The Girl in the Glass (7 page)

"How?" I asked.

"I'll tell you in the car," he said.

We shuffled the loose pages together in as close to the order as we'd found them, and I lifted the stack and banged it twice to even it out. Antony took fifty cents from his pocket and threw it on the table. Whipping off his cheaters and stowing them in his inside jacket pocket, he said, "Let's blow." I had to wait until he'd emerged from the newspaper building to get the dope on his catch. He returned to the car with a big smile on his face. As he got in behind the wheel he said, "I told Kate we might want another twenty-dollar peek at that file."

He started up the Cord, and we pulled away.

"What did you find?" I asked.

"Kid, I'm good," he said. "Nothing escapes the gaze of the cheaters."

"Okay, you're good," I said.

"Guess who stayed with Barnes when he visited the U.S.?" he asked.

"I give up."

"None other than A. Conan Doyle."

"The author?"

"Yeah."

"So what?"

"The guy's a first-class spook booster, a true believer. Faeries, ghosts, spirits, séances, psychics, you name it, he'll believe it. You could serve him the holes in doughnuts. I found an article about Conan Doyle's stay with Barnes, which noted that they share an interest in spiritualism. Barnes is a mark."

"That's good to know, but how's it get us in to see him?" I asked.

"This is the kicker. Another article from a few years ago mentions Barnes and his fellow Harvard alumnus and close friend…guess who?"

"Parks," I said.

"Hey…" he said and turned so quickly to look at me, the car swerved momentarily into the oncoming lane.

"Watch the road," I told him.

"How'd you know?" he asked, steering back into our lane.

"I saw a diploma from Harvard on Parks's wall when we were there the first time. I just guessed."

"You're becoming more like the boss every day," he said. He shook his head and then added, "So we get Schell to talk to Parks, who gets on the blower to Barnes and puts in a good word for us. Bingo."

"That might actually work," I said. "Nice fishing."

"Nothing escapes," said Antony. "Nothing."

Even though Schell wished we'd had more time to gather basic information, he was pleased with our work and agreed that Antony's plan was sound. I listened in as he put the call through to Parks. Witnessing Schell get his way with words was like watching a knife thrower split a hair at twenty yards. He peppered his spiel with mentions of Parks's mother and how much she'd no doubt appreciate seeing us help poor Barnes. By the time Schell was done, Parks would have called the emperor of China on our behalf.

Then we waited. A day passed, and we checked the papers to see if there had been any break in the case. The search parties continued, the police were still on the job, but the girl had not surfaced, dead or alive. Schell pored over the meager information we'd brought him, and to see what he could turn up, he put in some calls to friends of his who traveled in high society. He was curious to find out if our subject had any shady dealings and if his marriage was sound. From all accounts, Barnes, though filthy rich, seemed to be a straight shooter

On the afternoon of the second day, Schell and Antony were out getting the local papers and I'd just sent Mrs. Hendrickson on her way after a brutal session focusing on my Middle English pronunciations, when the phone rang. I ran through the kitchen to the office and grabbed it on the fifth ring.

"Hello," I said, out of breath.

There was silence, and I thought for a moment that I'd been too late. Then a soft voice said, "Hola." A pause followed. "Do you know who this is?"

There was a vague fluttering in my chest. "Yes," I said.

"You left something behind when you were here last," she said.

"A sombrero?" I asked.

"Sí."

"Have you shown it to anyone else?" I asked.

"Solamente los fantasmas," she said.

I forced a laugh.

"Si lo quieres, ven esta noche. Eleven o'clock on the beach behind the mansion."

"What'll happen if I don't show?" I asked, but she'd already hung up.

THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS AT NIGHT

A
t ten o'clock that night, Antony went down the hall to the Bugatorium, knocked on the door, and called, "Boss, me and the kid are going out for a drive. I gotta get some smokes. Do you want to go?" We were hoping he'd stay put, because all Schell would have needed was one look at us to tell we were up to something. Luckily, he called out, as I had surmised he would, "No, I'd better not in case Barnes tries to contact us."

I wasn't happy about hiding our venture from Schell, but Antony was dead set on him not finding out about the hat. "Schell doesn't look kindly on screwups," was how he'd put it to me.

"He screwed up himself that night," I said.

"You don't get it, kid," he said. "I'll take you over there. You get the hat from the girl and we'll be back here before anybody knows what's up."

I went along with it, hating to see the big man in a quandary.

Antony knew of a spot along the North Shore, close to the Parks place, where there was a municipal stairway that led down from the cliffs to the beach. All of the estates had their own private access, usually protected by locked gates. The cliffs were an excellent security feature, and since most of the real estate along the sound was privately owned, it was tough finding a way onto the beach unless you wanted to hoof it in from one of the more eastern towns.

