Light from Her Mirror (Mirrors Don't Lie Book 3) (15 page)

“I
could have told you our father was a nerd. Anything else?” Kenzie asked as they
stepped up onto the porch.

“I
asked if they had any family in the area. He said he couldn’t say, but I don’t
think that necessarily meant no.”

“What
do you mean?”

“It
was the way he said it. He didn’t directly answer my question and he had an odd
look on his face. Then he changed the subject and they left.”

“I
wonder what that was about. Why did he - oh, my gosh! What in the world?”

As
they stepped inside the house, light flooded the once-dim rooms and noise came
at them from all directions. With the power suddenly restored, appliances were
coming to life after twenty-odd years of sleep. Not all met the occasion with
grace.

A
clock radio blared from the back bedroom with more static than music. A timer
buzzed on the stove. The refrigerator groaned and heaved, struggling to awaken
after its long nap. In the dining room, an electric wall clock whined and
grated as its sluggish hands were forced to move again. The old tube-style
television hummed loudly, and the VCR whirled as an outdated cassette tape
rewound itself.

The
women went through the house, turning off electrical devices and opening water
faucets so the pipes could clear. As predicted, the water was rusty and stale,
but after running a long while, the stream came out clear and fresh.

“I
wonder if the air conditioner works,” Kenzie said, twisting a knob on the
window unit in the living room. A huge puff of dust billowed out as the fan
whirled, whined, and promptly died. “Guess not,” she said in disgust, wiping
the dust from her face. “Put that on your list.”

“I
saw a couple of box fans in the well shed. We can get those out. And I think
there was another a/c unit in the back bedroom. Maybe it will work.”

“You
can try it,” Kenzie snorted. “I’ve had my dust-bath for the day, thank you very
much.”

“Oh,
well, you’re just going to get worse when we finish cleaning.”

“I
thought we were calling it quits for the day.”

“Only
because we didn’t have power and water. Now we can keep working.”

“That’s
why
you
were going to quit,” Kenzie grinned. “I’m tired.”

“Come
on, let’s get all the grungy work over with today, so tomorrow we can
concentrate on looking for clues.”

“We
are going back to the hotel tonight, right?”

“I
don’t know, do you want to?”

“Hmm,
let me think.” Kenzie put her hands out in scale fashion. “Stay here, fight off
the dust and the wolves. Go back to the hotel, have a nice hot bath with clean
water, sleep on clean sheets, watch television in the comfort of our nice cool
air conditioner. Hmm. Hard decision.” One hand was head-high, the other near
her hips.

“Okay,
so we’ll go back to the hotel,” Makenna agreed. “But let’s strip the sheets and
wash them so we can at least stay here tomorrow night.”

“I’m
not sure about staying out here…”

“Oh,
come on, tomorrow this will look like a new place.”

“I’m
not sure this looked like a new place twenty-three years ago,” Kenzie murmured,
surveying the rustic cabin and its outdated decor.

“I
think it’s adorable,” Makenna said smugly, as she sashayed into the kitchen.
She opened the refrigerator door and groaned. “Ugh. How disgusting.”

“What
is it?”

“Never
mind, you don’t even need to look.” She knew her sister’s solution would be to
throw the entire appliance out and buy a new one. The thought had its merits.
“I’ll take care of this, you take care of the living room. And let’s be sure
and put baking soda on the list. Lots and lots of baking soda.”

Even
with a dozen boxes, she was not sure she could purge the smell of twenty-three
years of rotted food.  

Sunlight
streamed through sparkling glass panes, reflecting off floors freshly mopped
and furniture newly polished. All the curtains and linens were laundered, the
throw rugs vacuumed and aired. Candles and air freshener chased away the musty
smell of dormant air, the lemony fragrance stirred by box fans set in the
living room and kitchen.

If
not ‘new’, the inside of the cabin at least looked livable.

For
safety reasons, the women decided to leave the outside looking uninhabited.
They pulled Yoko around to the back of the house, where the small back porch
off the kitchen was now swept clean. Although slightly decrepit, a carefully
chosen path made it a safe alternative to using the more visible front porch.

Tucked
inside the newly freshened house, the sisters looked for clues from their past.
When they first discovered the house the month before, they had searched with
the help of Hardin and Travis. Without electricity, however, it was easy to
miss some of the best places to store - or hide - documents. But with the
proper light, they were finding more cubbyholes stuffed with papers, shoeboxes
filled with receipts, and one folder with medical records.

