The Girl In The Glass Part 8

I made my way over to it, and as I approached, I called Miss Hush's name, a little more quietly than before. I heard nothing but silence. I stepped up on the cracked, moss-covered concrete block at the entrance. Anxiety was building in my chest. I reached out and pulled the crooked door back, and the leather hinge just sort of crumbled and broke. The door fell away, almost clipping my shoulder, and hit the ground with a crash. What meager daylight was left, rushed in, lessening the gloom. As the light poured in, a smell came out-a horrid stench of mildew and bad meat. There was a buzz and flutter as flies and moths rose from something lying on the floor.

I knew it was her before I could even focus on the pale form at my feet. There was the Barnes child, maggots in her curly hair, naked, and white as Lydia, a small square of material with a bizarre circular design on it covering her from waist to midthigh. She was staring hard with rotting eyes, and the sight of her made my knees buckle. Suddenly, the smell registered with full force, and my stomach heaved. I turned away from the door, tripped on the concrete block, and hit the cold hard ground with hands outstretched. I vomited, supporting myself on all fours. I don't know how long I stayed like that, but all I could hear above the buzzing in my ears was the wind in the trees, the sound of the leaves blowing along the ground.

The next thing I knew, I was being lifted bodily onto my feet and it was night. Antony whispered to me, "Take a deep breath, kid." He let go of me, and I knew he was going to look in the shack. From behind me, I heard him give a giant sigh, and then say, "Jesus f.u.c.king Christ." An instant later he was beside me, arm around my shoulders. "Let's get out of here," he said.

"What about Miss Hush?" I asked.

"Forget her. This could be a setup," he said. "Come on, kid, you've got to run." He gave me a push.

"Move your a.s.s."

I did. Once I located the trail, I broke into a sprint, running as if to escape the vision of the girl's corpse. Behind me, I heard Antony lumbering along, wheezing with the exertion.

We made it back to the car in only a couple of minutes, got in, and Antony started it up. He pulled away, tires screeching, without turning on the headlights. Rain started to hit the windshield. About a mile down the road, once we'd caught our breath, he turned on the lights and slowed down.

"You okay, kid?" he asked.

"No," I said. I tore the turban off my head and flung it in the backseat. There were tears in my eyes.

"I know what you mean," he said. He drove on for a few more seconds and then added, "This s.h.i.t just got about a mile deeper."

SHARDS OF EVIL.

Upon arriving home, I went immediately to the couch in the living room and curled up in the corner, my head on a pillow and my knees pulled nearly to my chest. Only then did I realize I was trembling. I still felt faintly nauseated, and every time I'd focus on that indelible image of Charlotte Barnes in death, the sensation would intensify. Even though my eyes were closed, I could feel Sch.e.l.l's presence enter the room. Then I heard Antony address him.

"Boss, we found the Barnes kid," the big man said in a voice so weary it came out a whisper.

"Bad?" asked Sch.e.l.l, and I could hear him sitting down in the chair next to the couch.

"Real bad," said Antony. "She's dead."

Sch.e.l.l made no reply. I heard Antony slump into the chair directly across the coffee table from where I lay.

"Lydia Hush?" Sch.e.l.l finally asked.

"Sort of," said Antony.

"Tell me everything," said Sch.e.l.l, and Antony did, beginning with when we pulled over next to the woods late in the afternoon. I listened, reliving the entire scenario, and as I drew closer to the shack in the retelling, I began to sweat. When it was over, I breathed deeply and opened my eyes.

"She led you to the body," said Sch.e.l.l.

"Yeah, and then vanished," said Antony. "Once Diego found the girl, I thought it was best to run. I was afraid it might be a setup-the cops are tipped off and just happen to show when the two of us are standing over the body."

"It was good thinking," said Sch.e.l.l.

"One thing," I said. "Antony said the girl was naked. She was, mostly, but there was some kind of cloth draped over her lap."

"That's right," said Antony. "The kid's right."

"There was a design on it too."

"Of?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"I didn't catch it," said Antony.

"A symbol," I said. "I've never seen it before and can't quite remember it. A circle was part of it and there were other things involved, but..."

"Well, not right now," said Sch.e.l.l. "But later on, try to remember the image." I nodded.

