Moonshadows (15 page)

“A thief!” Chelsea exploded. “Don’t you think that’s an utterly awful thing to say?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Amanda Austin tugged at the top button on her cardigan and turned toward her office. “We shall surely see.”

The three watched as she closed the office door behind her. Then they turned their astounded gazes upon each other.

At home that evening, Janet checked the mail while she nuked a bowl of mac and cheese and thought about the missing cashbox. The microwave churned out its boring buzz and she was glad she had agreed to the art showing. The phone rang just as she ripped open the electric bill from Middlebrook Light and Power. Sheriff Wiley was on the other end.

“The car’s in the carriage house, Janet,” he said.

The news left her speechless. She had been so sure—so positive.

“I guess I didn’t see it after all.”

“You really should keep that vehicle covered though. A machine that old has to be protected from dust and grime.”

“But it—” Janet started to say, before catching herself. “Thanks Lije. I appreciate your checking on it for me.”

“Anytime, Janet. Anytime.”

So, the car
had
been moved. Stephen must have been in a terrible hurry not to take the time to replace the tarp—he had been so careful with it before. Something kept niggling her brain:
what if it wasn’t him?

Around eight Janet, Chelsea, and Sebastian trouped into the art gallery to view the exhibit of wonderfully rotund children, skating ponds, and snow geese. The trio sipped punch as they strolled the length of the spot-lighted-walls. They took their time, sometimes going back for a second look to settle a point being discussed. They all agreed on the Moss genius.

An hour later they were back in Chelsea’s car heading for Janet’s apartment.

“I’ve got a great new herbal tea,” Janet said as Chelsea pulled in behind Janet’s car. “Anybody game?”

“Me, me,” Chelsea said.

“Dare I refuse?” Sebastian said from the back seat.

Janet laughed. “You darenth.”

They chatted and jostled up the sidewalk and into Janet’s apartment. She collected their coats and hung them in the closet.

“Sit,” she said. “I’ll start the water and rustle up some snacks.”

“Need any help?” Chelsea asked.

“You keep Sebastian company. It won’t take a jiffy.”

Janet listened as Chelsea pointed out the crystal menagerie, and then their conversation turned to art and her painting hanging over the sofa. Sebastian offered complimentary remarks about color techniques and brush strokes, and then there was the tinkling of piano keys. Janet stepped back to the doorway and watched when his long clever fingers tinkled across the keyboard as he played the first few bars of “
Scarborough Fair.”
He glanced at her, lifted his hands from the keys, and stuffed them under his thighs.

“Don’t stop,” Janet said.

He smiled and dropped his hands back to the keys.

Janet slid a laden tray onto the coffee table and stood listening to the music. Chelsea was sitting at the end of the sofa cradling the crystal unicorn in her hands. Of all the animals in Janet’s collection, the unicorn was her favorite. She called him ‘Unnie.’

Sebastian closed his eyes and lowered his russet mane. He played with a passion that seemed to take on a life all its own. When he came to the end, the notes faded so gradually that Janet was surprised when they were enveloped only in silence. He acknowledged their applause with an exaggerated bow.

The phone rang just as Janet handed Sebastian a cup of tea.

“I’ll get that in the kitchen,” she said. “Help yourself to the pound cake and strawberries.”

Janet picked up the receiver on the counter.

“Did you enjoy the art gallery?”

Janet flinched. “You knew about that?”

“I know everything.” The caller sounded irritated. “I have another riddle
for you.” This time the voice had a different edge to it, more hateful. Demanding.

“Why are you doing this?” Janet asked.

“Riddle a stranger, riddle a friend. Who do you turn to when trouble begins?”

Janet slammed down the phone.

She locked her mouth into something resembling a smile and held it tightly in place as she returned to her guests.

“Wrong number,” she said and gave Chelsea a knowing glance.

“Don’t you just hate that?” Sebastian said.

He laughed easily and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He spooned a second scoop of strawberries and poured another cup of tea.

