Spider Lines

by Terry Trafton

  “Julia and I use Klassy Kleen frequently. Jenna is certainly a lovely young lady, Ben.”

  “She is, and extremely dependable and efficient. I’ll recommend her every chance I get.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Bergman, looking again at the back of the brooch. “I don’t know how I missed that.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a maker’s mark, barely visible, but let me see if I can make it out.” Again, he used the loupe to examine the mark. “It’s a Martin Mayer stamp—German.” He looked at Manning. “I do know Mayer was in Chicago to exhibit at the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893. If it could be traced to the Exposition, it would certainly have tremendous provenance,” he concluded, holding the brooch in the natural light of a large window behind him.

  “You said it was also a locket.”

  “It can be worn either as a brooch or as a locket. These two small eyes are chain fasteners.”

  “I guess the biggest question now is its value.”

  “If you want to sell it, I’d be willing to pay 30,000 dollars.” He regarded Ben who was silent. “I’ve got customers with deep pockets, and they’d pay huge for a piece of this quality.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I am.”

  “Wow, I don’t know what to say, Bob.”

  “The patina suggests it’s been in the same spot for several years, probably since the Atwood family lived in the house.”

  “I certainly appreciate the offer. Let me think about it.”

  “If it’s the price that bothers you, I can assure you it’s a fair offer.”

  “No, it’s not that. I just need to think about it before making any commitment to sell it. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Whatever you say, Ben. The offer stands if you change your mind.”

  Ben thanked him again and went back out into the morning sun, which was not as bright as it had been when he went into the jewelry store. Maybe he had refused Bergman’s offer too quickly. Why should he hang onto a piece of jewelry this valuable? He couldn’t help but feel something was compelling him to keep the brooch. Though $30,000 was certainly a considerable sum of money, Bergman had said the offer would stand, and for now, that was good enough for Manning.

  Chapter 6

  Adrian White called late that afternoon to say he and Dr. Liz Raymond would arrive Friday morning before noon and were planning to stay in Newburgh the entire weekend. “That will give us time for a consistent investigation.”

  “No need to get a hotel. There’s plenty of room here,” he told White.

  “That’s a generous offer, Ben. It would keep us involved in a sustained way, and there’ll be no need to hurry between places. Dr. Raymond and I have discussed at some length what you told me, and we have a few ideas we’re anxious to try. Maybe we can explain what’s happening.”

  In the library, the painting remained unfinished. Standing in front of the canvas, he looked carefully at the veil over the woman’s face and was sure he saw the faint trace of a face behind it—again, one he hadn’t painted. Yet, it was there, and the longer he looked, the more distinguishable were the features. Strangely, when he held it up in the weak sunlight coming in through one of the tall library windows, only the veil was visible. The face was more evident in dimmer light.

  It was much later in the day, in the gray flat tones of evening, when he saw clearly two black eyes staring intensely from behind the transparent veil. As he looked, they became even more intense. The eyes were fixed firmly on his, and the longer he looked at them the more conscious he was of a tightness in his chest. His breathing was irregular and had an audible raspy edge to it. It was as if the eyes were pulling him into the painting, holding him with unexplainable force against which he had no defense. He had the odd impulse to speak.

  “Is it you?” he asked, immediately thinking how ridiculous the question sounded, especially when no other person was present. “Who are you?”

  The index finger with the ring moved. He saw it move. He hadn’t painted the finger in a pronounced position, but there it was, raised slightly and making features of the ring easier to see. Examining the ring more closely, he thought the center stone identical to the black agate in the brooch, and there were other indisputable similarities.

  A loud knocking on the front door startled him and turned him away from the painting. He was not expecting anyone, and when he opened the door, he was surprised to see the jeweler, Bob Bergman, standing in the last rays of a purple sunset that pinched the horizon above the Ohio River.

  “I wanted you to see what I found after you left this morning,” said Bergman.

  Closing the door behind them, Ben showed Bob into the library. “Please excuse the mess.”

  “What mess?” Bob laughed. “Houses are not museums or furniture stores. They’re made to live in, and what you call a mess, I call homey.” He put a picture on the library table. “I thought I had seen the brooch before, and here’s a picture of it.”

  Ben examined the photo. “They sure look the same.”

  “It was sold by Martin Mayer at the Columbian Exposition to John Allen Dale at an undisclosed price. Seems it was an anniversary gift for his wife Esme. If it is in fact the same brooch, as I think it is, the piece has a rather odd narrative attached to it.”

  “In what way?”

  “Esme Eleanor Dale was a devout Spiritualist rumored to have undeniable psychic powers, which she frequently displayed during séances in their Long Island home. Her husband made his fortune largely from investments in the railroad and was a man of some prominence among the New York elites, some of whom were frequently in attendance at Esme’s séances. There are accounts from some in attendance, including John Allen Dale, of the brooch having strange properties.”

  “Properties?” asked Ben curiously. “What sort of properties?”