"What kind of shape was the body in?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"I don't know, Boss," said Antony. "The poor kid was dead. I didn't look that closely. All I can tell you is the place stunk of death, and my guess was that she'd been there for a couple of days."

"Any marks? Wounds? Bruises?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"Nothing," I said. "Just white, and her eyes, flies and moths, maggots..." I gagged, unable to finish. Sch.e.l.l reached across the arm of the couch and put his hand on the top of my head. "Okay," he said.

"I guess we just call the cops and let them take it from here, right?" said Antony. Sch.e.l.l lifted his hand off me and leaned back. "Wrong," he said.

"Tommy, forget it. It was a mistake to get hooked up in this to start with," said Antony.

"There was a point at which I could have backed out but not now. That little girl's come to life in my mind. Something stinks about the entire mess."

"Yeah, something stinks," said Antony. "A kid's been murdered, probably by some lunatic. Let the cops find him."

"What about Lydia Hush?" said Sch.e.l.l.

"What about her?" asked Antony.

"She obviously knew where the body was. What else do you think she knows?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"Maybe she's really got the gift," said Antony.

"Bulls.h.i.t," said Sch.e.l.l. "If you feel that way, then why did you suspect a setup?"

"Kid?" said Antony.

"I don't know," I said. "Her method of finding the girl seemed pretty suspicious. But she did lead us to Charlotte. There was something about her..."

"You two are wifty. I'm going to find her, then I'm going to find out what happened."

"All right," said Antony, "Whatever you say, Boss."

Sch.e.l.l looked over at me. I nodded. "I have to know," I said.

"Our first order of business is for me to anonymously tip off the police to where the body is. Then I'll call Barnes and tell him we found her. I'm going to beg him not to tell the cops that we were involved. That way we can hopefully avoid trouble and stay in his confidence. We're going to need to talk to him again, I'm sure." Sch.e.l.l stood up and took a deep breath. "This'll be rough," he said.

"Don't forget, you've only got a couple minutes before they can trace the call," said Antony.

"Yeah, I know," said Sch.e.l.l. "Come with me. I need you to give me the directions to the body." Antony stood and headed out of the room. He stopped midway to the hall entrance, turned, and said, "Sorry you had to find her, kid."

"I'm better," I said.

After they left, I didn't want to be alone and thought of following, but a great weariness came over me. I thought, I'll just rest my eyes for a second and then go listen in. I woke hours later, surprised in a dream by the appearance of Charlotte Barnes. The room was dark. I heard a voice.

"Are you okay?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"Just had a dream," I said.

My eyes adjusted, and I saw him sitting by my feet at the end of the couch. I wondered how long he'd been there.

"Did you talk to Barnes?" I asked.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"He wept," said Sch.e.l.l and patted my shin. "Go back to sleep. It's late. Everything's fine." The next morning I woke to find the nausea gone, replaced by a subtle sense of dread. I took a bath and changed my clothes, and got ready to lie low. That was the directive from Sch.e.l.l. We had to wait a few days for the furor to die down before we could dive back into the investigation. Antony had gone out early and picked up the newspaper. Pictures of the shack and partial shots of the body were all over the front page. "Barnes Girl Found Dead" was the headline. I pa.s.sed on reading it, wanting to keep my breakfast down. It wasn't that the newspaper photos were so explicit, but I was afraid they'd awaken the image of her that, for the time being, slept in my memory.

I returned to my studies. Mrs. Hendrickson would be arriving in two days to discuss Chaucer's Parliament of Fowls Parliament of Fowls, and it would get pretty unpleasant if I didn't know what I was talking about. Since we'd begun looking for Charlotte Barnes, I'd done no book work. I went to my room to get my notes and the huge copy of Chaucer. In the bookcase I saw another book I hadn't opened in years. I took it, instead, off the shelf and opened it. Very old and somewhat tattered, it was one of the first books that Sch.e.l.l had read to me from- Fabulous Tales from Around the World Fabulous Tales from Around the World. On the t.i.tle page, a previous owner, one Luciere Londell, had inscribed her name. I paged through until I found the ill.u.s.tration for "The Snow Queen," a woman who, in her paleness, could have pa.s.sed for Miss Hush. I turned back to the beginning of the tale and read the first few paragraphs. It had been many years since I'd read about the demon who had created a mirror, the special nature of which reflected all of the true and good things in the world so that they seemed distorted, absurd, frightening. When the demon tried to take his mirror to heaven to show the angels their warped reflections, he dropped it and it fell back to earth, shattering into a million tiny particles. The wind blew these infinitesimal shards of evil into the eyes of two children who loved each other, and their views of the world and each other turned dark and disturbing. The image in my mind's eye of Charlotte's corpse was a shard from that demonic mirror.

