by Stuart, Anne
“I don’t believe it,” she whispered. “It’s Cleopatra’s pendulum.”
“A copy, I’m told,” he drawled.
“The real one is in a museum in Alexandria. I heard they had made a few copies, but I never hoped to own one,” she said, picking it up with reverential fingers. “It’s beautiful. It must be lapis lazuli. How did you guess that I desperately wanted one? I wouldn’t have thought you even knew they existed.”
“I dowsed it.”
She grinned up at him. “Sure you did. Did Dulcy tell you?” Carefully she squashed down the tiny spurt of jealousy, cradling the wonderful weight of the pendulum in her hand.
“The Mullers,” he said.
“Do I have time to thank you properly?” she murmured in a dulcet voice.
“Do I end up like Marc Antony and Julius Caesar?” he responded, moving closer.
She slid her arms around his waist, up under the soft wool sweater that fit him so well. “Not so long as you behave yourself,” she said. “Anyway, I wasn’t talking about sex. I thought I could dowse whether or not you’d have a good trip.”
“I’d rather have sex.”
She grinned. “We could always do both. You’ll have to take off the sweater, though—you’ll give me a rash.”
“I wish I could say the same for the pendulum,” he said morosely, stripping the sweater over his head and climbing back on the bed.
SYBIL WAS SINGING her own mangled version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” as she brewed herself a cup of Christmas Blend coffee. Judy Garland in her prime, she wasn’t, and she knew all the words, and at least she could carry a tune. Now that particular tune had become even more special to her since last night.
The doorbell rang and Sybil jumped, cursing slightly as the hot coffee slopped over her hand. “Come in,” she called out, wiping up the spilled mess. It was only one o’clock, too early for Nick to return. She ran her damp hands down the sides of Nick’s nightshirt that she’d thrown on and headed for the door.
Leona was standing there, small, huddled, her dark eyes shining. “I thought that was your voice I heard,” she said.
Sybil immediately steeled herself for the disapproval she knew would be her lot, but for some reason it wasn’t forthcoming. “Is the professor here?” she murmured, wandering past her into the living room.
Sybil had picked up the trail of clothing, but if she hoped to fool Leona it was a wasted effort. Not that she had anything to hide, she reminded herself forcefully.
She moved ahead of her diminutive friend, diverting her from the bedroom. “He’s gone down to Boston for the day. He’ll be back sometime after midnight.”
Leona allowed herself to be led toward the couch, her face calm and oddly abstracted. “Just for the day, eh? We’ll have to move fast.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Leona looked up at her, her cherubic face wreathed in smiles. “I can see you two have cleared up your differences. I’m so glad.”
“You are?”
“Of course. I had my doubts about your professor when I first met him. And he certainly has been more than mistaken about me. But I’m sure we’ll have everything cleared up in the next few days, and we’ll all be great friends. Did he . . . did he say what he was going to Boston for? To see his family, perhaps?”
“Old friends,” Sybil supplied, sitting down in the chair and crossing her legs under her. “I’m glad you’re so understanding. Nick’s just got this weird fixation about you. I’m sure it’ll be a simple enough matter to prove him wrong, if we just all sit down and talk it out.”
“I’m sure,” Leona murmured. “So here you are on Christmas Day, alone, with nothing to do.”
“Oh, I have all sorts of things to keep me busy. I was going to bring the dogs over, and then maybe fix something fancy for dinner.”
“None of that will take very long,” she said. “Indulge an old lady, Sybil. Give me a couple of hours of your time today as a Christmas present.”
“Didn’t you like the Herkimer diamond I got you?” Sybil teased. “You can’t imagine how much trouble it was, finding that particular crystal.”
“Of course I did. And that’s what I want you for. If we do another past-life regression, with you holding the crystal, there’s no limit to the possibilities. We both know that any meditations, any dreams we have while holding on to a Herkimer diamond are increased tenfold.” Leona’s eyes were shining with unfeigned excitement. “We never did finish that night—your professor misunderstood. Give me one last chance, Sybil. Who knows when we’ll have another one?”
Sybil sat very still. For some reason she didn’t want to, she didn’t want to give over her trust to Leona; she didn’t want to search back for past lives, especially for that poor Frenchwoman with her murdered lover. She wanted to stay here, alone, with maybe her dogs for company, and wait for Nick to return.
But what she wanted and what she was going to do were two different things. She’d be leaving Leona soon enough, it would be their last chance, and she owed it to the old lady, particularly after Nick’s unfair suspicions. Besides, what harm would it do? She’d never been afraid of anything she might find out before; now wasn’t the time to start.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“Not here.”
“What do you mean, not here?” Sybil looked over her shoulder at the comfortable, welcoming room.
“The vibrations are crowded and uncertain. A skeptic has been living here, and a man was brutally murdered here long ago. The auras still linger.”
Give me a break, Sybil thought, and then was shocked at her irreverence. “Okay. Where do we go?”
Leona smiled—a smug, pleased little smile—and her raisin eyes were like little lumps of coal. “I know just the place.”
