Moonshadows

by Mary Ann Artrip

“And the rose?”

  “All of it, Chelsea. I think he’s behind everything that’s happened. Last night was just the latest attempt to get me out of the way—heck, let’s not quibble with words—to bump me off by sending me over the cliff and making it look like an accident. If I turn up dead everything in the will goes to him.”

  Chelsea fingered the rolled edge of her napkin. “This is all too much of a coincidence for even a numbskull, let alone two girls as practical as we are. I think you have to call the police.”

  Janet sighed. “I don’t know. You know how I am when my imagination kicks into high gear; I get a little crazy sometimes. Still, it’s funny that Stephen turned up in Middlebrook right after grandmother died, and that he just happened to move into my condo complex.”

  “If you ask me, that doesn’t show a lot of original creativity—for a writer.”

  “Maybe he’s going more for convenience than originality,” Janet reasoned.

  “Would Etienne know about the will?”

  Janet nodded. “It’s a public document and filed for probate.”

  Chelsea dabbed the corner of her mouth, a frown ribbing the usually satin skin between her eyes. “Janet, unless I’m wrong, Stephen’s the American translation for the French name Etienne.”

  Janet smirked. “If it is him—and again I say if—it would be just like him to do something that cute, to see if I’d catch on.” She nibbled her lip. “Just like the stupid riddles. He gives me clues but I don’t know what they mean. It’s like he’s daring me to uncover his identity.”

  “Are you going to say something to him? Give him a chance to explain? Anything?”

  “And let him know that I’m onto him? Huh-uh, I don’t think so.”

  Chelsea squinted. “Not very charitable of you to condemn a person without a hearing.”

  “Oh I’ll give him a chance, all right. I’ve got a plan.”

  Chelsea held out her hands. “Well, of course—Lucy has a plan. Are we going to wear costumes and do something sneaky?”

  “Costumes, no. Sneaky? Definitely.” Janet leveled her gaze into the cool and reasonable eyes across the table. “There are answers to all this mad mischief, and nobody’s going to hand them over to me on a silver platter. I’ve thought it all out. I’m going to break into Stephen’s apartment. That’s the only way I’ll find out exactly who he really is and what he’s up to.”

  “Janet!”

  “Well, what do you expect me to do, sit here like some whimpering schoolgirl waiting for him to try to kill me again? Next time he might succeed.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  Janet wagged her head. “Huh-uh. I won’t let you.”

  “Oh? You can stop me?”

  “Chels, I don’t want you getting into trouble. You’re not the type to have your face plastered on a wanted poster; you’re too classy. Besides, Ethan Chandler would never understand.”

  “I’m going.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Ethan?”

  She shrugged. “He’ll just have to deal with it. Besides, he’s a good lawyer, plus he likes me. He’ll defend us in court.”

  Janet smiled. “He likes you, huh? Enough to throw his body across the judge’s bench and beg mercy for two crackpots?”

  Chelsea hefted her shoulders. “Whatever it takes, I’m going.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Just tell me when.”

  Janet nodded. “He goes out of town a lot. We’ll just sit tight and wait for our chance.”

  Their eyes met and held. And their bond deepened.

  On Friday the library staff sat in the lounge, the morning paper distributed among them, and waited for time to open the doors. Chelsea was reading the women’s section, Sebastian had arts and entertainment, and Janet skimmed the funnies.

  Sebastian folded his section and laid it on the table.

  “There’s an art exhibition of P. Buckley Moss going on this week,” he said. “Anybody up for going?”

  Chelsea smiled. “You can put me in the ‘yes’ column.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Janet?”

  Janet looked up. “Huh?”

  “How about it? Want to make it three for the Moss exhibit?”

  “Sure, why not. When?”

  Sebastian looked at Chelsea. “Tonight?”

  Chelsea nodded.

  “Janet?”

  Janet shrugged. “Fine with me.”