  “That’s the really strange part. The agate was said to cast strange beams of light at certain times of the day and night. Esme was convinced that it enabled her to connect with ‘the other side’ as she called it.”

  “That’s a real stretch, Bob.”

  “I don’t know. Agate does have properties that allow it to show brighter in sunlight, but this was apparently more than that. There are accounts of jewelry being made specifically for mediums by lapidary specialists who realized the interactive properties of gems, especially the pronounced attributes of crystals.”

  “Then Esme’s intention was to own something more than just a piece of expensive jewelry.”

  “It looks that way. I’m sure there is more to the piece than what I’ve told you. It most likely changed hands when Esme passed a few years later. There was a reference to a John Allen Dale collection sold at Sotheby’s in a 1905 auction in London. The brooch could certainly have changed owners there.”

  “I want you to see something,” Ben said, turning Bergman’s attention to the painting. “Look at this.”

  After looking at the ring, Bergman agreed that it was similar in many respects to the brooch. “It’s not uncommon to see matched sets. There could have been a bracelet, or even a matching necklace.”

  “Seems like overkill, all that bling at once.”

  Bergman smiled. “Although the Victorians liked expensive bling, I doubt if all the pieces were worn at the same time. One thing is sure. We have what I feel is irrefutable provenance, and if you do decide to sell the brooch, this kind of provenance will undoubtedly increase the overall value.”

  “Could there have been more than one of these?”

  “It’s possible. I’ve seen other similar pieces. This kind of jewelry is often made for very affluent people who want something no one else has.”

  “Can I get you something to drink, Bob?”

  “No thanks. I was on my way home and wanted you to know what I discovered. Besides, I wanted to see what you
’re doing with this historic place.”

  “Well, Jenna and Lacey have done the cleaning. Several pieces of furniture were left behind, so I put them where I thought they were placed originally.”

  “Might be some mabui in that furniture,” Bergman smiled.

  “Mabui?”

  “It’s an Asian idea. Inanimate things can take on part of a former owner’s soul, or something like that. The furniture has a kind of immortal soul, which might require exorcism, or a separation ritual called mabui-wakashi.”

  “Really,” Ben answered.

  “A friend of my wife mentioned it once when they were antiquing. It did seem to keep her curious though. She seemed to lose her interest in furniture that other people had owned. Julia can be that way—as superstitious as anyone I know. I don’t think I’d take it too seriously, Ben. Just makes for good conversation when I see antique furniture.”

  “I suppose the house has its own mabui. Several people have lived here at one time or another, and to some extent, I’m living in their lifetimes,” said Ben with enough seriousness to turn the conversation away from trapped souls.

  “It’s the first time I’ve been inside,” admitted Bob. “Quite a place.”

  “Thanks for the information,” Ben said as Bergman prepared to leave.

  “By the way,” he began, “is that a portrait of Anna Atwood you’re painting?”

  “Just an idea I had.”

  “What about the ring? Do you have it?”

  “No, just coincidence,” Manning answered.

  “It’s one peculiar coincidence,” Bob replied, opening the door into the early night.

  Chapter 7

  Drs. Adrian White and Liz Raymond arrived at a few minutes before ten Friday morning. Ben was raking dead leaves into a pile when the black SUV rolled to a stop in the driveway. Waving, he walked across the lawn to meet them. “Nice to see you again, Ben,” Adrian said. “This is Dr. Liz Raymond, a professor of parapsychology at Indiana University.”

  The two shook hands, while White went back to the SUV to get two satchels. The woman was in her 40s and slightly overweight. Her red hair was a stylish cut and hung to her shoulders. Dressed in jeans and a light jacket, she appeared anxious to get started. “What a fabulous location,” she announced after several seconds of surveying both the house and landscape.

  “Glad you could come, Dr. Raymond.”

  “When Adrian told me about your experience, I decided it was too good a chance to pass up.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, but strange things continue to happen.”

  She looked at the house before speaking again. Staring at one of the upstairs windows, she asked, “You live alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s that in the window?”

  Manning looked and saw Jenna looking out at them. “Oh, that’s Jenna Newland. She’s been helping with the cleaning. Actually, she’s been doing the cleaning.”

  Just then, Adrian joined them. “We have some equipment we’d like to unload, Ben . . . just wondering where you want to put it until we decide where to set it up.” Adrian looked at the house as he spoke. “I can just imagine what this place was like a hundred years ago.”

  “Why don’t we put it inside the foyer for now?”

  After the equipment had been offloaded, Ben introduced Jenna, who was coming down the stairs as they entered the house. She had finished for the morning and was on her way to another job. “I’ll finish later if that’s okay,” she said in a breezy voice, which caught Liz Raymond’s attention.

  “That’s fine, Jenna,” Ben replied.

  “Pretty girl,” Liz commented after Jenna left. “Seems to have a lot of energy.”

  “She’s working her way through graduate school.”

  “And smart, too.” Liz smiled.

  “Did she see the figure?” asked Adrian.

  “She did,” Ben answered.

