Legacy of Lies

  “From what?”

  “Avril Scarborough, I suppose.”

  I recognized the name from the gravestone.

  “She was murdered, you know.”

  “Murdered!” I repeated with disbelief.

  The woman’s head bobbed. “The family covered it up. Said it was an accident. It wasn’t.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen the ghost. In the rear wing, the room above the kitchen, the only night I stayed there. Say what you want, but happy dead folks don’t come back to haunt.”

  “Alice,” the older woman hissed. “I’m ready to go.”

  “Never asks if I’m ready,” Alice muttered to me, then stepped forward to take the woman’s arm and guide her down the street.

  I stared after them. My mother would have told me if someone in her family had been murdered. It’s just gossip compounded by Alice’s imagination, I thought.

  For the next hour we were extremely busy. Still, as I ran my finger down a tax table and stuffed tissue in boxes, I found myself wondering what could have spawned Alice’s story. Small-town boredom? Jealousy of a family that had more money than others? Or was there a suspicious event that could be interpreted that way?

  I became so lost in thought, I didn’t hear what a customer had just said to me. “I’m sorry. What?”

  The red-haired girl gazed back at me with wide, clear eyes and smiled a little. “I didn’t say anything.”

  I was certain she had, but perhaps it was the blond girl who had stopped with two friends to sort through items on our sidewalk tables. She looked like the passenger I’d seen in the front seat of Matt’s Jeep yesterday. Her two friends echoed whatever opinion she had. She liked the beaded purses, so they liked the beaded purses. She thought the jewelry was for old ladies, so they thought the jewelry was for old ladies.

  I noticed that the redhead looked up at the girls once or twice, as if to say hello, but they didn’t acknowledge her. Snobs, I thought. She seemed used to it and went back to her own browsing, lifting up a silver chain that dangled a clear blue stone. The gem had the same mystical look as her eyes.

  “Try it on,” I told her. “There’s a mirror inside the store.”

  She quickly put it down. “I can’t buy it.”

  “So? Doesn’t mean you can’t try it on.”

  She looked at me uncertainly, then smiled, picked up the pendant, and went inside.

  When I turned to a woman waiting to buy a lace collar, I saw the two echoes watching me, but the blond quickly got their attention with a comment about the shop’s ugly old jewelry. I focused on finding my customer the right-size box, pulling out a flat piece of cardboard, then fitting the tabs into their slots.

  “Matt! Hey, Matt!” the blond called out, and I glanced up.

  My cousin and three other guys strode toward her and her friends.

  So that’s what you look like when you smile, I thought. It was a terrific smile, I noted grudgingly, then lined my customer’s box with tissue.

  “Hi, Kristy,” he greeted the blond. “Amanda, Kate.”

  “We missed you,” Kristy said to him. “We didn’t see you at the game.”

  “Oh, I think you did,” he replied lightly. “I was sitting with Charles, remember?”

  “Your sports buddy.” I heard the sneer in her voice; raising my head, I saw it on her face.

  “He’s my teammate,” Matt said, still smiling. “You’re always sitting with your teammates,” he added, nodding at the echoes.

  Boy, did he know how to flirt with those eyes! The girls on either side of her giggled.

  “They’re friends,” she told him, in a fake, quarreling voice. “We don’t play a sport.”

  “Partying,” he said. “Isn’t that one?”

  They all laughed.

  I stamped my customer’s check with an irritated thump. Why was he so flirty and charming to some people and such a jerk to me? I handed the package to my customer.

  “Thanks very much. Come again,” I said quietly.

  Apparently, not quietly enough. I was turning my George Washingtons face up, counting the singles, when I realized that Matt’s group of friends had stopped talking. I looked up to see him staring at me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. He sounded as if he’d caught me trespassing.

  “Working. You got a problem with that?”

  The blond-haired guy next to Matt glanced sideways at him and smiled.

  “You’re supposed to be visiting Grandmother,” he told me.

  “I don’t remember clearing my schedule with you.”

