Delia's Shadow

by Moyer, Jaime Lee

  “I’ve never been to Stanford before.” I tipped the brim of Sadie’s hat down, shading my eyes so that I could look around. A large pond peeked from behind the building, shimmering in the sun. Tall trees grew next to benches along walkways and cast pools of shade on neatly trimmed lawns. “The campus is much bigger and more open than I imagined.”

  “Leland and Jane Stanford’s only child died of typhoid. The story goes that the two of them decided to found the university as a memorial to their son.” Gabe stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, squinting up at the building. “The Stanfords traveled all over the world, visiting great universities and colleges, and came back to build this place. They made it their life’s work to educate other people’s children.”

  “I hadn’t heard that story before. How very sad.” I turned in a slow circle, taking in the open space, lush plantings, and magnificent architecture. “And yet it’s such an admirable thing to do with grief. I don’t know if I’d have the strength.”

  “I suspect you have more strength than you realize.” He watched me with a melancholy half-smile and a look in his eyes that I couldn’t interpret. “We all find personal ways to deal with loss. And if we’re lucky, we find work to do that means something.” Gabe offered his arm and the sadness went out of his smile. “The stampede for the door seems to be over. I think it’s safe to go up to Colin’s office now.”

  The corridors were empty and our footsteps echoed in the cavernous entryway. Paintings hung on the white plaster walls in the corridor, mainly landscapes depicting scenes from all over California. Portraits of people I didn’t recognize decorated the stairway walls off to the left. Glass cases full of ribbons, trophies, and photographs stood on either side of the doors.

  Hand-painted banners announcing a dance on Saturday night spanned the width of the hallway. The smells in the building reminded me of school: the sweet scent of ink and paper, shellac on desktops, and the sour smell of damp string mops the janitors used to clean floors.

  We started up the wide staircase that went to the second floor. The wooden risers carried a thick coat of wax, clouded and scuffed long past the point of being slippery. I imagined hundreds of students tromped up and down all day, grinding bits of gravel and mud from the soles of their shoes into the stairs. That the oak wasn’t worn down to splinters was something of a miracle.

  The second floor hallway was filled with classrooms on one side and large, quiet offices for professors on the other. Open classroom doors gave me glimpses of chalkboards and rows of empty desks. Most of the offices were closed up for the day, roller shades drawn over the door’s window that had the professor’s name painted in gold. The corridor was quiet and even our footsteps were muffled. Twice I thought I saw a ghost walking through a wall or turning the corner ahead of us, but the spirit moved too quickly for me to be sure.

  Professor Adams’s office looked to be empty as well. Gabe rattled the brass doorknob several times and knocked on the door frame. “Colin? Colin, are you in there?”

  “Perhaps he’s been detained.” I twisted the handle of my handbag around my hand, thinking of all the time spent making the trip. Time Gabe could have put to use tracking the killer. I didn’t know Professor Adams, but I hoped he wasn’t the kind of person to forget appointments.

  “We’ll give him a few more minutes.” Gabe rattled the knob again and leaned against the wall in defeat. “He’s probably talking with some of his students.”

  Our wait was brief. A tall, thin man, in a shabby brown suit, came huffing around the corner at the far end of the hall, his long legs taking strides twice the length of mine. Thinning black hair was combed straight back from his forehead and a pair of spectacles perched dangerously close to the end of his nose. He raised a hand and waved. “Gabe! I’m so sorry I’m late. The department chairman needed a word with me and I couldn’t break away.”

  Colin Adams fumbled in his pockets for keys, dropped papers out of the stack balanced on one arm, and had to retrace his steps to retrieve them. By the time Professor Adams came to a halt in front of us, Gabe was smiling.

  “You’re always late.” Gabe shook Colin’s hand before introducing me. “This is Miss Delia Martin. Miss Martin is Sadie’s best friend and the maid of honor for the wedding. Delia, this is Professor Colin Adams.”

  Colin smiled and offered his hand. Despite the balding patches in his hair, his face was youthful and his green eyes bright. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Martin. How do you happen to be here? Gabe doesn’t usually arrive with charming young women in tow.”

