Chapter 80
She looked around, but there was nothing to direct her. Then, as though the spirit gave one last sigh and succ.u.mbed to the effort its activity had caused, the breeze disappeared and everything stilled once again.
Fiona remained frozen for a moment, but nothing else happened to stir the air. The lights remained dark and the shop silent. The heavy stillness was punctuated only by the sounds of slamming car doors and voices from out on the street.
She turned toward the back of the shop where the circuit breaker was and took two steps before tripping and stumbling into a heap on the hardwood floor. Even as she swore in an extremely lewd manner, she reached out to touch what had tripped her, and felt something solid protruding from the bottom of the mammoth desk. It was too dark in that small bend of the aisle to see what it was-but one thing was certain: it hadn't been there when she walked by moments earlier.
A p.r.i.c.kle danced up her spine. Ghosts couldn't actually move things, could they?
Taking better care now, in the dark, Fiona pulled herself to her feet and limped toward the back of the shop. Fortunately, sunlight streamed through one of the back windows-the one, in fact, that had been smashed and since replaced when the burglar had broken in-enabling her to find and flip the correct switches in the circuit box.
Since she had by no means been certain that action would work and re-illuminate the shop, she breathed a small sigh of relief when the lights came back on and the air conditioner hummed to life.
Hurrying back toward the center of the store, under the balcony in that small cubbyhole where the desk sat brooding like the fat Scottish guy from Austin Powers, Fiona crouched at the spot where she'd tripped and saw that a small drawer had popped from the bottom of the desk.
"A secret drawer!" she squealed, looking up at Gretchen, who had deigned to descend several steps and now sat next to the desk, watching her with condescension.
She pried the drawer completely out of its slot and was elated to find a manila envelope stuffed inside with what felt like a small book. Just as she was tearing the paper to open it, the bells jingled as the front door opened.
Fiona shot to her feet, narrowly missing the lethal desk corner, and hurried out to greet her customer.
"Fiona!" greeted Iva as she started toward her, arms outstretched for an embrace. "I hope you don't mind that I'm a little early. I wanted to browse a bit before we left for lunch."
"No problem. You look marvy!" Fiona hugged the soft, sweet-smelling woman as a wash of grief for her own grandmother came over her. But she was too keyed up by her discovery to dwell on that thought.
"I just found a secret drawer in that big old desk," she told her, knowing that the older woman would appreciate the story of her ghostly direction. They had talked about the odd happenings in the shop several times-out of the hearing of Gideon Senior and his grandson, of course.
Iva clapped her hands together, a little drawstring bag dangling from her wrist, and demanded to see the drawer at once. "What's in it?"
Fiona produced the manila envelope, tearing it open as she spoke. "I banged myself on the desk and yelled at the ghost-and then the lights went out and this drawer popped open." The envelope tore and its contents spilled onto the floor. She and Iva stooped, nearly b.u.mping heads, to gather up the sheaf of papers.
Just then, a loud slam from the back of the shop had both their heads popping up.
"That's just Dylan," Fiona explained. "Now that he's here, we can leave whenever you like."
The older woman dimpled at her, and glanced at the manila folder that Fiona still held. "I think we should leave right away."
Fiona smiled back, glad she'd read her mind. "Hi, Dyl," she greeted the tall, blonde man when he appeared. "Iva and I are going to lunch."
Brandis.h.i.+ng his lambs wool duster, he looked like a feminine dream come true, with his handsome face, startling blue eyes, and the obvious intent of doing housekeeping. "Hi Fiona. What's wrong with that desk back there?"
The manila envelope contained clues that would make Nancy Drew green with envy.
The two ladies had the contents of the mysterious envelope spread out on the table before the server brought their water.
Since it was one of her favorite cafes, Iva didn't even need to look at the menu. She ordered while scrounging through a sheaf of papers that were covered with spindly writing that had faded so much it was illegible.
Fiona, too engrossed with some yellowed newspaper clippings, merely waved her hand and said, "Soup and bread, and herbal iced tea. You pick. No meat." And then, as an after-thought, she added, "Some kind of m.u.f.fin too, please."
