Ivy let her friend go. It’s useless, she thought. He’s poisoned Suzanne’s mind. Fighting back the tears, Ivy rushed out of the kitchen toward the stairs. She ran headlong into Gregory and pushed past him. She didn’t bother telling him where Suzanne had gone. She was sure he had been listening to every word.
Ivy didn’t pause to catch her breath until she reached her music room. She slammed the door closed behind her and leaned against it. Keep cool, keep cool, she said to herself.
But she couldn’t stop shaking. She had lost all hope that she could win against Gregory. She needed help, needed someone to assure her that things would get better. She remembered the day Will had driven her back to the train station, how he had believed in her and given her the confidence to believe in herself.
“I’ll find Will,” she said aloud, then turned toward the door and was surprised to see the shimmering gold light. “Tristan!”
His gold light surrounded her. “Yes, Tristan,” he said, within her now.
“Are you all right? Where have you been?” Ivy asked silently. “You were gone so long this time. A lot has happened since you fell into the darkness.”
“I know,” Tristan replied. “Will and Lacey filled me in.”
“Did they tell you about Suzanne? She thinks—she believes whatever Gregory says, and she hates me now, she—” The flood of tears was uncontrollable.
“Shhh. Ivy, shhh. I know about Suzanne,” Tristan told her. “And I’m sorry, but you have to forget about her right now. There are a lot more import—”
“Forget about her?” The tears became furious ones, and Ivy spoke out loud. “He wants to hurt me any and every way he can!”
“Ivy, speak silently,” Tristan reminded her quickly. “I know this is hard for you—”
“You don’t know! You don’t understand how I feel,” Ivy said, sitting down at the piano. She ran her finger sharply up the keyboard.
“Listen to me, Ivy. I found out something you have to know.”
“I can’t keep losing people,” she said.
“There’s something I want to tell you about,” Tristan persisted.
“First I lost you, now Suzanne, and—”
“Will,” he said.
“Will?” The tone of Tristan’s voice, low and firm, alarmed her. “What about Will?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“You can’t trust him.”
“But I do trust him,” Ivy replied, determined not to be persuaded otherwise.
“I just came from searching his house,” Tristan told her.
“Searching?”
“And I found some pretty interesting things there,” he added.
“Like what?” she demanded.
“Books about angels. A tracing of Caroline’s key.”
“Well, what do you expect?” Ivy asked “Of course he’s read about angels. He’s trying to understand exactly what you are and why you’ve come back. And we already knew he was curious enough to look in the envelope that contained the key. I would have done the same thing if I were him,” she added defensively.
“There was also a copy of Beth’s story,” Tristan said. “The one about the woman who committed suicide, the one she recited for your drama club assignment the month before Caroline died. Do you remember it?”
Ivy nodded slowly. “The woman tore up photographs of her lover and his new sweetheart, leaving them like a suicide note when she shot herself.”
“Just as Caroline supposedly tore up photos of Andrew and your mother,” Tristan said.
Once before Ivy had thought about the similarity between Beth’s story and the setup the police had found at Caroline’s house. She had assumed it was another example of the uncanny way Beth anticipated events, but now she realized that Gregory could have borrowed the idea from Beth.
“And there’s a clipping of the story about the girl in Ridgefield,” Tristan went on. “The one who was attacked right after you were, in the exact same way. It worked, didn’t it? The style of attack convinced everyone that it was part of a series of crimes by someone who didn’t know you.”
Ivy dropped her head in her hands, thinking about the girl.
“So what are you saying?” she asked at last. “That Will has figured out a lot more than we thought? I’m glad. I wanted to protect him, but now there’s no reason to hold anything back.”
“But there is a reason,” Tristan replied quickly. “Will has something else. The jacket and cap.”
Ivy sat up straight. How had he gotten the clothes? Did he know they were important evidence? Why hadn’t he told her?
“Oh, he knows they’re important,” Tristan answered her thoughts. “They were wrapped carefully in plastic bags and hidden with everything else.”