  “Please, call me Delia.” I shook Professor Adams’s hand and glanced at Gabe, a bit uncertain about Colin’s tone. Gabe’s hands were stuffed in his trouser pockets and he looked rather unsure himself. “Gabe asked me to come along. He thought I might find it interesting.”

  Professor Adams fumbled his key into the lock and gave Gabe an appraising look. “Does Miss Martin have a special interest in Egyptology?”

  “Delia was the one who suggested the drawings might be hieroglyphics. I thought she deserved to know if her hunch was right or not.” Gabe pushed the door open and waved me inside. “After you.”

  I’d imagined Professor Adams’s office as a dark and dreary cave full of Egyptian artifacts, odd specimens floating in jars and smelling faintly of formaldehyde. His office turned out to be quite pleasant. Big windows took up most of one wall, letting in plenty of sunlight and showing a view of wide lawns, trees, and the tranquil pond at the back of the building. Two of the casements were opened halfway, letting in fresh air. The scent of honeysuckle and jasmine came in with the warm breeze, vanquishing the musty smell of old books and leather bindings.

  Wooden bookcases were built into the longest wall, the fronts framed in ornately carved molding. Deep shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, but Professor Adams’s books were stacked two and three deep. Glass cases sat under the window and along the wall behind the door. Ornately painted pottery, wine jars, and etched clay tablets filled the inside shelves. Some of the images reminded me of the painted sign outside Isadora’s tent.

  Small animal mummies—a hawk, a dog, and what looked to be a small crocodile—sat on top of the largest cabinet. A small painted coffin, much like one made for an infant that I’d seen at the museum in New York, rested on top of the other case. The thought of a tiny mummy resting inside made me uneasy.

  The centerpiece of the room was an old mahogany desk. An inkstand of carved oak sat at the top of a dark brown blotter, inkwells capped and pens laid neatly in a wide groove chiseled in the front edge. A small calico cat slept in a desktop tray on one corner, curled tight in a sunbeam with a paw over her eyes and determined to ignore visitors. She purred as I scratched behind one of her ears, taking it as her due, but didn’t open her eyes.

  “The cat’s name is Nefertiti. She’s convinced this office belongs to her and I can’t dissuade her of the idea. Nor can I get her to stop sleeping on my correspondence.” Professor Adams dropped his stack of papers on the desk. The cat opened one eye to glare balefully at him and promptly went back to sleep. “Take my advice, Delia. Never name a cat after a powerful queen, even one long dead. They do their best to live up to the name.”

  Colin rooted around under his stack of papers. A bottom drawer was searched next. He came up frowning, patted down his oversized jacket pockets, and wandered over to the bookshelves. “There was a book I wanted to show you, but I think I left it in the lecture hall. I’m going to beg your indulgence for another few moments, Gabe. I’ll be back shortly.”

  He left and I turned to Gabe. “Is he always this … this scattered?”

  “Always.” Gabe grinned and took his turn petting the cat. She lifted her head long enough to lick his fingers, a sure sign of favor, and went right back to sleep. “Colin is one of the best at the research he does, but when it comes to practicalities like remembering a book, he’s hopeless.”

  More artifacts cluttered one section of bookshelves and s
everal small tables in the room. I wandered the office studying each piece, as fascinated with Colin’s collection as I’d been with the museum exhibit. Many of the pottery pieces in Colin’s office were in better condition, the colors brighter and the designs sharper.

  Amongst the figurines and clay shards on one shelf, I found a tarnished silver frame holding the photograph of a young bride. She was slim, still more girl than woman in appearance, and I guessed her to be no more than seventeen. Dressed in a white silk gown and a lace veil that trailed to the ground, she clutched a huge bouquet of roses and lilies. My mother always said happiness made all brides beautiful. Gazing at the photo and the bride’s radiant smile, I’d no reason to doubt the truth in that.

  “Is this a picture of Colin’s wife?” I took the frame off the shelf and held it up for Gabe to see, unable to keep myself from smiling back at the fading photograph. “She’s very pretty.”