Chapter Twenty
“CONGRATULATIONS!” Ray slapped him on the back, grinning like a fool. Nick knew he was grinning back, equally foolishly, and then Connie flung herself into his arms.
“It’s about time!” she said. “Who’s the poor girl? Another amazon? Let me guess—a lawyer? Someone who works for PBS? A museum curator?”
“A psychic,” Nick said, and watched with real delight as absolute incomprehension swept across their faces.
“A what?” Connie gasped.
“A psychic. Except that she doesn’t have much talent. A dowser, but she can’t dowse. She runs an occult bookstore but it’s always in the red. She knits passably well—” he gestured to the sweater hugging his torso “—and she’s the secretary of the SOWWs. Society of Water Witches to you guys.”
“But you don’t believe in most of those things,” Connie said helplessly.
“No. But I believe in Sybil.”
“Have you two got anything in common at all, Nick?”
“Sure. She believes in everything until it’s proved false, I doubt everything until it’s proved true. We’ll balance each other out.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry, Connie. All you have to do is meet her and you’ll understand.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ray said softly.
“Don’t believe what?”
“The man is finally in love.”
“I was in love with Adelle. Not in the same way, but . . .”
“No, you weren’t,” Connie said firmly. “Take it from an expert, I know love when I see it, and you and Adelle weren’t in it. And Ray’s right. You’ve got a wicked case of it right now, praise God. I couldn’t ask for a better Christmas present. I just hope she deserves you.”
“I hope I deserve her.”
“Humility and everything,” Ray said in disgust. “Come on in and have some eggnog. The kids have torn the living room apart, but we should be able to find a small corner of peace and quie
t. Then I can tell you about your friends the Longermans.”
“The Longermans?” Nick trailed after Ray’s portly figure, stepping over the dismantled plastic monsters, the wadded-up wrapping paper, the crushed candy canes.
“Leona and James Longerman. James is in Attica right now, doing time for fraud. Apparently he was making a nice little living, bilking little old ladies out of their life savings. Leona got off with a slap of the wrist, but it was clear she was the brains behind the operation. James is up for parole tomorrow, and it looks as if he’s going to get out in time to celebrate New Year’s Eve with the little woman. Unless you’ve got something to keep him in there.”
“Damn her,” Nick swore. “I knew it! I just knew there was something going on. She’s up to her old tricks, ripping off the widows in Danbury. God knows what she’s done with the money.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was stashed up in Canada. You’re not far from the border up there—it would be an easy thing to do. She’s probably been building up a nest egg, waiting for James to be released.”
“I don’t suppose you brought any proof home with you? Sybil’s not what I call trusting.”
“I thought you said she was gullible.”
“Unfortunately, not where I’m concerned,” he said. “She’s very loyal.” He heard the telephone ring in the background, but its beep blended in with all the noise from the electronic toys around them.
“I have computer printouts. Will that be enough to shake her loyalty?”
“It should help.” He took the cup of eggnog Ray handed him and sighed. “I just hope I don’t have too hard a time convincing her.”
“Nick?” Connie appeared in the doorway. “Telephone’s for you. A woman.”
“Sybil,” he said, stepping over recumbent children.
“Nope,” said Connie. “Someone named Dulcy. How many women do you have up there anyway?”
Nick ignored the sudden premonition that gripped him. “Just one.”
“ARE YOU SURE you want to drive up here?” Sybil asked, huddling deeper into the passenger seat. She was wearing her red dress, another pair of Nick’s knee socks, a heavy cotton sweater and her down coat. For some reason Leona hadn’t wanted to stop at her house, even though they drove right past her driveway before they turned off onto the lake road.
The road wasn’t in the best condition. No one lived out there this time of year, and while the road crews made an occasional pass at it with the grader, drifts could pile up for days on end with no one noticing.
“I’m sure,” said Leona. “Just lean back and relax and we’ll be there in no time. We need a quiet, peaceful place where no one to bother us, so we can concentrate.”
“But we’ll be back before it’s dark? You did promise, Leona. I have to call my parents and wish them a Merry Christmas, and I really should get my dogs.”
“Of course. It’s just after two now—that gives us till four-thirty. More than enough time.”
“But where are we going?”
Leona smiled sweetly. She was driving faster than usual, her sturdy American car slipping slightly on the snowy roads. “The perfect spot. I’ve borrowed the Barrington’s house.”
“But that’s closed up for the winter! And impossible to get to—it’s down a long driveway that must have three feet of snow on it.”
“It’s been plowed. The Barrington grandchildren were up for the skiing—they left this morning. We’ll have no trouble, and no one will even know we’ve been there.”
“You mean you didn’t ask?”
“I dowsed it,” Leona said with dignity. “It’s perfectly all right.”
“Leona,” Sybil said, “when are you going to realize that dowsing isn’t the answer to everything? We can’t just walk into someone’s house without asking permission because a pendulum told you it was okay. A pendulum tends to tell you what you want it to.”
“You would never have said such a thing a month ago. The professor has had a very negative effect on you, Sybil. I’m disappointed.”
“I’m just trying to be reasonable. Listen, I don’t think this is such a good idea. Let’s go back to my house. I’ll make us some herb tea and we can do it there.”