“But I never told him what I saw. I never told him what tempted me to cross the tracks, and that story wasn’t released to the papers.”
“So either he was in on it—”
“No!” said Ivy.
“—or he’s somehow figured it out. Maybe Eric told him something. In any case, he knows a lot more than he’s telling either of us.”
Ivy remembered the day at the station when they had caught Eric searching the drainage ditch by the side of the road. Will must have already found the cap and jacket. He was faking it in front of Eric—and her.
She stood up abruptly, pushing back the piano bench.
“Ivy?”
She mentally pushed Tristan away and walked over to the window. Dropping down on her knees, Ivy rested her arms and chin on the windowsill.
“Ivy, talk to me. Don’t push me away.”
“He’s just trying to help us,” Ivy said. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than that.”
“How can he be helping when he’s hiding things from us?”
“Because he thinks that’s what’s best,” she replied, though she knew it didn’t make sense. “I know him. I trust him.”
“Suzanne trusts Gregory,” Tristan pointed out.
“It’s not the same!” Ivy cried, thrusting Tristan out of her mind altogether. “It’s not the same!”
She had cried out loud, and for a moment she thought she heard her own voice reverberating in the room. Then she realized the shouting came from below. Suzanne was calling out. Ivy heard Gregory’s voice drowning out Suzanne’s. She rushed down to her bedroom and raced across the second-floor hall to the back set of steps. Suzanne was hurrying up the narrow stair, her long black hair fanning out behind her, her face pale and glistening with perspiration. She clutched the copper cup in which Ivy had fixed her soda.
Gregory trailed her. “Suzanne,” he said, “give Ivy a chance to explain.”
Suzanne threw back her head and laughed wildly, so wildly she almost fell backward down the stair. Then she looked at Ivy, and Ivy knew something was terribly wrong.
“I can’t wait,” Suzanne said. “I can’t wait to see how she explains this one.”
Suzanne shoved the soda toward Ivy, forcing her to take the cup in her hands. Then she uncurled her left fist. In the damp palm of her friend’s hand, Ivy saw a round orange pill. Ivy glanced quickly at Gregory, then back at the tablet.
“What is it?” Suzanne asked. “Tell me, what did I find in my drink?”
“It looks like a vitamin,” Ivy said cautiously.
“A vitamin!” Suzanne shrieked with laughter, but Ivy saw the tears in her friend’s eyes. “That’s good,” Suzanne sputtered. “A vitamin. What were you going to do, Ivy? Send me on a nice trip like Eric’s? You’re crazy. You’re a screwed-up, crazy, jealous witch.” She dropped the orange tablet in the soda. “Here, let’s put the vitamin back. Now you drink it, drink all of it.”
Ivy stared down at the copper-colored cup. She knew that Gregory had set her up, and she figured it was harmless, but she couldn’t take the chance.
“Swallow it,” Suzanne said, tears running down her face. “Swallow the vitamin.”
Ivy put her hand over the top of the cup and shook her head. She saw Suzanne�
�s mouth jerk.
Suzanne turned, ducked under Gregory’s arms, and ran down to the first floor. Gregory followed her. Ivy sank down on the steps and dropped her head to her knees. She didn’t try to hide the tears, though she knew that Gregory paused to look over his shoulder, enjoying the view.
P3-13
Tristan thought that warning Ivy about Will would have made him feel good. After all, his suspicions were right. Will was not admitting to them what he knew, and he wasn’t telling them how he knew it Now Ivy could trust only Tristan. He should have felt smart and victorious—at least satisfied. He didn’t No matter how much they needed and loved each other, he and Ivy stood on either side of an uncrossable riven
Monday evening the world seemed grayer, chillier to him. He stood outside of Caroline’s dark house and felt the autumn coming on like a creature who has no home. When Tristan slipped through the walls, he felt like an intruder, a ghost who haunted, not an angel who helped those he loved. He longed to be with Ivy, but he didn’t dare go to her now. He knew the information about Will had hurt and angered her. Now that he had told her, what could Tristan say to make things better?
“Tristan?”