Smoothing down the curling corners of a newspaper article that had been shoved in an envelope with some kind of letter, Fiona began to read-then stopped cold. "Iva!" she whispered, p.r.i.c.kles erupting over her nape. "Listen to this! 'Woman's Disappearance Still Unsolved.' 'Police still have no leads in the disappearance of Miss Gretchen Freudenhofer, 24, a recent immigrant from Berlin, Germany. Friends with whom she was staying reported her missing after she did not return from a shopping trip on August 25. The woman was last seen disembarking from a bus near Locust and South Street. If anyone has any further information on this woman's whereabouts, they should report to the 153rd Precinct Office.'"
She raised her eyes to look across the table. "It's dated August 31, 1948."
"What were the initials on that bracelet?" Iva asked, her sharp blue eyes gleaming with interest.
"G...J...F!" Fiona smacked her hand on the table next to the teacup that had appeared without her notice. Hot tea sloshed onto her hand, splattering onto the carrot m.u.f.fin she'd thus far ignored. "Gretchen! Our skeleton is Gretchen!"
The people at the next table turned overtly to look at her, and, giddy with her discovery, Fiona waved the small clipping at them. "We just figured it out!"
Then, suddenly, reality slammed into her. "If the skeleton is Gretchen, then...."
Iva was nodding sagely. "Yes, it would seem that your Mr. Valente knew about her...or possibly-quite probably-had something to do with her appearing in that store room."
Unease flourished in her stomach. Could the old man have been a murderer? "Maybe...maybe something happened and she died in his shop, and he was too afraid to call the authorities, so he hid her body. Or...someone else could have killed her and forced him to hide the body, or even hid it there without him knowing...." Her voice trailed off as she realized she was defending a man she barely knew-and who could very well have been a murderer.
"Let me see. Is there a picture of Gretchen?" Iva reached across the table, her silver and sapphire charm bracelet jingling merrily.
She handed her the curling paper then broke off a piece of her m.u.f.fin. Iva looked down and then back up at her. "Fiona, did you look at this picture?"
"Yes. Of
Iva looked at her as if expecting her to say more. "Well, didn't you notice, my dear? You are the spitting image of Gretchen."
Fiona was astonished. "What?" She took the paper back and looked at the grainy photo. There was a resemblance. How had she missed that? And...how could she have forgotten? "That's what Valente said in his letter! That I reminded him of Gretchen. And so that's why he left me the shop. Guilt, maybe?"
"Stranger things have happened," Iva told her, her face grave. "Being married to a male senior citizen, I'm constantly surprised at the way his mind works." She took a sip of bergamot-scented Earl Grey. "What else is in that envelope?" She pulled out a piece of paper folded in thirds.
When Iva unfolded it, Fiona could see the impressions of a typewriter's keys through the thin paper-the small dots where the sentences ended, an A and an F and other black marks as well.
As Iva read aloud, Fiona's heart pumped faster.
"'Hadn't you better report to the 153rd Precinct, Mr. Valente? If not, you will leave $50,000 in unmarked bills in a plain paper-wrapped package under the stairwell on the third floor of 1473 Broad Street. Tomorrow, by 3:00. Come alone, or I'll be contacting the precinct for you.'"
There was no need for either woman to speak when Iva was done reading. They just gaped at each other, unmoving, as the waiter set bowls of steaming soup in front of them.
Then Iva looked at the letter again. "The date on this letter is only fifteen years ago." Puzzlement washed over her face. "Why drag up something like this so many years later?"
Fiona spread a good hunk of b.u.t.ter over her bread, the smell of the food having reminded her how hungry she was. Shaking her head, she replied, "Why indeed? Maybe they just found out about it?"
"Could be. What else is over there? Maybe we'll have some other clues there."
"Here's another envelope-very similar." Iva didn't seem to be interested in eating. She pulled out another letter with a very small sc.r.a.p of newspaper just large enough to depict a very old, yellow photo of a man with his name imprinted under it. "Josef Kremer." Iva said his name aloud, pursing her lips. "That's familiar to me, though I don't know why. Josef Kremer. Hmmm...seems like I should know who that is."