“Okay,
so I had regular dental check-ups as a toddler,” Kenzie reported as she thumbed
through some papers. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Sure.
Baby teeth.”

“I
wonder if this dentist is still in business. He might be able to tell us
something about our parents.”

“Possibly.”

“You
sound skeptical.”

“Well,
it has been over twenty years. But I agree, it’s worth a try.”

Kenzie
fished her new no-contract phone from her jeans and punched in the number while
Makenna continued her search. They had not yet dusted inside the china cabinet,
where the glass doors had kept most of the airborne particles at bay. She was
doing double duty now, looking inside and under each item as she lifted them to
dust.

“Well,
that was a bust,” Kenzie reported in disgust. “The number now belongs to a
Chinese food restaurant. Are you finding anything?”

“A
couple of buttons, a few small stones, a little toy that looks like it came
from a fast food chain, a key, another key, and a hair ribbon.” Makenna held
the items in her open palm.

“What
kind of keys?”

“This
one looks like it’s to a Ford vehicle, probably the one outside, and this one
looks like it goes to a padlock. And let’s see, here’s a little slip of paper…
a phone number, no name.”

“Hand
it here, I’ll call it.”

Makenna
relinquished the paper and moved to another shelf. She pulled out a heavy
crystal bowl, admiring the fine etching and obvious quality of the piece. It
seemed at odds in the rustic cabin, but everyone enjoyed a touch of elegance
now and then. She picked up a large ironstone platter, admiring its pattern,
just as she heard Kenzie’s sharp gasp. Obviously an antique, the platter
slipped from her startled fingers but she managed to catch it just before it
hit the ground.

“What-What
is it?” she asked, hugging the platter to her. 

“You’ll
never believe whose number that was.” Kenzie looked rattled, her face unusually
pale.

“Whose?”

“The
Senator’s. Harry Lawrence.”

Makenna’s
brows knitted together. “Why would our mother have the Senator’s number? Was it
to his office or his home?”

“His
home, I suppose. It would have to be. He’s no longer a Representative here. He
moved to Colorado and became their Senator.”

“But
why would our mother be calling him?”

“I
don’t know, but I’m sure it has to do with Modern Power. His picture was on
that roll of film and his name was on the list.” Kenzie motioned to the dish
Makenna held. “What’s that? Something is on the back.”

Makenna
turned the platter over and saw a small piece of paper taped to the back. “
From
Grandmother Hannah’s first set of dishes
,” she read aloud.
“Married
1943, Grafton County.
”

Kenzie’s
eyes glowed with excitement. “Progress, at last! So our great-grandmother’s
name was Hannah. I wonder which side it was on? I guess we could go to the
courthouse and search marriage records from 1943.”

“This
is Grafton County, isn’t it?”

“I
think so.”

“Let’s
see if there’s anything else.”

They
searched the rest of the dishes, but the only other tag was vague.
Granny
Ruth’s teacup.
Another piece of paper, folded and stuffed beneath a stack
of plates, had a message written in code.

“I
think our mother was a secret spy,” Kenzie muttered derisively, seeing the
familiar scrambled letters. “She certainly had a flair for codes.”

“Obviously
she was afraid her messages would be seen by the wrong people.” Makenna glanced
at the wall clock, which was still having difficulty keeping the correct time.
“I think we still have time to get to the courthouse. It’s in Haverhill, I
think. Maybe we can make a few businesses, too, and see if anyone remembers our
parents.”

“Maybe
we should split up. One of us can dig through records, one of us - meaning me,
of course - can go around talking to people.”

“Why
you, of course?”

“Because
I’m a people person and you’re a paper person,” Kenzie reasoned.

“Excuse
me? A paper person?”

“Sure.
And don’t act so offended. It’s all those lists you make. Paper.” She shrugged,
as if it were perfectly clear.

Because
it was clear, Makenna did not argue. “Let me get my notebook. You can drop me
off at the courthouse while you make the rounds.”

***

The
village of Haverhill, tucked along the Connecticut River, was more of a farming
community than an actual town. Edged up to the border of Vermont, there were
few businesses to boast of in the once-thriving center, first established in 1763.
A historical plaque marked its significance in history, but little was left of
the town other than the historical town corner and a smattering of charming old
buildings.

