Look Both Ways (14 page)

Paperwork, inventory, and play reading filled the rest of my day at the Tabby, and by five o'clock I was ready to leave. I'd secured the truck, straightened up my desk, and phoned in my order for Chinese food. I was heading across the parking lot to my car when I heard my name called. I didn't have to look to know it was Daphne. She sounded more like Billie Dawn every day.

She ran toward me, high heels making staccato clicks on the pavement, the large white handbag bouncing along at her side. “Hey, Lee. How about a lift?”

“Sure. Come on.” I unlocked the Corvette and held the passenger door open.

“Wow. Sweet ride,” she said as she slid into the cushy seat and ran a small, red nail-polished hand across the leather dash. “Is it really yours?”

“All mine,” I said, listening to the hum of the engine starting. “It was my dream car for years, and now I finally have it.”

“Must have been awfully expensive, huh?”

“Yes, but it's worth it to me. Where to?” I didn't want to get into a discussion about money. I don't have any worries in that department, but it isn't something I talk about to anyone except my bank.

“I have to go to my place to pick up a couple of things. Then I'm going over to Tommy's apartment later. Just head out as if you're going to Marblehead. I'll show you where to turn.”

“Did you get a chance to, um, replace the card with my name and address on it?”

“Not yet. I'll do it tonight, when I'm over there.”

“I don't want you to get into trouble over this.”

“Don't worry. Anyway, it's just your name and address. What harm could it do? Maybe it was already in the drawer from the last tenant.”

I hadn't thought about that.

“That's probably it,” I said. “He probably doesn't know anything about it. How's the play coming along? Are you enjoying acting?”

“Loving it. Old Pennington says I'm a natural.” She pulled down the visor and leaned close to its mirror, moving a little finger across one eyebrow, then the other. She ran her fingers through the blond curls, deliberately giving her hair a tousled look, then snapped the visor back into place. “There. Funny how some guys like you to look as though you just got out of bed, isn't it?”

“I don't know about that,” I admitted. “In this humidity I have a hard time keeping mine from just looking frizzy.”

“You kidding? You always look perfect. Take this next left. That your natural hair color?”

I turned, as she'd directed, onto a narrow side road. Tall trees formed a long archway, and the afternoon sun shone through the leaves, making dappled patterns on the pavement. “Yes, it is. Red hair runs in my family. My mother had it, too. So does my aunt.” I drove slowly, looking from left to right. I didn't see any houses on either side. “You're really kind of out in the woods here, aren't you?”

“Oh, don't you know where we are? This is the private road to the Hampton place. You'll see the big house in a minute. See? There it is.” She pointed toward a massive gray-stone building looming in the distance.

Thoroughly confused, I faced her. “You live here?” I pointed to the house. “There?”

“No. Not in there. I live in a little guesthouse out back. Come on. I'll show it to you. You'll see the road just ahead.” She jerked her thumb to the right. “Here. Turn here.”

“Okay,” I said, curiosity overruling good sense. “Just for a minute. I have to get back to my place. I invited company.” The road she had indicated, which was more like a long, curving driveway, led to a one-stor y cottage made from the same gray stone as the main house. Ivy climbed the walls, and a row of hollyhocks gave color to the front of the place.

“It's charming, Daphne,” I said. “But . . . ?”

“But how did I wind up staying here after what I did?” She shrugged. “After Helena found out about Tommy and me, she told him he'd have to leave. She knew I had nowhere to go, so she said I could stay here until I found a place. Then she got killed. Tommy was still packing up his stuff to move, and then he got arrested and went to jail. Nobody told me to get out, so I just stayed here. Tripp doesn't care. He doesn't even charge me any rent.” Again, the pretty shrug and more hair tousling. “He kind of likes having me around sometimes—if you know what I mean.”

I was pretty sure I knew what she meant, but I didn't want to go there. “I just sort of figured that when Tommy—Mr. Trent—got out of jail, you'd be staying with him.”

I parked the 'Vette in front of the guesthouse and we climbed out. When we reached the front door of the guesthouse Daphne pushed it open.

“Come on inside for a sec. It's really a cute place. Yeah, I've been spending a lot of time with Tommy. I missed him when he was away for so long, you know? Tommy's place is nice, too. Tripp even checked it out with the rental guy to make sure I'd be in a safe neighborhood and all, but I've kind of gotten used to having my own space. I like it.”