  Sebastian laughed. “Then how about showing a little enthusiasm. I must say you seem to have lost a lot of your spirit lately. Is anything wrong?”

  Janet gave a guilty grin. “Sorry. I promise to do better.”

  “Okay then,” he said and placed the palm of his hand on her head. “All is forgiven, my child. Go and sin no more.”

  Janet laughed. “Thank you Father. I’ll remember you at my next confession.”

  Sebastian glanced at Chelsea. “Now what do you think this soul of innocence would have to confess?”

  “Beats me,” Chelsea said. “Maybe somebody cut her off in traffic this morning and she called them a bad name.”

  “Hush, you two,” Janet said. “And about tonight, since the gallery’s on my end of town, why don’t we meet at my place and go from there?”

  “I’ll drive,” Chelsea said.

  Before either of them could reply, Amanda Austin stuck her head through the doorway.

  “People. It’s nine o’clock.”

  The day proceeded much like all other library days. Sebastian joined Janet and Chelsea in the staff lounge for lunch. They talked about art and music and recent literary releases. It was a little more than a half-hour later that they returned to work.

  Miss Austin was standing behind the counter, a frown furrowing her brow and edging her marble-hard eyes closer together.

  “Who moved the cash box?”

  Janet and Chelsea looked at each other. Sebastian shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well, it’s gone. Somebody moved it.”

  Janet stepped in her direction. “I’m sure it’s there someplace. Maybe it got pushed to the back.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Amanda Austin’s voice was incredulous. “I wouldn’t ask who moved it if I hadn’t searched the shelf thoroughly. It’s simply not here. I think it’s been stolen.”

  “Stolen!” Chelsea repeated. “Who would bother to steal such a piddling little amount money? Why, I bet there wasn’t even a hundred dollars in it.”

  Sebastian laughed. “I guess the obvious one is me, since I’m the new kid on the block.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Miss Austin snapped.

  “I still think it’s here somewhere,” Janet said, sounding a note of optimism. “I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

  “I should hope so,” Miss Austin said. Her marble eyes glinted at the trio. “I’d hate to have to report to the board of directors that we have a thief in our employ.”

  “A thief!” Chelsea exploded. “Don’t you think that’s an utterly awful thing to say?”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?” Amanda Austin tugged at the top button on her cardigan and turned toward her office. “We shall surely see.”

  The three watched as she closed the office door behind her. Then they turned their astounded gazes upon each other.

  At home that evening, Janet checked the mail while she nuked a bowl of mac and cheese and thought about the missing cashbox. The microwave churned out its boring buzz and she was glad she had agreed to the art showing. The phone rang just as she ripped open the electric bill from Middlebrook Light and Power. Sheriff Wiley was on the other end.

  “The car’s in the carriage house, Janet,” he said.

  The news left her speechless. She had been so sure—so positive.

  “I guess I didn’t see it after all.”

  “You really should keep that vehicle covered though. A machine that old has to be protected from dust and grime.”

  “But it—” Janet started to say,
before catching herself. “Thanks Lije. I appreciate your checking on it for me.”

  “Anytime, Janet. Anytime.”

  So, the car had been moved. Stephen must have been in a terrible hurry not to take the time to replace the tarp—he had been so careful with it before. Something kept niggling her brain: what if it wasn’t him?

  Around eight Janet, Chelsea, and Sebastian trouped into the art gallery to view the exhibit of wonderfully rotund children, skating ponds, and snow geese. The trio sipped punch as they strolled the length of the spot-lighted-walls. They took their time, sometimes going back for a second look to settle a point being discussed. They all agreed on the Moss genius.

  An hour later they were back in Chelsea’s car heading for Janet’s apartment.

  “I’ve got a great new herbal tea,” Janet said as Chelsea pulled in behind Janet’s car. “Anybody game?”

  “Me, me,” Chelsea said.

  “Dare I refuse?” Sebastian said from the back seat.

  Janet laughed. “You darenth.”

