Janet felt sheepish.
“I have a key. He gave it to me when he had to make one of his trips. I took in his mail and watered his angel-wing begonia that was about to bloom. He was afraid she might die and wanted me to offer words of encouragement.”
“And what did you say to the expectant mother?”
“I said, ‘Good morning, Lady Begonia. How are you feeling today?’”
“And what did she say?”
“Nothing. I don’t think she was in a good mood. But Stephen was concerned, so at least I tried.”
“There you go,” Chelsea said. “Anybody who’d cares so much for a plant that’s about to give birth to a little blossom can’t be all bad.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
“Know what I think? I think we’re going over there and find a messy apartment, rumpled bedclothes, lots of manuscript pages scattered all around, and that’s all. That’s what I think.”
“From Ethel’s lips to God’s ear,” Janet said.
Chelsea chuckled. “Okay, Lucy. What time?”
“Midnight.”
“Naturally. Why’d I even ask?”
Janet’s laugh was part nerves and part humor.
“I’m not being dramatic. It just takes that long for things to quieten down around here. Why don’t you drive over after work and we’ll order subs and beer.”
Chelsea laughed. “Liquid courage?”
“Why not? You see Chels, not only are we going to break and enter, when we get arrested they can also toss us in the pokey for being inebriated.”
“Janet!”
“I’m kidding—at least, I hope I’m kidding. But you’ve got to understand, what we’re getting ready to do could wind up having serious consequences.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still game?”
“Sure, but let’s make it subs and iced tea.”
Janet laughed. “You got it.”
“Then it’s all set.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be a stretch for both of us,” Janet said. “We’ll have to work the whole day just like it was any other.”
“Can you imagine what Miss Austin’s reaction would be if she knew what we’re planning?” Chelsea laughed. “And poor Sebastian.”
“Innocent Sebastian,” Janet said. “Did you ever know a person more childlike and uncorrupted? I hate to think what he’d do if he found out he’s working with would-be felons.” She laughed. “After all, he did tell me to ‘go and sin no more.’ And did I listen and learn? No.”
“He’d be crushed.”
Janet agreed. “People are funny, you know. Sometimes I wonder what goes into making us the creatures we are. I’ve seen the Lancaster genealogy line and always thought most of them were rascals, and I felt like I didn’t belong in that gene pool.”
Chelsea laughed. “Since Freud, experts have been trying to figure that one out. I guess the simplest answer is: we are who we are—for better or worse.”
“Somewhere, back there in my distant past, must have been a couple of pretty nice humans whose DNA piled on top of each other and out I popped.”
“And I’m lucky enough to have you for a best friend. Life with you is never dull.”
“Say that when you’re looking out from behind steel bars, wearing orange and white stripes—bright orange, at that. And wide stripes running horizontal.”
“Orange and white—is that what color they are? Janet, neither of us should ever wear bright colors—especially orange. With your hair and my pale coloring, it’s the worst possible choice. We should stick to earth tones.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Good night, Janet.”
“Sleep tight Chels.”
The next morning Janet’s active imagination surged to what lay ahead. She thought Amanda Austin seemed to look at her with more than a little suspicion. Sebastian, on the other hand, was his usual unperturbed self.
Across the room, in her regular chair, Mrs. Goldman lingered longer than normal over the newspapers. A corner of the juvenile section was filled with toddlers from the Jack and Jill Day Care Center. The little ones found it hard to sit still and were in constant fidget-mode while Chelsea read a nursery rhyme:
Hickory Dickory Dock
The mouse ran up the clock
“And the clock stopped,” Janet whispered to herself. “And the mouse and me and Chelsea all went to jail.”
Time crept. The day progressed. Beat by beat, breath by breath. Everything seemed to spin in a lopsided orbit. Nothing was synchronized. Occasionally Janet would risk a look in Chelsea’s direction. Chelsea would cock a blonde eyebrow, then return to her work.