Janet watched him and was envious of his apparent contentment. Of the three of them in the room, he seemed the only one completely at ease—the only one untouched by the complications of her life.

Chelsea and Sebastian stayed only a few minutes more. After they’d gone, Janet tidied the living room and rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Then she took a slow bath and turned in. A chill shook her body when the phone rang again.

“How about another riddle?”

“Please,” Janet said, “don’t do this.”

“Riddle me girl, riddle me fellow. Tell me what’s cross-gartered and yellow?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you so high and mighty.”

“I’m not high and mighty.”

“That’s right, you’re not. It’s a simple question with an easy answer, unless you’re stupid. Is that what you are?” the voice mocked. “A stupid girl?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Of course, you are, and I have no time for stupid people.”

Then the phone clattered. It was plain the caller was becoming impatient with her. And angry.

J
anet didn’t see Stephen for the next several days. He was home, light blazed in his windows at all hours, and his car was in its parking slot. He called a few times, checking in briefly during what he called his
writing lulls
, but their
conversations were brief. Then just by chance their paths crossed and the opportunity presented itself for the uncharted expedition across the courtyard. When the chance arose, it was so subtle she almost missed it.

Janet had stepped out of her car and looked up to see Stephen climbing out of his. He had a pizza box and a two-liter Pepsi.

“Hey,” he called. “Wait up. I’ll walk you up the sidewalk.”

Janet slowed her step and waited for him to catch up.

“Long time, no see,” he said with a grin. “I’ve missed you, but I’m really churning out words and filling pages.”

“Sounds like it’s coming right along,” Janet said. “Guess you’ve been putting in long hours, huh?”

“I’m already on chapter seven.” He juggled the pizza box for a better grip. “I’ve promised myself—with your permission, of course—that when this thing’s over I’m taking us away for a weekend. Some place warm and sunny.” He frowned. “Would you go, or am I dreaming?”

They had reached Janet’s door and she made a huge production of pulling the purse strap from her shoulder, fumbling with the zipper and digging for the door key.

He grinned. “No, I didn’t figure you would. But heck, a guy can dream, can’t he?” He glanced upward. “Sky’s getting heavy, probably snow by morning. I hate to fly when it snows.” He stopped and pulled Janet around to face him. “Did you get those new tires like I told you?”

A few days earlier Janet had decided to open the door of her suspicions just a crack, and had mentioned to him on the phone about skidding on an icy road. She’d given him no details and made it sound inconsequential. She wanted to gauge his reaction. There had been none. He seemed concerned, but not overly so.

She nodded to answer his question and continued fishing around in the denim tote bag for her key. Suddenly she stopped, her hand buried deep in the purse, and sneaked a peek up at him.

“Fly?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Fly,” she repeated, trying not to sound like a parrot. “You said you hate to fly when it snows.”

“I’ve got a meeting tomorrow afternoon with my publisher.”

“You’re not going to drive?”

“Huh-uh. The pony’s been making funny noises lately, so I’m putting her in the shop and taking an early flight. They want to see the first five chapters of the rewrite. While I’m there, I’ll see a few old friends and catch up on the latest news. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

The strength in Janet’s fingers suddenly evaporated and the key slid from her grasp and tinkled against the tiled porch.

“Butterfingers,” Stephen said, picking it up.

She accepted the key and her hand shook as she fitted it into the brass lock and thumbed down the latch. As the door swung inward, she turned her face up toward him and smiled.

Stephen dropped a kiss on her forehead. His mouth was warm to her cold skin and she could feel the heat of his breath.

“I hate to leave you,” he said. “Even though I’ve not seen much of you lately, at least I knew you were here, and all I had to do was pick up the phone to hear your voice.”

Janet forced herself to pull away from his touch. To linger in his embrace would be so easy. And dangerous? She was afraid so.

“Better get to your pizza before it gets cold.”

He seemed to sense her reluctance to be close to him.

“Guess it already has,” he said. “But it’s just as well, I think I’ve lost my appetite. Good night,” he said and turned away.