  They chatted and jostled up the sidewalk and into Janet’s apartment. She collected their coats and hung them in the closet.

  “Sit,” she said. “I’ll start the water and rustle up some snacks.”

  “Need any help?” Chelsea asked.

  “You keep Sebastian company. It won’t take a jiffy.”

  Janet listened as Chelsea pointed out the crystal menagerie, and then their conversation turned to art and her painting hanging over the sofa. Sebastian offered complimentary remarks about color techniques and brush strokes, and then there was the tinkling of piano keys. Janet stepped back to the doorway and watched when his long clever fingers tinkled across the keyboard as he played the first few bars of “Scarborough Fair.” He glanced at her, lifted his hands from the keys, and stuffed them under his thighs.

  “Don’t stop,” Janet said.

  He smiled and dropped his hands back to the keys.

  Janet slid a laden tray onto the coffee table and stood listening to the music. Chelsea was sitting at the end of the sofa cradling the crystal unicorn in her hands. Of all the animals in Janet’s collection, the unicorn was her favorite. She called him ‘Unnie.’

  Sebastian closed his eyes and lowered his russet mane. He played with a passion that seemed to take on a life all its own. When he came to the end, the notes faded so gradually that Janet was surprised when they were enveloped only in silence. He acknowledged their applause with an exaggerated bow.

  The phone rang just as Janet handed Sebastian a cup of tea.

  “I’ll get that in the kitchen,” she said. “Help yourself to the pound cake and strawberries.”

  Janet picked up the receiver on the counter.

  “Did you enjoy the art gallery?”

  Janet flinched. “You knew about that?”

  “I know everything.” The caller sounded irritated. “I have another riddle for you.” This time the voice had a different edge to it, more hateful. Demanding.

  “Why are you doing this?” Janet asked.

  “Riddle a stranger, riddle a friend. Who do you turn to when trouble begins?”

  Janet slammed down the phone.

  She locked her mouth into something resembling a smile and held it tightly in place as she returned to her guests.

  “Wrong number,” she said and gave Chelsea a knowing glance.

  “Don’t you just hate that?” Sebastian said.

  He laughed easily and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He spooned a second scoop of strawberries and poured another cup of tea.

  Janet watched him and was envious of his apparent contentment. Of the three of them in the room, he seemed the only one completely at ease—the only one untouched by the complications of her life.

  Chelsea and Sebastian stayed only a few minutes more. After they’d gone, Janet tidied the living room and rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Then she took a slow bath and turned in. A chill shook her body when the phone rang again.

  “How about another riddle?”

  “Please,” Janet said, “don’t do this.”

  “Riddle me girl, riddle me fellow. Tell me what’s cross-gartered and yellow?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you so high and mighty.”

  “I’m not high and mighty.”

  “That’s right, you’re not. It’s a simple question with an easy answer, unless you’re stupid. Is that what you are?” the voice mocked. “A stupid girl?”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “Of course, you are, and I have no time for stupid people.”

  Then the phone clattered. It was plain the caller was becoming impatient with her. And angry.

  FOURTEEN

  Janet didn’t see Stephen for the next several days. He was home, light blazed in his windows at all hours, and his car was in its parking slot. He called a few times, checking in briefly during what he called his writing lulls, but their conversations were brief. Then just by chance their paths crossed and the opportunity presented itself for the uncharted expedition across the courtyard. When the chance arose, it was so subtle she almost missed it.

  Janet had stepped out of her car and looked up to see Stephen climbing out of his. He had a pizza box and a two-liter Pepsi.

  “Hey,” he called. “Wait up. I’ll walk you up the sidewalk.”

  Janet slowed her step and waited for him to catch up.

  “Long time, no see,” he said with a grin. “I’ve missed you, but I’m really churning out words and filling pages.”

  “Sounds like it’s coming right along,” Janet said. “Guess you’ve been putting in long hours, huh?”