BLESSING THE MANSION.

The more I tried not to think of Charlotte Barnes, and the more I thought of Lydia Hush, the more desperate I became to again see Isabel. I had no means of contacting her to set up another rendezvous on the beach or to even let her know I was thinking of her. I lived in hope that she might call, but when the phone rang and I'd go to answer it with a feeling of nervousness in my stomach I'd be met by the voice of Sal, or the fake signature bark of Hal Izzle, or Vonda, the Rubber Lady, calling for Antony. It was frustrating, to say the least, and I began to plot, which was a perfect diversion from recent events. As Sch.e.l.l had taught me, "a con starts when there is something you want and you are blocked from attaining it by certain obstacles. The good con artist elicits the a.s.sistance of those who mean to stand in the way of one's attainment by appealing to their vanity, pride, jealousy, ignorance, or fear. One must first throw into a pile the expected rules of engagement, morality, society, and thought, set them on fire, and then proceed. Think big, have confidence." I did just that.

I knew Sch.e.l.l had the list of all the visitors to the Barnes estate in the months leading up to the disappearance of the girl. I was also aware that Parks was on that list. Sch.e.l.l wanted very much for us to pay another visit to Katie at the newspaper office to research the biographies and a.s.sociations of the people in question. He was prevented from doing this by his own cautionary rule that we should lie low for a period, have nothing to do with our investigation until the hubbub died down and the reporters and police had somewhat withdrawn from the scene. With this in mind, I went to see him in the Bugatorium. He'd been doing some reading about one of his blue b.u.t.terflies and wanted to tell me about what he'd read. "Were you aware of the fact that when this specimen is in its caterpillar state, it's protected from predatory wasps and generally tended to by ants?"

Of course I didn't know that, but I sat and heard the whole lecture out, nodding in the appropriate places, affecting a look of great interest. I learned that these servile ants perform their duties to the exclusion of just about all else because the caterpillar exudes a chemical known as "honeydew," which the ants are mad for. Sch.e.l.l went on for nearly twenty minutes, and when his enthusiasm had finally run its course, I tried to change the subject.

"It's kind of frustrating just waiting around for things to blow over," I said.

"I know," he said, standing. He moved toward the large work table at the rear of the Bugatorium. I followed.

"When you get around to looking into the people on that list Barnes gave you, who are you going to start with?"

He bent over and peered into the screen cages he used to house caterpillars in their molting stages. "I'll start with the gentlemen, although that might be shortsighted on my part. I suppose any one of the women could be as culpable. You just don't hear many stories of women kidnapping children to whatever end. I'll play the odds on this one."

"Isn't Parks on that list?" I asked.

"Yes, but as of now I don't really suspect him. From what we found, he and Barnes are old college chums."

"He might know the other fellows, though," I said.

"Good point," said Sch.e.l.l.

"Maybe we should pay him a surprise visit. The police wouldn't have to catch wind of it, and we might be able to get a jump on the information we need from Parks. He's been a cinch for you to manipulate so far," I said and then stood very still, as if to make the slightest move might give away my hidden agenda. Sch.e.l.l straightened up, having seen that all was in order with his tiny charges. When he turned to me, he said. "Not a bad idea. I'll go out there this afternoon."

"Perhaps I should go with you," I said.

"Don't worry, it won't be necessary. I know you have to catch up on your studying." My mind was racing quickly to find a rejoinder that might make him reconsider. I was so frantically scheming I didn't, at first, notice the smile on his face. It wasn't his business smile, but a broad grin. When I finally noticed it, I gave up and laughed.

"Conning the con?" he asked.

I nodded. "I need to see Isabel," I said.

"Need?" said Sch.e.l.l, raising his eyebrows. "This girl has you you conned." conned."

"I'm a true believer," I said.