The door had barely closed behind her before she was on the phone to Chelsea.

“Stephen’s going to New York tomorrow,” she said. Her blue eyes darkened with a heavy brilliance. “He has a meeting about the book and won’t be back for a couple of days.”

“Oh?” Chelsea said, without comprehending. Then it hit her. “Oh!”

“I’m finally going to find out if he’s hiding anything,” Janet said.

“You know, breaking and entering is illegal.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen to me, Janet. It’s against the law. We could be arrested.”

“Not
we
, Chelsea. You’re not going with me. I just decided.”

“You decided? How about letting me decide for myself what I want. Huh? How about that?”

“You’re not the criminal type. You’re too much of a lady—too refined. Me, that’s another story. I’m not quite so, well, proper.”

“So it’s okay for you to go to jail but not me—is that what I’m hearing you say?”

“Chelsea, I can’t let you do this. It’s too much of a risk. Besides, it could all be for nothing. There may not be anything to find. It could all be for zilch.”

“You hope.”

“I do hope. Lord, how I hope.”

“But at least you’ll know,” Chelsea said. “One way or the other, you’ll know. You deserve nothing but the truth.”

“I never thought about honesty and dishonesty before. Isn’t it funny how we take certain things for granted?”

“Trusting souls, that’s us,” Chelsea said. “How do you propose we get in?”

“We? You mean you’re still going?”

“Janet, what did I say? Now, as I so patiently asked before: how do you mean to get us inside? You’re hardly the kind of person who knows how to pick a lock.”

Janet felt sheepish.

“I have a key. He gave it to me when he had to make one of his trips. I took in his mail and watered his angel-wing begonia that was about to bloom. He was afraid she might die and wanted me to offer words of encouragement.”

“And what did you say to the expectant mother?”

“I said, ‘Good morning, Lady Begonia. How are you feeling today?’”

“And what did she say?”

“Nothing. I don’t think she was in a good mood. But Stephen was concerned, so at least I tried.”

“There you go,” Chelsea said. “Anybody who’d cares so much for a plant that’s about to give birth to a little blossom can’t be all bad.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Know what I think? I think we’re going over there and find a messy apartment, rumpled bedclothes, lots of manuscript pages scattered all around, and that’s all. That’s what I think.”

“From Ethel’s lips to God’s ear,” Janet said.

Chelsea chuckled. “Okay, Lucy. What time?”

“Midnight.”

“Naturally. Why’d I even ask?”

Janet’s laugh was part nerves and part humor.

“I’m not being dramatic. It just takes that long for things to quieten down around here. Why don’t you drive over after work and we’ll order subs and beer.”

Chelsea laughed. “Liquid courage?”

“Why not? You see Chels, not only are we going to break and enter, when we get arrested they can also toss us in the pokey for being inebriated.”

“Janet!”

“I’m kidding—at least, I hope I’m kidding. But you’ve got to understand, what we’re getting ready to do could wind up having serious consequences.”

“I know.”

“And you’re still game?”

“Sure, but let’s make it subs and iced tea.”

Janet laughed. “You got it.”

“Then it’s all set.”

“Tomorrow’s going to be a stretch for both of us,” Janet said. “We’ll have to work the whole day just like it was any other.”

“Can you imagine what Miss Austin’s reaction would be if she knew what we’re planning?” Chelsea laughed. “And poor Sebastian.”

“Innocent Sebastian,” Janet said. “Did you ever know a person more childlike and uncorrupted? I hate to think what he’d do if he found out he’s working with would-be felons.” She laughed. “After all, he did tell me to ‘
go and
sin no more
.’ And did I listen and learn? No.”

“He’d be crushed.”

Janet agreed. “People are funny, you know. Sometimes I wonder what goes into making us the creatures we are. I’ve seen the Lancaster genealogy line and always thought most of them were rascals, and I felt like I didn’t belong in that gene pool.”

Chelsea laughed. “Since Freud, experts have been trying to figure that one out. I guess the simplest answer is: we are who we are—for better or worse.”