  Gabe froze in the act of petting Nefertiti. Deep grief twisted his face with pain and vanished, a glimpse of something private he locked away again. He smiled, but his voice cracked on her name. “Victoria was my wife and Colin’s sister. That portrait was taken on our wedding day. I—we—lost her in the fire.”

  “Oh.” I’d missed the resemblance to the sad ghost trailing after Gabe. Time and pregnancy had changed her face, transformed the girl into a woman. I held out the photograph, not knowing what to do or say. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. I didn’t mean … I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right, you couldn’t know. I’ve never mentioned her to you. Jack’s always telling me I should talk about her more.” He came and took the frame. Gabe cleaned dust off the glass with a sleeve, staring at the photograph for a few seconds once he’d finished. He brushed a finger over Victoria’s face and set the frame back on the shelf. “I’m starting to forget what she looked like.”

  Sadie was half-right in her campaign to push us together. Gabe needed friends and I liked him more the longer I knew him. Guilt over causing him pain, however unwitting, weighed on me. “Jack has a point. You should talk about her and share your memories. Perhaps you could tell me about Victoria over dinner. I’m a very good listener.”

  He tipped his head and studied me, that unreadable look in his eyes again. “I’m not sure I have the right to impose on you that way.”

  “You’re not imposing. I asked you to talk about Victoria. We’ve become friends and I’d really like to know.” The awkwardness I’d felt earlier returned, but I pressed on. “And I truly am a good listener. I’d have to be in order to survive living with Sadie.”

  Gabe looked away, a hint of a smile beginning to form. “On my best day I’m not a match for Sadie. I can’t promise that talking about Victoria will be easy or that I’ll manage more than a few words. But two friends should be able to come up with something interesting to talk about over dinner. Discussing something other than ghosts and this case would be nice.”

  “Never fear, Sadie keeps me well supplied with gossip for occasions like this.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell Gabe that speaking of Victoria didn’t truly turn the topic away from ghosts, not for me. The prospect of normal conversation was daunting, but I’d find a way to rise to the occasion. What I couldn’t do was stand in that spot another second. I went back to petting the sleeping cat. “I can even dredge up a juicy scandal if you like. Name any public figure and I’m sure Sadie’s told me something about them.”

  “That could be useful.” He sat in a visitor’s chair near the desk. A glint of mischief showed in his eyes. “What do you know about the mayor?”

  The office door opened and Colin hurried inside, the gilt-edged book in his hand held high. “I’ve got it. Now we can get to work solving your mystery.”

  We gathered around Colin’s desk. Gabe pulled the packet of letters from his inside pocket. He shuffled through them and spread pale blue sheets of stationery across the desk blotter. The drawings at the bottom of each page were crisp, clearly drawn in dark ink.

  The sharpness of the images made it easier to recognize the blurred figures from the mask. Paint had run and smeared on the canvas, but the lines and flourishes framing each one were the same. I was certain they’d been drawn by the same hand. My heart beat faster and I leaned against the desk to keep from trembling. “Gabe, I’ve seen some of these before.”

  He looked up sharply. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain.” I pointed, careful not to touch the paper. Shadow’s memories were still close to the surface. Contact with something touched by her killer might strip away my hard-won control. “This one, this, and this.”

  “May I?” Colin asked. At Gabe’s nod, he picked up one of the pages and studied the drawings with a magnifying glass. He set the paper aside and leafed through his book, settling on a page with a triumphant smile. “You should congratulate Delia on her perception and excellent memory. These are hieroglyphics. A reasonable reproduction at that. Have you made a study of the Egyptians, Delia?”

  Colin knew nothing of ghosts and dreams. I wasn’t about to tell him, but I didn’t want to lie either. “No, not formally. I attended an exhibition at the Natural History Museum in New York last year. The hieroglyphics fascinated me.”

  Gabe spoke up, stopping Colin from questioning me further. “Knowing what the pictures are is only the first step. Can you tell me what they mean?”

  “These figures are representations of Egyptian gods.” Colin laid the open book on the desktop. He pointed to the drawings in the book and each corresponding figure on the letters in turn. “This is Anubis. He was most often drawn as a man with the head of a jackal. And this is Horus, shown with the head of a hawk. Both of them were sons of this man, Osiris, king of the underworld. This last one, the ibis, is Thoth. All of them were involved in Egyptian legends about the judgment of the dead.”