“I know what you mean,” I said as we stepped into the cottage. “Say, this is really cute. No wonder you like being here.” The living room had a cozy, rustic look, with wood-paneled walls and overstuffed furniture in bright prints.

“Helena fixed it up like this, and I've just left it the way it was. It's kind of old-fashioned. There's even a pink Princess phone in the bedroom. But I like it. I still miss Helena. She was an angel.”

“I've heard several people say that about her. I'm sorry I never got to meet her.”

“She would have liked you. Well, thanks for the ride, and thanks for getting me that part. I really like being Billie Dawn.”

“Mr. Pennington says you're a natural.”

“You know, in the play, how Paul helps Billie out with how to talk proper and read books and all? That's how Tripp is with me. I mean, he tries to make me into . . .” She gave a little giggle. “Into a lady. So in a way, I
am
a natural for the part.”

“I'm looking forward to seeing you in it. I've been working on getting just the right props for the set.”

“I know. And thanks for finding those furs. I love wearing that coat.” She smiled briefly, then frowned. “But Helena would have hated it. She loved the animals so much, she never would have worn furs. Never.” The blond curls shook vehemently. “You should have seen her with that little dog of hers. Tommy always said she cared more about Nicky than she did about him.”

“Nicky?”

“Yeah. A cute little gray schnauzer. It about broke her heart when he died.”

I made my way down the long driveway, looked back at the guesthouse in the rear view mirror, and wished I had more time to ask questions. About the gray dog. About Helena Trent. And, with some guilty curiosity, about Daphne Trent's peculiar lifestyle.

I picked up the crab Rangoon, egg rolls, veggie delight, and two kinds of rice and had barely enough time to dump them from the cartons into bowls and stick them into the warming drawer before my doorbell chimed. Pete was right on time, as usual.

“Come on in,” I said, returning his warm kiss. Then I turned, facing into the living room. “Look. Furniture!”

My recent shopping forays into furniture stores, antiques shops, and yard sales had provided the essentials for a contemporary living-room arrangement. By no means complete, it still lacked what Aunt Ibby would call “character,” but at least it was equipped with the basic necessities. There was a nice Oriental rug, a black leather couch with one matching chair, and an offbeat wing chair in a bold zebra print. Jenny's shop had yielded a great-looking vintage glass-fronted barrister's bookcase, which I had yet to fill with books. I hadn't hung any wall art, and the room needed some lamps, but I thought it was a good beginning.

“What do you think?” I asked. “So far, so good?”

“I like it,” Pete said. “I like it a lot. When you get through here, maybe you can come over and help me with my apartment. It's mostly my mom's old castoffs and some stuff my sister picked out. Nothing matches.”

“I'll be glad to,” I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “And things don't have to match. I like it better when they don't.”

“It's a deal, then. Do I smell Chinese food?”

“Sure do. Come help me set the table. I just got here. You won't believe where I've been.”

In the kitchen, I handed Pete the plates and silverware, and while he set the table, I retrieved the food from the warming drawer.

“I promise I'll believe you.” He smiled. “Where have you been?”

“I gave Daphne a ride home. She lives in a guesthouse behind the Trent place. But you probably already knew that.”

“Yeah. Chief's keeping an eye on her and on Tommy, too. Did she have any trouble sneaking that index card back underneath his socks?” He pulled a chair out for me, and we sat together at the Lucite table.

“She hasn't done it yet. But she thinks maybe the previous tenant left it in the drawer. Did you check that possibility?”

“We did. The place had been vacant for over a year. The landlord's daughter was the last tenant, and she moved out before you came to Salem. Dead end there. Daphne have anything else interesting to say?”

I passed him the crab Rangoon and thought about the brief conversation I'd had. “She likes being an actress, and she's apparently been living in that guesthouse rent free since before Helena died.”

“Did she say anything at all about Tommy?”

“Just that she's been spending a lot of time with him, but that she enjoys having her own space.”

“I think you do, too. Mind if I have another egg roll?”

“Help yourself. I do like having this apartment, and I like being close to Aunt Ibby at the same time. She's getting on in years, although she'd never admit it, and I'm the only close family she has.”