Janet didn’t remember quitting time. Nor did she remember supper. But then, somewhere between the space of leaving the library and circling around in the dark to Stephen’s back door, her brain came off automatic pilot and began to function. She fit the key into the lock with cold and steady hands.
“Ready, Sherlock?” Janet asked.
Chelsea lifted her noble chin. “Lead on, Watson.”
Assuming that the layout of the apartment was the same as her own, Janet led the way inside. Chelsea’s hands were around her waist. It was comforting to Janet to have them there. They blended into the silhouette of a double-layered crouching shadow as they shuffled through the blackness of the kitchen.
Janet’s foot sent something skittering across the floor with a scrunching sound.
“What was that?” Chelsea whispered against her ear.
Janet’s Mag-Lite pierced a skinny column of light through the darkness. She aimed it at her foot.
“A basket,” Janet whispered. “Just a wicker basket of magazines.”
With bodies locked together, they crept forward, their progress measured by their metronomic heartbeats. Janet groped along the wall and down a hallway, then turned right into what she assumed was Stephen’s bedroom. She flipped the flashlight on again and edged it around a room that showed a desk filled with computer equipment.
“His writing room,” Janet whispered. “Let’s check across the hall.”
In unison they turned toward the bedroom located to the front of the apartment. Suddenly Chelsea giggled.
“What’s funny?”
“I was just thinking, what if Stephen’s come home early and we find him in his bed.”
“I think he would’ve had us tackled by now. Two handy-dandy burglars we’re not,” Janet said.
“Then why are we whispering?”
Janet straightened her shoulders. “Just dumb, I guess.”
“Dumb and scared,” Chelsea agreed.
Janet flicked the beam around the room. “We’ll never find anything with this dinky little whatnot.”
“We could turn the light on. Or at least a lamp.”
“Okay, let’s chance it,” Janet said. “Yank those drapes together and I’ll shut the door to keep light from the rest of the rooms.”
Janet squinted against the harsh overhead light when she flipped the wall switch. The first thing she saw was the picture of the boy with the kite she’d given Stephen. It was framed in a kind of sailcloth material and was hanging over the head of his bed. The bed was unmade, pillows piled atop each other. Sweaters and jeans, clothes familiar to Janet, were tossed on a chair and spilled onto the floor. The room smelled faintly of Beau Brummel and perspiration. The closet door was opened, showing a tumble of shoes.
“Where should we start?” Chelsea asked.
Janet suddenly felt faint from the audacity of her actions. “Chelsea, what are we—crazy? We can’t do this.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that now?”
Janet gave a firm nod. “A step is as good as a leap, as Grandmother used to say. Now is not the time to have an attack of conscience.”
“Besides,” Chelsea said, “if you ask me—and I admit you didn’t, but if you did—I think you owe it to yourself to put this stuff that’s been happening in some kind of ord
er.”
“I do, don’t I? But it all looks so innocent.”
“Maybe it is.”
“I hope so, Chels. God, I hope so.”
“You like him a lot, don’t you?”
“I think I love him,” Janet admitted and was surprised that she dared to finally say it out loud.
Chelsea nodded. “I could’ve already told you that.”
“And here I am ransacking his apartment like some seasoned cat burglar. Some love.”
Chelsea grinned. “More like Inspector Clouseau,” she said. “But now that we’re here, let’s get busy and find out exactly who this chap is that you think you love.”
“Right. You take the bureau and I’ll take the dresser and nightstand.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Darned if I know,” Janet said. “Letters. Appointment books. Magazines with mailing labels. Pictures—particularly old pictures. Things that show any kind of identification. Awards with inscriptions. You know—stuff.”
The room fell quiet except for the sliding in and out of drawers and the slight rustle of their contents. Neither spoke as they burrowed around the room like church mice seeking crumbs. Janet finished the dresser and went to the nightstand. Chelsea checked the bureau then moved to the closet and slipped her hands into coat and jacket pockets.
Janet lifted a shirt that had been tossed across the nightstand. Underneath was a clock radio. The digital numbers blinked 12:27. A paperback western, pages fanned open across the telephone, looked uninteresting. Janet picked up the receiver and got a dial tone. Attached to the speaker end of the receiver was a black rubber ring that looked like a doughnut with a mesh center.