  “No wonder Dad thought the symbols were deranged gibberish. That’s not general knowledge, which makes me wonder how our killer knew.” Gabe turned to me with a tentative half-smile. “I’m in your debt, Delia. I’d never have thought to show these to Colin without your suggestion. Knowing what this means doesn’t tell me who this man is, but it’s a step forward.”

  Colin picked up the letters one by one, examining each one with a deepening frown. He finished and tapped a sheet of stationery with a finger. “Are the killer’s letters all signed this way? With the symbols in this order?”

  Gabe gestured at the letters and envelopes spread across the desk. “Every one. What does that tell you?”

  “This is only a guess, Gabe. I can’t know for certain what this man is thinking.” He sighed and pushed his spectacles back into place. “But … your killer could be more deranged than your father thought. He might believe he’s enacting judgment in the court of the underworld.”

  The pressure in my chest increased, a warning of the ghost’s nearness, distress, and fear. That alone was enough to convince me that Colin had guessed right. I hugged my pocketbook to my chest and silently entreated Shadow to stay away a little longer.

  “Explain that to me.” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck and peered at the letters with narrowed eyes, as if he might coax secrets from ink and paper that way. “I don’t see what you see.”

  Colin touched a symbol. “It’s the pattern. Anubis is always first. His job was to escort the dead to Osiris’s court for judgment. The deceased’s heart was weighted to see how heavy his sins were in life and the results recorded by Thoth. Then Horus takes the newly judged to Osiris for the final verdict. If a person’s sins weren’t too heavy, he passed through to the afterlife. The heart of any who failed the test was fed to a beast, Ammut, and denied eternal life. If Ammut ate your heart, you became a wandering spirit.”

  “Ghosts.” I met Gabe’s eyes across the desk, thinking of Shadow and being locked in darkness. “Those who fail his test become ghosts.”

  Others had died in that cold, dirt-walled room. I prayed at least one had found the strength to haunt the man who killed them and that he kn
ew. He deserved a taste of their fear.

  Nefertiti leapt up from sleep, back arched and hissing. The cat streaked across the desk, disappearing out the open door into the hallway. Envelopes and blue stationery fluttered in all directions.

  “Blasted cat.” Colin crawled under the desk to retrieve an envelope, grumbling under his breath. “I don’t know what gets into her.”

  Shadow shimmered into view near the corner of the desk, her shawl draped neatly over her shoulders and across her chest. Her hands hung loose at her sides. She stared at the stack of letters in the center of the desk. The ghost understood what the letters were, what they meant.

  Shadow understood better than any of us.

  CHAPTER 9

  Gabe

  The inside of the restaurant was smaller than Gabe remembered, but the lunch counter up front was new and took up space once occupied by tables. On a weeknight like this the counter was empty and only two other couples, both older, sat at a table. He left Henderson seated on a high-backed stool at the counter, reading a menu and with instructions to order anything he liked. Marshall could have his own supper and still keep an eye on the car from there.

  Their waitress was young, high school–aged at most. She wore a white bib apron over a gray cotton dress and a lacy frilled cap, starched to stand stiffly. A hand-lettered name tag labeled her Kari Lynne.

  Gabe stopped himself from lecturing her about displaying her name openly. He couldn’t afford to start thinking that every shopgirl, every woman serving food or drinks in taverns and cafés was being stalked by the killer. Everyone was prey, from dockworkers and men working the rail yards, to cab drivers like Terrance Owens. He couldn’t lose sight of that.

  Warning everyone he spoke with would accomplish nothing, aside from spreading fear. Catching the murderer and ending the threat would let all of them live normal lives. Gabe included himself in that assessment.

  Kari Lynne led them to a small table near a window. The wide expanse of plateglass offered a view of the East Bay hills far off in the distance. Early evening sunlight tinted the hilltops, grass already browned by the beginning of summer heat glowed rose and apricot. Purple shadows gathered in sheltered hollows, cuts eroded by winter rains, and shallow canyons, a prelude to nightfall.