“Somewhere, back there in my distant past, must have been a couple of pretty nice humans whose DNA piled on top of each other and out I popped.”

“And I’m lucky enough to have you for a best friend. Life with you is never dull.”

“Say that when you’re looking out from behind steel bars, wearing orange and white stripes—bright orange, at that. And wide stripes running horizontal.”

“Orange and white—is that what color they are? Janet, neither of us should ever wear bright colors—especially orange. With your hair and my pale coloring, it’s the worst possible choice. We should stick to earth tones.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Good night, Janet.”

“Sleep tight Chels.”

The next morning Janet’s active imagination surged to what lay ahead. She thought Amanda Austin seemed to look at her with more than a little suspicion. Sebastian, on the other hand, was his usual unperturbed self.

Across the room, in her regular chair, Mrs. Goldman lingered longer than normal over the newspapers. A corner of the juvenile section was filled with toddlers from the Jack and Jill Day Care Center. The little ones found it hard to sit still and were in constant fidget-mode while Chelsea read a nursery rhyme:

Hickory Dickory Dock

The mouse ran up the clock

“And the clock stopped,” Janet whispered to herself. “And the mouse and me and Chelsea all went to jail.”

Time crept. The day progressed. Beat by beat, breath by breath. Everything seemed to spin in a lopsided orbit. Nothing was synchronized. Occasionally Janet would risk a look in Chelsea’s direction. Chelsea would cock a blonde eyebrow, then return to her work.

Janet didn’t remember quitting time. Nor did she remember supper. But then, somewhere between the space of leaving the library and circling around in the dark to Stephen’s back door, her brain came off automatic pilot and began to function. She fit the key into the lock with cold and steady hands.

“Ready, Sherlock?” Janet asked.

Chelsea lifted her noble chin. “Lead on, Watson.”

Assuming that the layout of the apartment was the same as her own, Janet led the way inside. Chelsea’s hands were around her waist. It was comforting to Janet to have them there. They blended into the silhouette of a double-layered crouching shadow as they shuffled through the blackness of the kitchen.

Janet’s foot sent something skittering across the floor with a scrunching sound.

“What was that?” Chelsea whispered against her ear.

Janet’s Mag-Lite pierced a skinny column of light through the darkness. She aimed it at her foot.

“A basket,” Janet whispered. “Just a wicker basket of magazines.”

With bodies locked together, they crept forward, their progress measured by their metronomic heartbeats. Janet groped along the wall and down a hallway, then turned right into what she assumed was Stephen’s bedroom. She flipped the flashlight on again and edged it around a room that showed a desk filled with computer equipment.

“His writing room,” Janet whispered. “Let’s check across the hall.”

In unison they turned toward the bedroom located to the front of the apartment. Suddenly Chelsea giggled.

“What’s funny?”

“I was just thinking, what if Stephen’s come home early and we find him in his bed.”

“I think he would’ve had us tackled by now. Two handy-dandy burglars we’re not,” Janet said.

“Then why are we whispering?”

Janet straightened her shoulders. “Just dumb, I guess.”

“Dumb and scared,” Chelsea agreed.

Janet flicked the beam around the room. “We’ll never find anything with this dinky little whatnot.”

“We could turn the light on. Or at least a lamp.”

“Okay, let’s chance it,” Janet said. “Yank those drapes together and I’ll shut the door to keep light from the rest of the rooms.”

Janet squinted against the harsh overhead light when she flipped the wall switch. The first thing she saw was the picture of the boy with the kite she’d given Stephen. It was framed in a kind of sailcloth material and was hanging over the head of his bed. The bed was unmade, pillows piled atop each other. Sweaters and jeans, clothes familiar to Janet, were tossed on a chair and spilled onto the floor. The room smelled faintly of Beau Brummel and perspiration. The closet door was opened, showing a tumble of shoes.

“Where should we start?” Chelsea asked.

Janet suddenly felt faint from the audacity of her actions. “Chelsea, what are we—crazy? We can’t do this.”