"What does the letter say?" Fiona asked, reaching to take the paper clipping. He was a young man, not bad looking, with a thin, Hitler-like moustache and heavy brows. The photo was of terrible quality, and that in combination with its age, left much to be desired in the way of details.
"'Another missing person, Mr. Valente? Tsk, tsk. I'll look for another package of $50,000 as always. Tomorrow. By 3 pm.'" Iva looked up. "Dated almost a year later than the other one."
"He was being blackmailed," Fiona said unnecessarily. "By whom?"
"What for? Murder? Gretchen's murder?"
They stared at one another for a moment, aged beauty looking at youthful beauty, eyes sparkling like those of twins.
Then the thought struck them both at the same time. "Someone's been breaking into the shop-looking for something." Fiona felt like her heart was choking her. "Could it be this-the proof?"
Iva nodded. "Yes. It must be someone who knew Valente...who knew him well enough to blackmail him fifteen years ago...and maybe still was blackmailing him."
"And he-or she-is trying to find the evidence of whatever Valente's crime was before someone else does?" Fiona drew her brows together. "Or maybe it's the blackmailer...trying to destroy the evidence of the blackmail so he isn't implicated."
They looked at each other and Iva nodded slowly. "It could be either one of those scenarios."
"I need to tell Gideon about this. I'm sure he'll have some ideas." Fiona's giddiness suddenly faded.
Iva was looking at her. "I think something's been bothering him-I meant to mention it earlier, but we got distracted." She gestured to the spread in front of them. "We had dinner with him on Sunday night, and he was definitely not himself."
"I've noticed it too. Just the past few days. He's been withdrawn and quiet...and almost short-tempered. Gideon might be a stick in the mud sometimes, but he's not usually impatient and snappish." She sipped her tea. "We were going to see a movie on Sunday night, but he called and said he was going to have dinner with the two of you. Just the three of you. It didn't bother me-really-I just thought it was odd the way he did it at the last minute."
Iva reached across the table and patted Fiona's hand. "You're right not to let it bother you, my dear. He cares about you very much. This is so cliche, but I can't think of any other way to say it except this: I've not seen Gideon this happy since I've known him. You've brought him to life."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
Fiona decided to wait and tell Gideon about what she and Iva had found, thinking it would be better to show him the letters in person.
But when he called Fiona to invite her to dinner that night, she knew it was a bad sign.
The way he did it-the way he called and, in a very business-like manner, invited her to dine with him that evening-reminded her too much of the scene in When Harry Met Sally... when Harry and Sally meet for an uncomfortable "it was a mistake" dinner after they slept together.
Not a good sign.
At least he hadn't had his a.s.sistant call, Fiona thought morosely.
Her hands felt clammy for the rest of the day whenever she thought about it. When evening came, she took off the scarf she'd taken to wearing as a headband and pinned up her hair on the sides so that it kept her face free and fell down her back. Of course, now she wouldn't have the benefit of the nervous habit of pus.h.i.+ng her bangs out of her face, but Fiona was too miserable to care.
She knew this was not going to be fun. Her antennae had been singing ever since the morning she'd asked Gideon if he wanted to leave his toothbrush at her house.
Navigating her Beetle through the streets of Philadelphia's Society Hill, Fiona smiled a wry one. She finally got comfortable enough with a guy to want to build something permanent out of hot s.e.x, great meals, wonderful conversations-not to mention a skeleton in her closet-and she scared him away.
She'd scared him, but she'd scared herself more.
h.e.l.l, she might as well be honest with herself-she always was, Fiona thought as she jerked her steering wheel to grab an on-the-street parking place. She was in love with the most amazing, sensitive, talented man she'd ever met-and he had scheduled a Dear Jane Dinner.
Gideon had never been more miserable in his life. He'd spent the entire weekend with a mason block in his stomach.
