Moonshadows (16 page)

“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 order.”

“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 picture 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…”

W
hen 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
?

Later Sebastian moseyed over and sat on the corner of her desk. “Want to go to lunch?”

“It’s awfully gloomy,” Janet said. “We could have something delivered.”

“Yeah, we could. Or we could go around the corner to the diner and have their wonderful beef stew and crusty sesame bread.” He smiled. “Now truly, which sounds better?”

Janet laughed. “The diner it is.”

“Looks like Chelsea’s going to be tied up for a while,” Sebastian said. “Why don’t you check and see if we can bring her something? I’ll ask Amanda.”

He turned away and headed toward Miss Austin’s office.

Janet yanked her coat from her locker, grabbed her purse from the messy bottom shelf and kicked the metal door shut. She stopped by the table where Chelsea’s calm voice was mediating a disagreement between the students doing a report on Moby Dick. She lifted her head when Janet spoke her name.

“Can I see you for a moment?” Janet asked. Chelsea excused herself and walked away from the table.

“You okay?” Janet whispered. “I mean after last night.”

Chelsea grinned and nodded. “Did you sleep?”

“A little.”

“We’ll talk later,” Chelsea said and motioned toward the table. “I need to get back before they go at each other.” She rolled her eyes. “Of all the things to disagree on—a silly fish.”

“You going to be long?” Janet asked.

“Looks like.”

“Sebastian and I are running around the corner for lunch. Can I bring you something?”

“That’d be great, I’m starved.”

“Beef stew?”

“And a salad and a double order of bread.”

Janet laughed. “You are starved.”

“Burgling makes me hungry,” Chelsea said with a wink. “I’ve got to keep my strength up in case another caper’s called for.”

Janet grinned. “At least we didn’t get caught.”

“And lived to burgle another day,” Chelsea said with a chuckle.

Sebastian was winding a muffler around his neck as he joined Janet. Chelsea waved as they went out the door and turned back to the students.

The Shamrock Eatery was alive with a noisy crowd and luscious odors of onions and basil and freshly baked bread. The plate glass windows were fogged from the heavy, moist air. Janet trailed Sebastian to a back booth and shortly a server appeared and took their order. Moments later their food arrived.

“So.” Sebastian lifted a spoon filled with potato chunks and tender beef. “How’s it going?”

“Going?”

“Well, you always seem to be heading off in a dozen directions at once—you and Chelsea. What do you two find to keep yourselves so busy?” He admonished her with a bony finger. “I hope it’s nothing illegal.”

Janet flinched and looked into the clear innocence of his eyes:
if he only knew.

“And I understand you have a young man.” He waved his spoon in the air. “Stephen—was that his name?”

“Prescott. How did you know about him?”

“Oh, I’ve heard his name mentioned a time or two. I didn’t mean to listen in to yours and Chelsea’s conversations, but sometimes the library gets pretty quiet and I can’t help but hear.” He smiled, showing tiny teeth. “Amanda mentioned he came in one day but didn’t stay long. Why don’t you have him come back now and then? Sometimes I get to feeling downright lonely being the only male in a roomful of females.”

“He stays busy and has to be out of town a lot.”

“Business?”

Janet nodded. “He’s a writer.” As if that explained it all.

“I see,” Sebastian said, as if he understood.

They turned their attention to the food.

“How about you?” Janet finally asked. “Anybody special in your life?”

Sebastian shook his head and the mop of copper-colored hair glistened. His eyes looked weak and delicate behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “Having someone special in my life right now isn’t important. I have other things that mean more to me.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, lots of things: new job, new people to get used to, new things to accomplish.”

“It must be scary to pull up roots from one life and try to plant them down in another.”

“One does what one must,” he said with a grin. “I’ve learned to make do.”

Janet laughed. “And an excellent
do
at that. You and Miss Austin have hit it off. That’s an accomplishment in itself.”

“I understand her. We’re like two wayward spirits.”

“I never thought of her as a spirit—wayward or otherwise.”

“Oh, but she is.” He smiled. “We all are.”

“I’m glad you two are friends.”

Sebastian grinned. “Amanda’s much like asparagus, she’s an acquired taste.”

“I like her,” Janet said, feeling a little guilty at the slight fib. “But she seems to have little use for me. I’ve often wondered why.”

“Maybe she’s just put off by your station.”

“Station?”

“You know, Lancaster. Money. Power.”

“Me, power? Wrong!” She tapped her chest. “No power here. No more than Chelsea and certainly not nearly as much as Miss Austin, for that matter.”

“Maybe not—as you see it. But sometimes perception is everything.”

“How about you?”