  His friend laughed out loud, which annoyed Matt.

  “In fact,” I added, “I don’t remember you showing an interest in anything I was doing.”

  Everyone but the grinning guy looked uncomfortable. Kristy moved closer to my cousin. “Who is she?”

  I prickled at her tone.

  “Megan, my cousin, sort of,” Matt replied.

  “What do you mean by sort of?” asked the smiling guy.

  “Matt’s father is my uncle, sort of,” I said.

  The guy looked from Matt to me. There was a brightness in his blue eyes, a spark of laughter. I liked him immediately. “So, who are you?” I asked bluntly.

  “Alex Rodowsky.” He held out his right hand.

  “Your sort-of cousin’s friend. I hope he’s not grumpy like this at home.”

  “He is.”

  Matt scowled.

  “When he starts it with me,” Alex said, “I just ignore him.”

  “Is he like this a lot?” I asked. “How long does he stay this way?” What a scowl!

  “Don’t you know? You’re his cousin,” Alex pointed out.

  “We met for the first time yesterday. Though Matt has disliked me long before that.” Alex looked puzzled.

  I heard Matt suck in his breath and let it out slowly. “Maybe we should talk at home, Megan.”

  “Why, that would be a nice change!”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Megan?” Ginny called through the door. “Can you give me twenty singles?”

  “Be right in,” I said, banding the stack of bills I had just counted.

  Matt’s friends drifted off. The way the girls bent their heads together, I figured they were discussing me. I picked up the cash box to carry inside, but Ginny met me at the door. “Thanks, honey. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  I returned to my post in time to see Alex pull Matt back from the departing group.

  “What’s this sort-of cousin stuff?” he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down, perhaps thinking I was inside. “Is she or isn’t she?”

  “Legally she is, but not really,” Matt replied. “She’s adopted.”

  “Which means you can date her,” Alex said. “Are you interested?”

  “No,” Matt answered quickly.

  “Good. I am.”

  “She’s got a mouth,” my cousin warned.

  His friend shrugged. “Makes it easier to kiss.”

  Matt must have made a strange face because Alex laughed at him, then walked off to join the others. Matt glanced back over his shoulder. His jaw dropped a little when he realized I was standing there.

  I turned away just as the redhead was coming from inside the shop.

  “Want to see how it looks?” she asked, smiling shyly. “Miss Ginny told me to try these earrings with it. The stone is aquamarine.”

  “I knew it would look great on you!”

  She touched the stone lightly, then reluctantly reached back for the clasp.

  “Too much?”

  “Yes,” she said, handing it to me. I glanced at the tag. “Whoa! That’s a lot of Big Macs.”

  I put it back in the velvet case and she set the earrings next to it.

  “I’m Sophie. Sophie Quinn.”

  “Megan Tilby,” I told her.

  “Nice to meet you. I, uh, was standing at the door when Matt was talking to Al
ex,” Sophie said. “Matt’s your cousin?”

  “Legally.” Darn, I thought; now I’m making that distinction. “I’m visiting for two weeks.”

  “I hope you have a real good time. I probably shouldn’t ask this, but has Matt told you anything about the girls at school and, well, who he likes?”

  I started to laugh at the thought of him confiding in me, then stifled it, realizing Sophie might have a crush on him. “Why? Are you interested in him?”

  She blushed a little. “Every girl in the senior class is interested in him,” she told me. “And Matt never lets on who he really likes, which makes all the girls crazy.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t have a clue. I don’t really know him.”

  Sophie nodded. “I guess he’s just one of those people who gets along with everyone.”

  Nearly everyone, I thought.

  five

  At four o’clock Ginny told me to take a break and sent me to Tea Leaves with some money. Figuring that tonight’s dinner would be leftovers from last night’s, I splurged and got a piece of chocolate cheesecake.