Now, as he sat across the table from Fiona-who looked as disheveled and gypsy-ish as always-he found himself taking a larger drink of his martini than he should have. It was Grey Goose vodka, smooth and clean, but the way he swallowed it-hard, fast, and large-ruined it and left him with a rasping throat.
Fiona sat across the table from him, watching as tears sprang to his eyes while he battled the urge to cough and choke. Her hands rested on the table, folded neatly, her fifteen rings (he'd counted them more than once-and the number was always the same) glinting silver and platinum in the low light. She looked at him with large cinnamon eyes, and there was an eerie calmness about her that made him feel even worse.
When the server approached and asked if they were ready to order their dinner, Fiona folded her menu and laid it precisely next to her plate. "Not yet," she told him. "We'll need at least fifteen minutes. Thank you."
Gideon closed his mouth and stared at the menu. After the server walked away, he looked up at Fiona, who was watching him steadily.
"I don't see any reason to order dinner," she told him. "But I didn't want to mention that in front of the waiter. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind."
He took another drink of his martini-this one went down much better. "Fiona. I hardly know where to begin."
"Let me help you. It has to do with Leslie, I'm sure. And it has to do with us." She linked her fingers in front of her and looked at him.
Gideon heaved a deep sigh. He might as well put it all on the table-Fiona was already doing so. "I found out on Sat.u.r.day night that Leslie's pregnant."
He waited while she digested the words. She blanched, then her expression firmed, then it became bleak. "I see. Well, that makes it easy for me, then."
Gideon's heart froze. "What do you mean?"
"I realized after I made that stupid comment the other day about you leaving your toothbrush that I probably scared you off. I know that it scared me; and pretty much as soon as I said the words, I wanted to take them back. I was going to tell you that I wanted to slow things down...but I guess that would be a moot point, now, wouldn't it?"
Gideon felt like he was standing on the edge of a sand pit, and the sand was falling away under his feet as he stumbled backward.
He delved into her with his gaze, searching her expression to see if he could read anything behind her words. She appeared calm, sincere, and collected. He looked closely into her eyes, and they matched his without guile.
"We're too different, and it's been a lot of fun and wonderful hot s.e.x-and a few laughs, too...but I've been feeling a little cramped lately." She chuckled, the sound clear and unstrained, and Gideon suddenly knew she was telling the truth.
"I don't know if the baby's mine," he managed to say, trying to salvage some ounce of control. "I don't want to stop seeing you, Fiona-"
"Well, that was obvious since you came over and slept with me the night you found out about the baby," Fiona said with the faintest harsh edge to her voice. The smile on her face had become brittle and Gideon felt that sand rus.h.i.+ng away from his feet faster now, and he could almost see the funnel through which it was spiraling down.
"Fiona-"
"Look, Gideon, you've said it before-and I do agree. We're too different. You live and move in a totally different world than I do. Leslie's pregnancy is a perfect excuse-reason-for you to take a step back, and I understand that. I truly do." She reached across the table and patted his hand-like he was back in second grade and had lost his favorite Matchbox car. "You'll make a wonderful father, darling."
His heart plummeted, then surged back up. "I don't even know if the baby's mine, Fiona," he repeated, hearing the desperation in his voice. The vodka in his stomach sloshed. He wasn't ready to be a father. He wasn't certain he'd be strong enough to put his weaknesses aside, unlike his father had. He wasn't ready to let Fiona out of his life, either.
"Gideon." Her simple word-similar to her response when he'd told her about his mother: quiet, full of feeling without being smothering-made him focus on her sad face. "Remember what I saw in your palm? A wife and a baby?"
With both of hers, she gathered up his left hand, gently turning it so that the palm faced up. Her index finger traced a crease on the side of his pinkie, then carefully swept over his open hand, whispering over his skin and raising every nerve ending in his body.
He was losing her-he'd lost her-faster than that sand funneling away underfoot. It was in her face, and in his head. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it was the right thing to do.
Suddenly, he recalled what Iva told him, the message from Salton: She said that you would have a very difficult decision to make...that it would turn your life around...and she said that, although it would be very painful, you would do the right thing in the end.