Janet frowned. “What the heck do you think this is?”
Chelsea turned. “Hmm. Looks like some kind of speaker gizmo to me.”
Janet ran her finger around the edge. “You mean like for altering voices?”
Chelsea nodded. “Could be.”
“But only if the person making the call didn’t want to be recognized. Now, why would he—”
“Don’t go jumping to conclusions.”
“That’s just it, Chelsea, I’m not jumping. It’s more like I’m being shoved.”
Chelsea walked over and put an arm around Janet’s shoulders. “Sweetie, sometimes things have a way of not being exactly as they seem; we see something one way, when it’s actually just the opposite.”
Janet grimaced. “You mean like Adam.”
“I rest my case,” Chelsea said.
Janet nodded, replaced the phone and returned the book to its place, and put back the shirt. She leaned over the bed and lifted the pillow nearest to her. Stepping closer to reach the other one, her foot struck something solid beneath the bed.
“Shit.”
“Janet! Don’t be vulgar.”
“Sorry,” Janet said. “But I just whacked the whiz out of my big toe.”
“On what?”
She knelt beside the bed and dragged out a metal container.
“The cashbox,” Chelsea said. “It’s the cashbox from the library.”
They stood gazing down at it.
“Yeah, that’s what it is all right,” Janet agreed.
“How in the world did he ever get his hands on it?” Chelsea asked.
Janet rubbed her brow. “Well, he was in the library the other day—behind the counter, he said he was looking for a pencil to leave me a note. He had an awfully big bag with him, ‘research material’ he said. Research, my foot! And he didn’t take time to fill out an application for a library card; said he was preoccupied. Sure he was. Right after he stole the cashbox.”
“But how would he have known the box was even there?”
“Who knows what he knows.” Janet shoved the box back under the bed. “Who knows anything about what’s going on?”
“You’re just going to leave it here?”
“What else?” Janet smirked. “We can’t very well take it with us. We’re here just to nose around, remember.”
Chelsea nodded. “Let’s try the other room again. If we dig deep enough it’s hard telling what we’ll find in there. After all, that’s where he does his creating.”
Janet smiled. “Daring little burglar, aren’t you?”
“Think maybe it’s getting in my blood?”
“I don’t know. Want to go raid Ethan’s place?”
Chelsea gasped. “We wouldn’t dare.”
“No? Why not?”
“Lord, Janet. His house is something you’d find in Better Homes and Gardens.”
“So you’ve been there, huh?”
Chelsea nodded. “A couple times.”
“You’ve been holding out on me.”
“You’ve been pretty well occupied. Besides, there’s nothing to tell.”
“Why not?” Janet said, flipping off the light. “You’re made for each other. I can see that now. Funny how two souls can wander in the wilderness before finally coming together and lightning strikes.”
“Like you and Stephen?”
Janet shrugged and they moved back across the hall to the writing room.
“Might as well turn on the light in here too,” Chelsea said. “If nobody’s nabbed us by now, I guess we’re home free.”
Their eyes roamed the well-ordered room. There seemed to be nothing worth examining. On a side table was a printer and fax machine. A swivel chair, covered in raveling tweed, had been pushed back a couple of feet from the desk. In a corner was a four-drawer filing cabinet with all the drawers shut. Mismatched storage cabinets ran the length of one wall. Everything was stacked and arranged in neat rows. A straight-backed chair sat alone in the center of the room. On the chair lay a book. It was closed.
As they turned to leave, Janet’s eyes went to the chair. Something lay in an X-design on top of the closed book. Upon closer inspection, Janet found two elastic bands with hooks and buttons.
“Chelsea, look.”
Chelsea reached for one of the bands and gave it a snap. “Garters,” she said. “Grandpa Charlie used to wear them all the time—you know, to hold his socks up.” She pointed to the back of the chair. “Like those. Except his were always black.” She grinned. “You’d never catch him wearing yellow socks.”