Makenna
wanted to linger on the town greens, but Kenzie compromised by taking pictures
of the tree-studded twin lots and the gazebo that graced one of them. She took
a close-up shot of the historical marker, snapped off a dozen or so images of
the impressive old churches, houses, and the ancient jail-turned-library,
before encouraging her sister to hurry along.

North
Haverhill was a few miles down the Dartmouth Highway, and home of the Grafton
County Courthouse. While Makenna dug through old record books, Kenzie went
through the small town, looking for businesses that appeared to be well
established; they had lived here in the early 1990’s, after all.

By
the time she picked her sister up in front of the courthouse, there was time
for only one more stop.

“I
think we have time to get to the newspaper office before it closes,” Kenzie
said as soon as Makenna got into the car.

“Did
you find out anything?” her sister asked hopefully.

“Absolutely
nothing. The waitress at the cafe was new in town - she’s only lived in the
area seven years- but if we come back at breakfast, Mel will be there. Mel knows
everyone. I heard the same thing at the gas station, the corner market, the
antique store, etc... When I asked at the insurance company and the hardware
store, they looked at me like I had two heads. I gotta tell you, my
expectations at the paper are about as low as my spirits. Either no one
remembers, or no one wants to talk about it.” She maneuvered Yoko into a
parking spot and killed the engine. “Ready?”

There
was only one person still in the office, an older gentleman with rumbled
clothes and a cluttered desk.

“Back
in the early nineties, eh?” he said, peering at them over wire-rimmed glasses.
“Have all the old papers on microfiche. Been working on getting them digital,
but it’s one of those things we work on when we have extra time. Never have extra
time, so they’re still on microfiche.” He snickered at his own humor.

“We
certainly understand that,” Kenzie said, offering him one of her bright smiles.
“And I know how busy you must be, running a newspaper and all!” She let a touch
of awe slip into her voice. Never mind that she worked for one of the biggest
and most prestigious magazines in the country. “I can’t imagine how demanding
your job must be. Sister, can you?”

She
glanced over her shoulder to Makenna, who played along with appropriate wonder.
“And so important, too.” She bobbed her auburn head.

“So
we’d never want to do anything to bother you, or to get in the way of your very
important work.” Kenzie looked and sounded completely sincere, her voice
flavored with Southern charm. “If you’ll just point us in the way of your
micro-thingy machine, we’ll only take up a tiny little corner of your space and
time. You won’t even know we’re here.”

“Uhm,
well, you see…” The older man stammered, his eyes darting to the clock on the
wall. “It’s- It’s almost closing time.”

“But
since there’s two of us, it won’t take us nearly as long. Sister, you read
fast, don’t you?”

“Almost
a speed reader,” Makenna confirmed. 

The
old man’s eyes bobbed from one woman to the other, clearly stalling. “The-The
machine’s not hooked up. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Kenzie
pouted prettily, her voice now thick with a honeyed accent. “I’m just so
anxious to learn more about your charming little town. Are you sure we couldn’t
get a teeny-tiny little glimpse of those old papers today?”

“I’m
afraid not, miss.”

Sensing
they were getting nowhere, Makenna smiled at the old man and tapped her sister
on the arm. “We’ve taken up too much of his valuable time already. We’ll just
come back tomorrow, like he suggested. What time do you open in the morning,
sir?”

“Eight
o’clock.”

“We’ll
be here.”

As
they left the newspaper office, the old man was already dialing the telephone.
Makenna waited until they were out of earshot before she muttered, “I wonder
what that was all about!”

“There’s
something in those papers he doesn’t want us to see.”

“I
get the distinct impression that no one in this town wants to talk about the
past. Not about our past, anyway.”

“Maybe
the Mafia threatened them into staying quiet. Isn’t that basically what
happened with that professor and his uncle, the one you met the first time you
were up here? The mafia scared them into silence. He warned you not to be
poking around, asking questions,” Kenzie reminded her sister.

“Yes,
but he said our family just disappeared into thin air.”

“Maybe
everyone up here invented the story of a car wreck to keep people from looking
for them. Us.”

“I
have news for them. I’m not leaving without a few answers,” Makenna said with
determination.

“So
what did you find out at the courthouse? Were there tons of women named Hannah
who got married in 1943?”

“Only
four, actually. I also found one marriage with the last name of Hannah. Anne
Cunningham married Aaron Hannah in November of ‘43.”

“It’s
a possibility. And my middle name is Anne, with an ‘e’ at the end. How was hers
spelled?”

“Same
way. That’s an awfully common name, though.”

“But
it’s more than we had when we started.”