"Okay, we'll go. It isn't a bad idea to pump Parks for some information. I just want you to know one thing. Even though honesty is rarely the best policy, you can always tell me the truth."

"I know," I said, thinking about the fact that we still hadn't told him about the episode with the hat. Three hours later, Sch.e.l.l and I sat before Parks, who was perched on his throne in the parlor, cigarette holder in hand. He'd been delighted that we'd come by to see him and had the guard send us right up to the mansion. Upon greeting us he patted Sch.e.l.l on the back as if he were an old friend and even shook my hand.

"Poor Barnes," said Parks, "I doubt he'll ever recover from this loss."

"As I understand it, they're burying the girl tomorrow," said Sch.e.l.l. Parks closed his eyes. "Yes, I'll be there. I spent yesterday evening at the wake. Dreadful."

"I'd very much like to go, but I can't be seen at the funeral. I'm afraid the police would find out it was us who'd found the body. We'd then become suspects. I'd prefer if you didn't mention our involvement to anyone."

"So, it was you," said Parks. "I should have known that once you were on the case things would move more rapidly. Say no more." He waved his free hand. "I understand the dilemma. I'm just pleased I was able to put you in contact with Harold. If it wasn't for your special gifts, the police would still be looking for her."

"Ondoo and I are here for a specific purpose today," said Sch.e.l.l. "I've obtained a list of names from Barnes of everyone who visited his home in the last month before Charlotte's disappearance. I need to know whatever you know about them."

Parks was obviously pleased with himself as now being the man with the answers, and he showed it by swinging his legs. "I probably know them all," he said.

"The first is Stephen Trumball, do you know him?"

"Of course," said Parks. "He's..."

Sch.e.l.l held up his hand and said, "Excuse me for a moment. I just remembered that I'd intended to have Ondoo clear your house of any evil manifestations while we were here. As a favor, of course, for your having helped me to contact Barnes. Do you have any reservations about Ondoo walking the hallways of your house and blessing it?"

"None whatsoever," said Parks. "In fact, I'd appreciate it. Ever since the seance I've felt some ill sensations, cold breezes and so forth. I believe my wife has left some of her spirit behind. If your boy can whisk that away, I'd be delighted."

Parks smiled at me, and I smiled back, although his use of the phrase "your boy" rankled me. Sch.e.l.l was obviously opening a window for me to go and find Isabel, so whatever small complaint I had was swamped by grat.i.tude. I put my hands together, like a Catholic in prayer, and slowly stood. Taking a step forward, I began gibbering my fake swami language, low and guttural, driving away the evil spirits before me. Parks's eyes were wide with an appreciation of the power I was employing on his behalf, and Sch.e.l.l wore his business smile. They watched me inch my way toward the door of the room. As I stepped out into the hallway, I heard Sch.e.l.l say, "This fellow, Trumball, what's he about?" Once out in the hallway, I dropped my arms and quickened my pace. The Parks place was enormous, and I had no idea where Isabel might be. I surmised that Sch.e.l.l could buy me almost an hour, and that would have to be sufficient. It wasn't long before the opulence of the rooms and decor put me in a kind of trance. I met two maids in my travels, but neither of them was Isabel. I pa.s.sed through a gla.s.sed-in patio with an indoor swimming pool, a vast ballroom, a kitchen big enough to hold supplies for an army. It seemed everything was made of gold or sterling silver, glittering quartz or smooth teak. I'd searched for the better part of a half hour and was beginning to think that all of my elaborate scheming would go for nothing when I pa.s.sed into a long hallway. There was Isabel at the opposite end on her knees, scrubbing the tiled floor with a brush. I was startled to finally find her, and for a moment I simply watched. At first, I noticed the graceful, purposeful manner with which she worked, leaning forward and employing the brush in hard, measured strokes, occasionally rinsing the brush in a pail of soapy water. Somewhere during my observation, my attention was distracted from the laudable scrub job she was doing to the curves of her body, and it was at that moment she looked up.

"Here to rescue me from my drudgery?" she said and smiled, sitting back on bent knees. She reached up with the back of her forearm and wiped the sweat off her brow.

"I needed to see you," I said.

She stood up, her expression growing serious, no doubt in reaction to mine. "Is something wrong?" I nodded as I walked toward her. She dropped the brush into her pail and then lifted it by the handle.