“Me? I don’t perceive—anything. I know what I know and, more important, I know what I don’t know.”

Janet glanced at her watch. “This has been fun,” she said. “I like talking to you, let’s do it again.”

“Anytime,” he said, reaching for the check.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Janet snatched the bill from his fingers. “You see if Chelsea’s take-out’s ready, I’ll get this.”

Sebastian smiled. “Do you always get your way?”

“Not always—but I do this time,” she said and gave him a push toward the pickup window.

When they got back to the library, Sebastian shoved through the front door and held it for Janet, who had her hands full.

“Soup’s on,” Janet called to Chelsea and continued on to the lounge.

“Great.” Chelsea followed along behind them. “I’ve worked up some appetite.”

Miss Austin was tossing a crumpled wrapper and paper plate in the trash can when Janet placed the food on the table, and turned to hang up her coat in her locker.

Chelsea plopped down and began opening containers, while Sebastian leaned against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. Janet dumped her purse, then pitched her coat toward the hook. The coat missed its mark and fell to the floor of the locker. She bent to pick it up just as her eye caught a glimpse of something peeking out from beneath a pile of old magazines.

“What’s this?” she said, digging into the stack.

Sebastian stepped forward. “What’s what?”

Janet’s eyes flew wide as she lifted the box.

“The cashbox,” Sebastian said.

Chelsea bolted from her chair.

“How—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

“See there, I knew it would turn up,” Sebastian boasted.

Miss Austin turned from the sink.

“That may be all well and good, but can somebody explain how it ended up in Janet’s locker?” Her cold eyes scanned the crowd then landed on Janet. “Well?”

Janet carried the illusive box to the table and slammed it down. “You expect me to explain—like maybe I put it there?”

“Well, it didn’t crawl in by itself,” said Miss Austin. “It had to have help.”

“And you think I did it?” Janet’s voice rose in anger. “I’ll tell you one thing right now, and make no mistake about it. If I had stolen the box I certainly wouldn’t have left it in my ratty old locker where, I might add, the door hangs open most of the time and the whole world can see what’s inside. And for another, I just happen to know—”

“Janet!” Chelsea exploded. “Of course you didn’t take the box.” She reached Janet’s side and took her hand.

Janet’s blue eyes glistened and she knew she was about to lose control.

“You know what I think,” Janet sputtered. “I think we should call the police. Let them come in and take fingerprints. Maybe hook us up to one of those lie detector machines or give us truth serum. Heck,” she said, sweeping her arm around the room, “let’s have the boys downtown check out the whole blooming place and find out what’s going on—that’s what I think.”

Miss Austin gave a faint chuckle.

“Really Janet, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why the publicity alone would probably shut us down for no telling how long.”

Sebastian held up a cautioning hand. “We should all take a deep breath.” His voice was soothing; calming. “I have a feeling that it’s been a prank. After all, not all our library patrons are little angels. Somebody must’ve gotten teed off with one of us and played a little trick.” He smiled. “Most of them know where the cashbox is kept—they’ve had to pay into it often enough.”

“That makes sense,” said Miss Austin.

Janet jerked around. “But—”

Chelsea grabbed her arm. “Janet, that’s probably what happened—makes sense to me.”

Amanda Austin picked up the box and headed toward the door.

“Then I suggest we get back to work, and Chelsea, finish your lunch. It’s probably cold by now.”

By five-thirty the threatening sky had given way to a heavy downpour. Janet and Chelsea left the building together and darted toward the parking lot.

“I’ll call soon as I get home,” Chelsea said before slamming her car door.

Janet was still trying to calm down as she drove home. She parked and made a mad dash for her front door. Shucking off the wet clothes, she pulled on a quilted robe and slid her feet into a pair of lime-green slouch socks. After towel drying her hair into a wild sunburst, she rolled a cotton scarf into a long tube, tied it around her head and made a big floppy bow on top. She had just started to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She opened the door a couple of inches and held it there.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello, Stephen.”

“Can I come in?”

Janet eased the door forward. “I’m not dressed.”

He touched the latch. “You look dressed to me.”

“I’m really pooped,” she said as a rush of fear chilled her body. Surely he wouldn’t try to force his way in. “I don’t feel like having company tonight.”

“Janet, is something wrong? I realize I’ve been tied up a lot lately, but you know how important the book is.” He shivered against the rain as a keen streak of lightning flashed in the distance, outlining him against a harsh sky. “You haven’t even asked how it’s coming along.” He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He’s a good actor
, Janet thought, and imagined he packed the house when he was on stage. Her hand tightened on the door. She could not allow herself to give in to his words. After all, words were his business. She had to be strong.