“I understand. Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about Gar y Campbell?”

“I know you can't talk about police business,” I said, “but I'd really like to know if he's going to wind up with Shea's inventor y.”

“It looks that way. I can tell you this much. The DA isn't going to charge him with her murder. Her time of death doesn't match up, and there's apparently no motive there. They were actually planning to get back together—business-wise—and Campbell can prove it.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“You'll probably think it's silly, but there's something in the shop I want to borrow for one of the plays, and I didn't know whether or not it was okay for me to approach him about it.”

“What's that?”

“The cash register.”

“Do you want to know if it's safe to approach him? Or just if it's appropriate?”

“Both, I guess. If you think it's a bad idea, I'll just use a cash box or something.” I was beginning to regret this whole conversation. It sounded petty, even to me. After all, Pete had important things to think about, and finding props for an amateur play performance suddenly seemed trivial.

“No. It's not that it's a bad idea,” Pete said, evidently taking my question seriously. “Of course he'll probably recognize you as the redhead he bumped into on his way out of the shop and realize that you're the one who fingered him.”

“I'd thought of that. Never mind. I'll use a cash box. Forget I asked.” I pulled open the flaps of a little folded take-out container that had come with our meal. “Want a fortune cookie?”

“I'll have one if you will.” We each selected a cookie, and Pete's expression turned serious once more. “You have a pretty good relationship with Jenny, don't you?”

“I think so. Why?”

“It might be a good idea for you to see if she'll make the request. Then, if he says no, you're out of the picture. If he says yes, you get the very cool cash register for the show. Make sense?”

I nodded. “It does. Thanks.”

“I'd just as soon you stayed away from him, Lee. He seems like a reasonable man right now, but remember, he once threatened Shea with some really bad stuff.” He reached for my hand. “I don't exactly trust him. Don't get involved with Campbell. Okay?”

“Okay. I promise. Let's see what our fortunes say. You first.”

He broke open his fortune cookie, read the slip of paper inside, then laughed. “This is good advice for anyone. ‘It never pays to kick a skunk.'”

“No doubt about that,” I agreed. “Let's see what mine says.” I pulled the strip of paper from my cookie, smiling. “Here's another truth, at least in this household. ‘Dogs have owners. Cats have staff.'”

“O'Ryan sure doesn't have any worries with you and your aunt pampering him,” Pete said. “Where is he, anyway? He usually meets me at the door.”

As though on cue, the cat door opened, and the big yellow boy strolled in and sat, ears straight up, directly under Pete's chair.

“There's your greeting,” I said. “A little late, but sincere.”

Pete reached down and patted the cat. “Maybe he thinks I am part of the staff and don't need to be checked out before I come inside.”

“I think you're right. It's true about cats. They don't have owners, like dogs do. I hadn't really thought about it before, but Ariel never really owned O'Ryan. And I'm pretty sure Aunt Ibby and I don't, either.” I paused. “Speaking of dogs, did you know Helena Trent once had a dog? A gray schnauzer named Nicky. Daphne said Helena was heartbroken when the little dog died.”

Pete looked thoughtful. “Must be the dog in that picture you found. I wonder if the license we found in the bureau belonged to him.”

“I'll bet it was his.”

“Did Daphne happen to mention when the dog died?”

“No. Why? Is it important?”

“Maybe. Could I take another look at that license?”

“Sure.” I couldn't think of any reason why Helena's dead dog would be important, but I got up, put the dishes in the sink and, with Pete following, headed for the bedroom.

“More furniture here, too,” Pete said. “Looks good.” He was right. With the addition of the white Biedermeier bedside table, a new TV, and a cute antique writing desk, the bedroom had lost its stark, empty look. I pulled open the top drawer of the bureau, unwrapped the dog license and handed it to him.

“No more mirror troubles, I hope,” Pete said, nodding toward the closed center panel. He took a pen and a small notebook from his pocket and copied the number from the tarnished tag.

“No problem.” I spoke a little too heartily, but he didn't seem to notice. He replaced the license in the drawer and pushed it closed. “Do you have time for coffee?”

“Always time for coffee,” he said, slipping an arm around my waist and propelling me back toward the kitchen.