucia’s voice mail. “I was wondering how the murder investigation was going. I had an idea I wanted to ask you about. Maybe it’s not about the blackmail after all.”
No one else came in that morning. Lucia didn’t call back. I dusted the shelves and swiped most of the giant cobweb out of the corner, ate my lunch (leftover Swedish meatballs, even better when reheated) and searched the office yet again for the instruction manual, or, failing that, a checkbook. I toyed with the idea of counting the money in the bottom drawer, decided I was happier not knowing the total, and went back into the store to sit behind the register and daydream. I did not make cow eyes at Campbell. Just because he was good-looking, and had that smile that made his cheek dimple… wonderful, now I was making cow eyes and no one was there. That was probably fortunate for me.
The door banged open. I made a promise to myself to hire a carpenter to get that looked at. “Miss Davies,” said a short, round man wearing a suit that made him look like a banker. He was followed by the blond Marlene Dietrich look-alike from earlier. He was expressionless. She looked like she’d found the cream pot and taken a good long drink.
“Can I help you?” I said, straightening.
“You can help Mrs. Daigle with her augury,” the man said. “I realize you’re new, but you should know Abernathy’s never turns away anyone with the wherewithal to pay.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”
“Mr. Ragsdale. I’m on the Board of Neutralities. We monitor their activities and make sure the custodians follow the rules. And accepting all augury requests is one of the rules of Abernathy’s.”
“But if the augury is to commit—”
The man held up one fat finger. “Auguries are confidential. You swore never to reveal your customers’ requests. If you break that oath, we can have you removed. Do you understand?”
Mrs. Daigle’s smile was broader now. I wanted to punch it off her face. “I understand.” I held out my hand. “The augury slip?” Mrs. Daigle handed it over. The contents hadn’t changed. My face burning with fury, I hopped off my stool and strode between the nearest bookcases.
I was used to the calm peacefulness of the oracle. This time, I walked into a storm. Wind whipped at me from all directions, ruffling pages and making covers thump and rattle. It so closely matched my mood I felt vindicated. I won’t do it. I’ll pick the wrong book.
I reached out to
take a book at random and yanked my hand back when an arc of bluish electricity snapped at my fingers. Swearing, I sucked on my fingertips and moved on. So Abernathy’s wasn’t happy about this, but had no choice in the matter? Maybe I did believe the store was alive.
I moved quickly through the stacks, looking for the familiar blue light. Nothing. The wind battered me, blew hair into my face rapidly enough it felt it was slashing my skin, but I saw nothing to indicate the woman’s augury. A stack of books fell off one of the bookcases, but I left it alone, unwilling to risk being shocked again. The book had to be here somewhere.
I went to the far back corner and made my way forward, covering ground as thoroughly as I could, given the random arrangement of shelves. No lights. Just the endless wind. “Where is it!” I shouted, not sure whether I wanted a reply or not. “Tell me what to do!”
The wind blasted me, howling in my ears like a demented dog. My eyes watered, and I wiped them with my sleeve. “If there’s no augury, tell me! But don’t waste my time anymore.”
As I finished speaking, the wind gave one final scream, then vanished. My ears rang like church bells in the dead silence that followed. “There’s no augury?” I asked. My words echoed back to me as if the stacks were a vast canyon—nononoaugaugaugury.
I combed through my untidy hair with my fingers and returned to the front door. “There’s no augury,” I said, handing the slip back to Mrs. Daigle. “I’m sorry.” I hoped I didn’t sound as triumphant as I felt. I didn’t need these people thinking I was mocking them.
“Impossible. You’re lying,” Mrs. Daigle said. “Ragsdale, make her do her duty.”
“You’re certain?” Ragsdale said to me.
“Very certain. Abernathy’s rejected her request.”
“I see.” Ragsdale nodded at me. “Thank you, Miss Davies.”