  The café was a comfortable place with a worn tile floor and painted tables and chairs, none of the sets matching. At the back was a long glass case filled with bakery items, as well as a refrigerator case with yogurt and salads. A lady with fuzzy hair and a man who looked like a fifty-year-old Pillsbury Doughboy waited on customers. The man had a round, pleasant face that creased easily into a smile. He called many of the customers by name.

  I carried my dessert to a table by the bay window, glad for a chance to sit down. There was a sign in the window, its letters faded but readable: Fortunes Told Here. Well, I didn’t need a psychic to tell me I was headed for two tough weeks. Why did Matt dislike me so much? I wondered. I had never had trouble making friends. It was as if he’d made up his mind about me before we’d met.

  I took a forkful of cheesecake, then another. Stop trying to figure Matt out, I told myself. He’s a jerk.

  “Everything okay?”

  The round-faced man had come from behind the counter to wipe down tables. “If you don’t like your selection, help yourself to something else.”

  I realized I must have been frowning.

  “Whatever you want. On the house,” he added.

  “Oh, no!” I said quickly. “It’s the best cheesecake I’ve ever had.”

  He smiled. “And you know, it doesn’t have a single calorie-as long as you just look at it.” He laughed at his own joke and I laughed with him. “You’re not one of my regulars,” he observed. “Just visiting for the day?”

  “For a couple weeks,” I replied. “I’m staying with my grandmother.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “Helen Barnes.”

  He stopped wiping a table and gazed at me with surprise. I readied myself for another strange Scarborough story, but as it turned out, I was the cause for amazement.

  “I didn’t know she had a granddaughter.”

  “And two grandsons,” I said. “I mean in addition to Matt. I have two younger brothers.”

  He straightened up. “Really! So you all must be Carolyn’s children.”

  “Carolyn and Kent Tilby.” I worked hard to keep my voice from sounding brittle. It wasn’t this man’s fault that Grandmother never mentioned us.

  “The Tilbys. They had a farm up Oyster Creek. But they passed away.”

  I nodded.

  “Carolyn and Kent hooked up in college. I remember now. I just didn’t know they had kids. Well, welcome. It’s a pleasure to have you. Tell your folks Jamie says hi. Riley’s the last name, though nobody calls me anything but Jamie.” He held out a damp hand and I shook it. “Back when they knew me, my father ran this place, and I had dreams bigger than puff pastry. But it turned out baking is what I do well,” he added.

  “Really well,” I agreed, sliding another bite of cheesecake into my mouth. “Who does the fortune-telling?”

  “My mother.” He glanced toward the window. “I should get rid of that sign. She’s getting too old. Of course she’s always happy to do a reading for a local. How about it? I’m sure Mama would be interested to meet you,” he added before I could refuse. “She’s known the Scarboroughs all her life. When she was a teenager, she worked for them, even lived at the house for a while.”

  “She did?” His mother would probably know if there was anything to Alice’s story. “I’d love to have my fortune told.”

  “I’ll call upstairs and ask if she’s free. We live right above here,” he added, pointing to the stairway that ran up the side wall of the cafe. “Makes it an easy commute to work.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  After finishing the cheesecake, I walked over to the bakery case to buy some pastries for Ginny and muffins for myself. I had just made my final selection when I heard Jamie’s voice behind me: “Here she is, Mama.”

  I turned around. Mrs. Riley was a small woman with dark brown hair, my grandmother’s age or older.

  “Mama, this is Megan Tuby.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Riley.”

  She looked at me but didn’t speak.

  “This is Mrs. Barnes’s granddaughter,” Jamie added a moment later. “Carolyn and Kent’s girl,” he said, as if trying to nudge a response from her.

  But she just stared at me. The hair dye she used made her face look pale. The lines around her mouth were deep.

  “Hi,” I said again, a little louder this time, in case she had trouble hearing. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I held out my hand. She didn’t take it.

  “Mama?” Jamie seemed as puzzled as I. “This is the young lady who wants her fortune told.”

  She turned on him, her eyes blazing. “You were a fool to say I’d do it. I will not look into the cards for her.” Then she stalked across the room and up the steps, moving quickly for an old woman.