He looked around, surprised.
“Tristan?”
He wanted so much to hear Ivy’s voice that he thought he did.
“Are you in there?” she called. “Let me in.”
Tristan hurried to the door, focusing quickly in order to materialize his fingers. They kept slipping on the latch as he struggled to undo it. He wondered if it looked strange to Ivy when the door of the darkened house swung slowly in on its hinges.
She stepped inside and stopped just within the moonlit rectangle made by the gaping door. In the silver light her hair shimmered, and her skin looked as pale as an apparition’s. For a moment Tristan believed something terrible and wonderful had happened, and she had come to him as a spirit like himself. But then he saw how she turned toward him, her eyes full of love but unfocused, the way eyes see a glow, but not the features of a face.
“I love you.” They shared that thought, and he moved easily inside her mind.
“I’m sorry, Tristan,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I pushed you out like that.”
He was so glad to be with her, so glad she had come to him, he couldn’t speak for a moment. “I know I hurt you when I told you about Will,” he said at last
She gave a little shrug and closed the door behind them. “You had to tell me the truth.”
Tristan knew from the small shrug that the news still upset her. I should make her talk about it, he thought I should remind her that she’ll fall in love again, there will be someone else she’ll love one day—
“I love you, Tristan,” Ivy said. “Please, no matter what happens, promise you won’t forget that.”
Another time. They could talk about the future another time.
“Are you listening?” Ivy asked. “I know you’re there. You’re cloaking, Tristan. Are you angry?”
“I’m wondering,” he said. “How did you know to come here?”
He felt the smile on her lips. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I guess I just needed to see you so badly, and after this afternoon, I didn’t think you’d come when I called. I Figured it was up to me to find you. I got in the car and drove, and here’s where I ended up.”
He laughed. “Here’s where you ended up. After all this is over, you and Beth are going to have to open a shop—Palms, Tea Leaves, and Telepathy.”
“You could join us for séances,” Ivy suggested. Her smile warmed him through.
“Lyons, Van Dyke, and Spirit. Sounds good,” he said, but he knew that when his mission was over he wouldn’t come back. None of the angels Lacey had known ever returned.
Ivy was still smiling as she walked around Caroline’s kitchen. He saw through her eyes as they slowly adjusted to the dark. “It looks as if you’ve been searching the house,” she said, observing the open kitchen drawers and cabinet doors that hung ajar.
“Lacey and I searched here back in August, long before you got the key, but we didn’t leave the place like this,” he replied. “Someone else has been here since.”
He heard the thought, though she tried hard to repress it. Will.
“It could have been a lot of people,” Tristan said quickly. “Gregory or Eric. Or Will,” he added as softly as possible. “Or even that guy who visits Caroline’s grave and leaves her red roses.”
“I saw a long-stemmed rose there.”
“Did you see him?” Tristan asked as Ivy peeked inside the open cupboards. Most of them were empty, but she found a flashlight in a shallow drawer.
“No. What’s he look like?”
“Tall, slim, dark-haired,” Tristan replied. “His name is Tom Stetson, and he works at Andrew’s college. Lacey followed him around at your Labor Day party. Ever hear anyone talk about him?”
Ivy shook her head, then said suddenly, “If I shake my head, or make a face, I guess you don’t know it when you’re inside me.”
“I know it. I feel it. I love it when you smile.”
The smile grew so that it seemed to wrap itself around him.
“So what do you think?” Ivy asked. “Was Tom Stetson Caroline’s new love? Was he involved somehow?”
“I don’t know,” Tristan said, “but both he and Gregory must have a key to this house. I think Tom’s the one who’s been boxing things up.”
“And searching through cupboards and drawers at the same time,” Ivy said.
“Maybe.”
She reached for the string around her neck and pulled out the key that was dangling beneath her shirt. Under the beam of the flashlight, its silver shaft and two jagged teeth gleamed.