“We’re almost there, Sybil.”
“I don’t feel right about breaking into someone’s house,” she said, trying to stifle the overwhelming sense of uneasiness that was washing over her. “I want to go home.”
Leona pulled up in front of the old frame cottage. The pine trees grew tall and dark around it, shielding it from the lake road, closing them in. “I don’t think so,” she said very gently. And reaching into her dowdy cloth coat, she pulled out a very small, very shiny, very nasty-looking gun.
“DAMN HER,” NICK muttered under his breath, shoving his foot down harder on the accelerator. Damn her for not listening to him. If she’d just paid attention to his suspicions she wouldn’t be in this mess.
Of course, what proof did he have that she was in a mess? Just Dulcy Badenham’s nebulous doubts, nothing concrete at all. Except those nebulous doubts were enough to send him racing out of Ray and Connie’s Newton home and heading back to Vermont at the speed of light, or the Jaguar’s equivalent of it.
Sybil and Leona were seen driving down the deserted lake road a little after two. And no one had seen them since. Now, perhaps Dulcy was simply being paranoid, but she thought Nick might want to know.
Nick did indeed want to know. If Dulcy was paranoid, Nick was panicked. The drive from Newton usually took close to four hours—he made it in two and a half. It was lucky the interstates were empty this late Christmas afternoon. He couldn’t afford the time it would take to get a ticket, particularly since he was driving close to twice the speed limit.
He roared into Danbury at half-past six, heading straight for Leona’s apartment. The door, like all the doors in Danbury, was unlocked, and his worst fears were confirmed when he opened it.
Gladys, the devil cat, was gone. So was every stick of furniture, every piece of paper, every trace of human habitation. Only the shades remained, drawn against the eyes of nosy neighbors. Leona had decamped.
And taken Sybil with her? He slammed out of the apartment, racing down the carefully shoveled walk to the idling car. He tore off down the road to the Black Farm, his hands sweating, his heart pounding, muttering under his breath a savage litany of prayers and curses. Please God, let her be there. He’d strangle her if she wasn’t. Please, let her be all right. He’d kill her if she was hurt. Damn it, and damn her for being a trusting fool. If she was in one piece, he’d beat her for scaring him to death. If she was in one piece, he’d never let her go again.
The darkness of the old Black Farm warned him, but he stormed inside anyway, calling her name, his voice echoing with a ribbon of desperation threaded through it. There was nothing, no word, no sign that she’d even been there. Except for his plaid nightshirt, lying across the neatly made bed, waiting for her return.
Dulcy answered the phone on the first ring. “Where is she?” he barked into the receiver.
“I don’t know. Are you back already? You must have come back by broomstick.”
“Cut the crap, Dulcy. This isn’t the time for jokes. Leona’s cleared out her apartment in town; whatever she’s planning she’s not coming back. Think, for God’s sake! Where would they go?”
“Nick, I haven’t the faintest—”
“Can’t you dowse it? Read the tarot, look into a crystal ball, do something! You’re the witch around here, you’re the one with a direct line to the infinite.”
There was an ominous, insulted silence on the other end. “I don’t know where she is, Nick, and I can’t find out. I’ve tried everything feasible.”
“What about the dogs? You have them there, don’t you? Wouldn’t they be able to trace her?”
&n
bsp; “Those dogs would chase after the nearest rabbit. They love everything and everybody; they’d just get in the way,” Dulcy said patiently. “Let’s be logical about this. They were seen heading down the lake road in Leona’s car.”
“Where does the lake road lead?”
“Around the lake. As far as I know, most of the summer houses are closed for the winter. A few of the summer people come up for the holidays, but I don’t remember if anyone did this year.”
“Big help,” Nick snapped.
“We’ve got two possibilities,” Dulcy continued, ignoring his temper. “It could be either the Montebellos or the Barringtons. Try the Montebellos first. They’re the second house past the schoolhouse. The Barringtons are farther in, maybe three miles from the Montebellos. You should be able to tell from the tire tracks.”
“Why are you worried?” he said suddenly. “I thought Leona was a good buddy of yours.”
“Leona is the sort of person who gives witches a bad name,” Dulcy informed him. “Do you want me to meet you at the Barringtons’?”
“Stay put. I’ll call you if I need help.”
The moon was almost full, lending an eerie brightness to the snow-covered landscape. At least he didn’t have to contend with another storm that night. All he had to deal with was a swindler-cum-witch run amok, who’d kidnapped the woman he loved. Piece of cake, he snarled to himself, skidding out of the driveway. Goddamned piece of cake.
“HOW LONG ARE you going to keep me here?” Sybil inquired in her most even tones. She was sitting by the fireplace, huddled there for warmth, her feet tucked up under her, the down coat wrapped around her. The sun had set long ago, but Leona had refused to turn on any lights, for fear it would signal their presence to any nosy passersby. Not that anyone passed by this deserted area even in the best of times. And surely everyone had something better to do on Christmas night.
“As long as I need to,” Leona replied. “I really expected better of you, Sybil. Your professor was so enamored I would have thought he wouldn’t have time to interfere with me. I must have miscalculated.”