Janet lifted the long cotton tubes from the back of the chair. “Yellow stockings,” she muttered. “My mysterious caller once asked me what was yellow and cross-gartered.”
“Another riddle?”
Janet nodded and picked up the book. It was a volume of Shakespeare’s comedies. She flipped through the pages and started to return the book when something fluttered to the floor. She bent to retrieve the torn scrap of paper and turned it over and looked at the front.
“Oh, God.”
“What?” Chelsea peered at the picture Janet was holding. “Who is it?”
“It’s a little girl on the back of a white horse.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“It’s Isabella. My Aunt Isabella. I have the other half of the photograph.”
Chelsea tugged it from Janet’s fingers. “What would Stephen be doing with a picture of your Aunt Isabella?”
“Chels, Isabella’s Etienne’s mother.”
Janet pressed the tips of her fingers against temples that were beginning to throb. A chill crept over her and it seemed that the very air in the room vibrated like a tuning fork. Janet frowned and wondered why she felt so uneasy.
“What’s bothering you?”
“This chair. What’s it doing here, Chelsea? It doesn’t fit. The whole thing is like a window display—you know, deliberate.”
“A stage setting?”
“Maybe. And this book—Shakespeare’s comedies? Does my caller think this whole thing is funny?”
“Didn’t you tell me that Etienne was a serious actor?”
Janet bit her lip. “Shakespearean,” she said and looked again at the photograph. “And this picture. It’s almost as if it were asking to be found.” She slipped the pi
cture back into the book and replaced it on the chair.
“You’re not going to take the picture with you?”
Janet shook her head. “Information was all I was looking for, and I found that.”
“But you don’t sound sure.”
“I’m not, Chels.” Janet flipped off the light and they turned from the room. Along with the blackness came the frantic need for whispering.
“I feel creepy,” Janet hissed. “Something’s not right. Call it second sight or whatever, but something’s not right.”
“I’ll take your word for it. You always did have good instincts.”
“And right now my gut is yelling at me that there’s something stinky at the fish market.”
“But Janet, how do you explain all this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stephen must be Etienne. Even you have to admit that.”
“I do, don’t I?” Janet whispered. “Still…”
FIFTEEN
When they left Stephen’s back door Janet and Chelsea circled the courtyard, staying shrouded in the shadows of the buildings. They stood for a few seconds on Janet’s front porch having a whispered conversation, the murmurings of their secret. Then Chelsea headed for her car and Janet turned and went inside.
She slid her chilled body between the sheets, flipped off the lamp and lay in the dark, her thoughts racing. I can never go out with him again, she thought. It mattered not that she was in love with him. Holy cow, what was her problem in picking the wrong men?
Janet stared into the darkness and took stock of her life. How could she be so easily deceived? Adam the pretty parasite had been nothing but a cheap lowlife, wounding her but not leaving her beyond repair. Stephen, on the other hand, was out for blood—her blood. “Can I pick ’em or what,” she muttered and punched up the pillow. “I’m so loony I shouldn’t be allowed in public without a handler.”
She tried to settle down by flopping onto her stomach and pulling the other pillow close. Stephen invaded her mind and she kept pushing him away. But he was a hard one to dismiss. Remembering the feeling of his arms around her and the gentleness of his kiss, she slept.
Lumbering clouds threatened the morning sky as Janet drove to work. The library itself seemed to be cast in muted light and emitted an air of disillusionment. Spirits lagged and people talked in tones lower than usual. Chelsea was tied up helping two students from the community college who were working on a collaborative paper. Janet hadn’t spoken to her since their escapade the night before. The only one who seemed full of optimism and good humor was Sebastian. Janet smiled as she watched him flit about, humming to himself while he sorted books and placed them back on the shelves. He was careful that they were straight, their spines aligned. It was apparent, right from the start, that he took pride in his work and had a love of literature. As she watched, Janet thought how the world needed more Sebastians and fewer Stephens—or should she now start thinking of him as Etienne?
Moonshadows Page 17