  “I’m already on chapter seven.” He juggled the pizza box for a better grip. “I’ve promised myself—with your permission, of course—that when this thing’s over I’m taking us away for a weekend. Some place warm and sunny.” He frowned. “Would you go, or am I dreaming?”

  They had reached Janet’s door and she made a huge production of pulling the purse strap from her shoulder, fumbling with the zipper and digging for the door key.

  He grinned. “No, I didn’t figure you would. But heck, a guy can dream, can’t he?” He glanced upward. “Sky’s getting heavy, probably snow by morning. I hate to fly when it snows.” He stopped and pulled Janet around to face him. “Did you get those new tires like I told you?”

  A few days earlier Janet had decided to open the door of her suspicions just a crack, and had mentioned to him on the phone about skidding on an icy road. She’d given him no details and made it sound inconsequential. She wanted to gauge his reaction. There had been none. He seemed concerned, but not overly so.

  She nodded to answer his question and continued fishing around in the denim tote bag for her key. Suddenly she stopped, her hand buried deep in the purse, and sneaked a peek up at him.

  “Fly?”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Fly,” she repeated, trying not to sound like a parrot. “You said you hate to fly when it snows.”

  “I’ve got a meeting tomorrow afternoon with my publisher.”

  “You’re not going to drive?”

  “Huh-uh. The pony’s been making funny noises lately, so I’m putting her in the shop and taking an early flight. They want to see the first five chapters of the rewrite. While I’m there, I’ll see a few old friends and catch up on the latest news. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  The strength in Janet’s fingers suddenly evaporated and the key slid from her grasp and tinkled against the tiled porch.

  “Butterfingers,” Stephen said, picking it up.

  She accepted the key and her hand shook as she fitted it into the brass lock and thumbed down the latch. As the door swung inward, she turned her face up toward him and smiled.

  Stephen dropped a kiss on her forehead. His mouth was warm to her cold skin and she could feel the heat of his breath.

  “I hate to leave you,” he said. “Even though I’ve not see
n much of you lately, at least I knew you were here, and all I had to do was pick up the phone to hear your voice.”

  Janet forced herself to pull away from his touch. To linger in his embrace would be so easy. And dangerous? She was afraid so.

  “Better get to your pizza before it gets cold.”

  He seemed to sense her reluctance to be close to him.

  “Guess it already has,” he said. “But it’s just as well, I think I’ve lost my appetite. Good night,” he said and turned away.

  The door had barely closed behind her before she was on the phone to Chelsea.

  “Stephen’s going to New York tomorrow,” she said. Her blue eyes darkened with a heavy brilliance. “He has a meeting about the book and won’t be back for a couple of days.”

  “Oh?” Chelsea said, without comprehending. Then it hit her. “Oh!”

  “I’m finally going to find out if he’s hiding anything,” Janet said.

  “You know, breaking and entering is illegal.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Listen to me, Janet. It’s against the law. We could be arrested.”

  “Not we, Chelsea. You’re not going with me. I just decided.”

  “You decided? How about letting me decide for myself what I want. Huh? How about that?”

  “You’re not the criminal type. You’re too much of a lady—too refined. Me, that’s another story. I’m not quite so, well, proper.”

  “So it’s okay for you to go to jail but not me—is that what I’m hearing you say?”

  “Chelsea, I can’t let you do this. It’s too much of a risk. Besides, it could all be for nothing. There may not be anything to find. It could all be for zilch.”

  “You hope.”

  “I do hope. Lord, how I hope.”

  “But at least you’ll know,” Chelsea said. “One way or the other, you’ll know. You deserve nothing but the truth.”

  “I never thought about honesty and dishonesty before. Isn’t it funny how we take certain things for granted?”

  “Trusting souls, that’s us,” Chelsea said. “How do you propose we get in?”

  “We? You mean you’re still going?”

  “Janet, what did I say? Now, as I so patiently asked before: how do you mean to get us inside? You’re hardly the kind of person who knows how to pick a lock.”