  “Maybe we’ll have a chance to speak with her when she returns,” suggested Liz.

  “Yes,” Ben nodded. “Although she was a bit shaken by what happened, I’m sure she’s put most of that behind her.”

  When they went into the library, Liz stood in the center of the room, looking first at the fireplace. Putting her hand on the mantel, she focused on the small box that contained the brooch. Cocking her head to one side as though listening for something, she turned away from the fireplace abruptly and looked back at Adrian.

  “What is it, Liz?”

  “What a sweet smell,” she said, looking around the room as she spoke. “Flowers, the wonderfully fresh scent of flowers.”

  There was an undeniable aroma in the air, sweet like the fragrance of cut flowers in a vase, though there were no flowers anywhere in the room, only a tall empty vase in the center of a round mahogany table near the doorway. Before either Ben or Adrian could speak, Liz made somewhat casually what both men considered a rather startling declaration. “We’re not alone in this house.”

  Expecting to see someone else, Ben looked around the room. Maybe Jenna forgot something and had come back for it. Except for the three of them, the room was empty.

  Then it was the painting that held her attention. “Who’s that?” she asked, coming closer to get a better look at the unfinished portrait.

  “It’s her, the woman I saw on the stairway, and then again on the lawn near the stone bridge.”

  “What’s this smudge?”

  “A fingerprint. It happened a few nights ago.”

  Dr. Raymond regarded the ring with some curiosity. “It’s her fingerprint.”

  “How can you know that?” Ben asked a bit startled at her quick and emphatic revelation.

  “She has been in this room many times. She’s looking for something.”

  Ben immediately thought about the brooch. At first, he hesitated to reveal the circumstances of the other night, but at length, disclosed what had happened. “I saw a hand and arm come out from behind the easel. The finger with the ring pushed into the paint. Seconds later, the hand and arm disappeared.”

  “Did you see the woman?” Dr. White questioned.

  “No, only the hand and arm.”

  “It was the woman in this painting,” Liz surmised. She was talking to Ben but continued to look around the room and not at him.

  “Yes,” said Ben. “I can’t explain what happened, but it happened. There was a presence. It’s not something I imagined.”

  “And the face behind the veil, did you imagine it?”

  “No. It just appeared on the canvas.”

  “It seems she’s trying to tell you something,” smiled Liz.

  Manning nodded. “Hope you can explain what’s going on, Dr. Raymond. I don’t like to admit it, but I’m becoming a bit uneasy with what’s happening here.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Ben.”

  To check for possible changes in electromagnetic fields, Raymond removed from her jacket an electromagnetic field meter, or EMF, a device shaped like a television remote control. Very slowly, she continued to survey the room with it, pausing at times to observe the readings on the screen. Both Ben and Dr. White watched as she moved the device methodically from one area to the next. On first impression, Raymond might come across as a woman short on personality, but one very long on determination.

  “What’s she doing?” Ben asked.

  “Looking for energy disturbances,” said White. “The paranormal disrupts energy levels.”

  Just then, Liz turned to White. “I think this would be a good place to set up an infrared camera.”

  Undeniably, this energetic woman had a primary agenda that had everything to do with the paranormal. She was all business. Ben felt sure that if there was another presence in Atwood House, Dr. Liz Raymond would find it.

  He showed them two other rooms located at th
e back of the house on the main floor. Liz said little about these rooms, only that the readings on the EMF showed nothing to get excited about. Later, near the main stairway, she hesitated, telling them EMF readings were indicating a disturbance, a possible paranormal presence.

  “Do you feel it?” she asked them.

  “No, nothing unusual,” returned White.

  “Me either,” Ben agreed.

  “Cold, it’s extremely cold here.”

  White sensed his obligation to keep Manning informed, especially when explanation depended on the EMF Liz was using. He came up beside her, looked for a moment at the reading, and then turned to Ben who waited anxiously for him to reveal what was happening.

  As Liz moved through the room, White said, “The EMF can determine instantaneous changes in ambient temperatures, which could suggest a paranormal presence.”

  Liz asked, “Is there another staircase to the upper rooms?”

  “Yes, a small one behind the library.”

  “What’s that room?” Liz asked.

  “The great room.”

  “May we see it?” she requested politely.

  He led them down the hallway, before stopping in front of two large ornate walnut doors. The doors open, standing in front of them was a young woman—and she was holding something in her hand.

  “My God!” whispered Adrian.

  Dr. Liz said nothing but stood with her eyes fixed on the figure directly in front of them. Her face relaxed, she smiled slightly. It was almost as if she expected to find someone there—so Ben thought.

  “Lacey,” Ben said at length. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Hello,” returned Lacey cheerfully, “didn’t mean to startle you. I came in the back way a few minutes ago.”

  “I’d like you to meet Drs. Liz Raymond and Adrian White. They’re here to do research,” Ben informed her.

  Lacey did a little curtsey before saying, “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  “Not at all,” returned Liz affably. “Mr. Manning said you had a paranormal experience in this house.”