  Jamie’s face turned red with embarrassment, “l-l don’t know what to say,” he stammered. “I’m very sorry, Megan. She’s not always agreeable, and hasn’t been that well lately, but I didn’t expect this.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I assured him. “She’s probably just tired. I’ll come back another time.”

  He nodded, but still seemed concerned, whether for her feelings or mine, I wasn’t sure.

  “Really,” I said, “it’s no big deal.”

  I paid for my purchases and left, feeling like that woman in mythology-the one who had snakes for hair-Medusa. One look at me, and some people turned to stone.

  Grandmother gave me permission to eat with Ginny that evening. We locked up the shop about six-thirty and went out to dinner. During the meal, Ginny asked if I’d be interested in filling in for her sick employee starting Monday. I jumped at the chance. I loved all the activity of High Street and was relieved that someone in Wisteria wanted me around.

  By the time I got home that evening, Matt had left for a school dance. I joined Grandmother in the library, eager to tell her what and who I had seen in town. But she responded so negatively to the first few things I told her, I gave up well before I got to the strange Mrs. Riley.

  I crawled into bed that night exhausted. Even so, I tossed and turned. The tall clock on the stair landing chimed every quarter hour, telling me the amount of rest I didn’t get. A cold front was passing through. It rattled shutters and windowpanes and sent wind diving down the house’s chimneys. My bedroom door shook so hard it sounded as if someone was trying to get in. I got up and latched it firmly. Finally I drifted into sleep.

  It was some time later, when the rough weather had settled down to an eerie silence, that I again became aware of my surroundings. The voice awakened me.

  “My name is Avril.”

  My eyes flew open and I glanced around the room. The whisper lacked the warmth of a human voice. I wasn’t sure if it was inside my head or out. I lay as still as possible, listening, my skin prickling.

  “My name is Avril.”

  I sat up and pulled the qu
ilt around me. My skin felt as if it were crawling off my bones. “Who’s there?”

  Silence.

  I gazed at the bedroom door, waiting for something to happen, the knob to turn, the whisperer to whisper again. My breath felt trapped inside my chest, my heart pounded in my ears.

  You’ve got a choice, I told myself. You can cower here for the rest of the night, or you can prove that it was nothing but a voice in a dream, your imagination playing tricks.

  I climbed out of bed, then tiptoed to the door. Taking a deep breath, I cracked it slowly, then yanked it wide open.

  No one. Nothing. Just the tick tock tick of the big clock. I walked quietly into the hall. The clock’s white face showed a few minutes after one.

  Matt’s door was closed, as was Grandmother’s-which didn’t mean they were actually in their rooms. With the house’s interconnecting chimneys and old heating system, it would be easy enough to whisper something downstairs so it could be heard upstairs. Was Matt having a little fun with me?

  I walked quickly toward the hall window to check for his Jeep; he was home. Still, playing ghost seemed like too much trouble for him. Till now, his way of dealing with me was to ignore me and hope I went away.

  I listened for a moment by the door of his room, straining for some hint that he was awake. There was no sound but that of the clock. Giving up, I headed back to my room. As I passed the hall mirror, I glanced at it, then froze.

  There, in the antique glass, I saw her, more light than substance, a changing wisp of fog, the shape of a girl. I stared at the mist in the mirror, struggling to understand what I was seeing. Avril? I felt icy cold all over.

  I ran for my room and pulled the door closed behind me. It didn’t catch. When I reached my bed, I heard the door swing open again, but I was too afraid to look back. Hands shaking, I pulled down my quilt in a rush to get in bed, then gasped with disbelief. She was there! She was lying there in front of me! No, it was me I was looking down on. And I was dead! I squeezed shut my eyes and put my hands over my mouth, barely muffling screams that echoed deep within me.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in bed, warm and safe beneath my quilt. It was a dream, I told myself, just a scary dream. Then I turned my head on the pillow and saw the door I’d latched earlier standing wide open.