“Well, I’m the one who’s got the key,” she said. “Now if we can just find the lock …”
They began to search together. In the living room they discovered a desk with a locked drawer which had been forced open. Close by, on the mantel, was a box with a brass lock whose hinges had been broken. It now lay empty. Ivy tested the key in both locks and found that it had not been made for either.
In the bedroom Tristan called Ivy’s attention to a rectangular design pressed into a bureau cloth, as if a heavy box had sat there for a long time but was gone now. Caroline’s closet was still full of shoes and purses, which looked as if they had been searched. Ivy pulled them out and felt behind them. They moved on to other rooms. An hour and a half later, their search had turned up nothing.
“There’s a lot of junk here, but we’re not getting anywhere,” Tristan said, frustrated.
Ivy sank down in the corner of the hallway. He noticed that she avoided sitting in any of Caroline’s chairs.
“The problem is, we don’t know what’s been carried out of here already or where it’s been carried to,” Ivy observed, “If only we had some clue about what we were looking for.”
“How about Beth?” Tristan asked suddenly. “What if we got her to help? She has a sixth sense. Maybe if you show her the key, let her hold it and meditate on it, she’ll be able to tell us where to look—at least give us a hint.”
“Good idea.” Ivy glanced at her watch. “Can you come with me?”
Tristan knew that he shouldn’t. He was tired and needed to pace himself if he wanted to keep from falling into the darkness. But he couldn’t give her up. Something told him there was not much time left for him to spend with Ivy.
“I’ll come, but I’d better just observe,” he said. He was quiet most of the way to Beth’s house.
Mr. Van Dyke must have been getting used to Ivy’s calling at unexpected times. Standing in the doorway, he glanced at her over his half glasses and law brief, hollered “Beth!” and left Ivy to find her way upstairs.
Tristan was startled by the sight of Beth and her room, but Ivy told him silently, “She’s been writing.”
Beth blinked at Ivy as if she were worlds away. A binder clip held her hair in a lopsided ponytail. An old pair of glasses sat partway down
her nose; they also were lopsided, since they were missing an arm. She wore baggy gym shorts and scuzzy-looking slippers with animal heads on them and popcorn embedded in their fur.
Ivy reached toward Beth and pulled a yellow Post-it off her T-shirt. “‘Lovely, lingering, delicate, devious, delicious,’” she read, then said, “I’m really sorry about barging in like this.”
“That’s okay,” Beth replied cheerfully, and reached for the Post-it “I was looking for this—thanks.”
“It’s just that we need your help.”
“We? Oh.” Beth closed the bedroom door quickly and cleared a spot on the bed, dumping folders and notebooks on the floor. She studied Ivy’s face, then smiled. “Hello, Mr. Glow,” she said to Tristan.
“Beth, do you remember the envelope Eric’s sister gave me?”
Ivy asked.
Tristan saw the sudden brightness in Beth’s eyes. She had watched Ivy open the envelope at the cemetery and must have been dying with curiosity.
“This is what was in it.” Ivy pulled out the key and placed it in Beth’s hand.
“It looks as if it goes to a box,” Beth said, “or a drawer. It could be an old door key, but I don’t think so—it doesn’t look long enough.”
“The envelope it came in had Caroline’s name and address on it,” Ivy said. “We’ve been searching her house but can’t find what it goes to. Can you work on it? You know, keep it for a while and think about it and see if anything comes to you?”
Tristan saw Beth draw back. “Oh, Ivy, I—”
“Please.”
“She’s afraid,” Tristan said softly to Ivy. “You have to help her. Her own predictions have frightened her.”
“I’m not asking you to predict anything,” Ivy said quickly. “Just hold it and think about it and see what comes to you. No matter how strange or ordinary it seems, it may be a clue to tell us where to look.”
Beth looked down at the key. “I wish you hadn’t asked me, Ivy. When I do something like this, it stirs up all kinds of other things in my mind, things I don’t understand, things that frighten me sometimes.” She turned and looked longingly at the computer screen on her desk, where the cursor blinked, waiting for her to return to her story. “I wish you hadn’t asked me.”
Kissed by an Angel/The Power of Love/Soulmates Page 40