At about ten-thirty, he pulled over at the side of a road bordered by woods. Through the dark I could just make out the head of a trail leading in among the trees toward the sound.

"Once you hit the beach, head west. Parks's place is about three-quarters of a mile down the beach," he said. "And for Christ sake, be careful on those steps."

"You're going to wait for me, right?" I asked.

"I'm gonna drive up to Wintchell's speak, have a beer, get a couple of packs, and be back in forty minutes. If I'm sitting here all that time and a cop comes along, they're gonna want to know what I'm doing. So move your ass as fast as you can. Don't make me wait."

"It's dark out there," I said.

"Yeah, that's what happens at night. Don't worry, the moon's out tonight. Once you get past the trees, it won't be so bad."

I sighed, shook my head, and got out of the car.

"Good luck," he said as I swung the door shut. Then the Cord pulled away and was gone. Although the late September days had been warm, this night was windy and cool, a strong breeze blowing in from the east. Laced in with the distinctive aroma of the sound was that of true autumn. I'd chosen to leave all of my Ondoo regalia at home and dress in normal street clothes, the easier to move in, and so as not to draw the derision of Isabel. It was her image in my mind that kept me forging on through the pitch-black woods. Acorns dropped and small animals scurried through the brambles. If there were such things as ghosts, this lonely tract of trees would have been a perfect place to meet one. I crept along, spooked by every little snap and pop.

Antony was right, as I approached the edge of the cliff, I could see moonlight shining amid the branches of the pines and oaks. When I finally broke free of the woods and stood at the head of the stairway, leading down to the beach, I had a view of a milky white, full moon off to the east, a beacon reflected in the choppy waters of the sound. I took the rickety wooden stairs, holding tight to the handrail and braving the threat of splinters. The descent was steep, occasionally broken by a series of landings after each of which the steps changed direction in a zigzag course.

Once I finally reached the beach, I breathed a sigh of relief but realized, as I looked back up the rickety stairs, what a struggle the return ascent would be. The wind was really whipping down there next to the water. I looked around to find a landmark to fix the spot in my mind. If clouds should roll in it would be easy to miss the stairs. I saw, fifty paces or so off to the east, the rusting remains of an old buoy, tipped at an angle and half-buried in sand. I made a mental note that if I passed it, I would know that I'd gone too far. I turned west and started to walk.

The wide beach was littered with stones and broken shells, causing each footfall to sound as if I were traipsing along a gravel path. I turned my thoughts to Isabel and wondered why she'd asked me to meet her. My speculations ranged from blackmail to the possibility that Schell was right and she liked me. I rather hoped for the latter, as I had brought no money, and even though I'd only met her once, I found I couldn't forget her.

I'd paced off what I'd thought to be a little less than a mile and then turned and surveyed the area. The beach was wider now, and there were a number of larger rocks and boulders at the base of the cliffs. The moon still shone, although it appeared smaller and was rising quickly. Clouds were now intermittently skirting by, obscuring it for a minute or two at a time. Its light showed me the way to the base of a set of steps. I had no idea whether they led up to the Parks estate or if I'd overshot or underestimated my destination. On closer inspection, I found that the gate that barred entrance to them was swinging free, an open padlock dangling from the hasp.

I felt a tingling at the back of my neck as I slowly turned, peering through the shadows. In that second I wondered how I'd let Antony talk me into this foolishness. My anticipation finally got the better of me, and I called out in a whisper, "Hello? Isabel?" No sooner had I spoken than a pebble hit the rocks at my feet. I spun around, but saw no one.

Then, from very close by, I heard, "Psst, Señor Swami, over here." I was relieved to hear her voice, but when I looked in that direction, I saw only a clutch of boulders.

"Psst," she repeated, and I turned my gaze upward to find her sitting atop the tallest one, wearing the hat. I walked over to stand beneath her. "Hola," I said.

"Sube," she told me and pointed to a smaller boulder that led to a larger one, and then to her. I climbed the rocks, almost slipping on my last big upward step, and this drew a laugh from her.

"Nice running into you here," I said as I sat down, cross-legged.

"¿Has traído los fantasmas?" she asked.

"The ghosts were too afraid to follow me tonight. They heard I was coming to see you." She smiled as she removed the hat and handed it to me. Her hair, now unbraided, blew wild in the wind, and I couldn't stop staring long enough to take the hat from her. She reached over and placed it on my head.

"It looks better on you than on el gigante," she said.

"Antony? You saw him?"

"From the upstairs window. I watched the whole thing."

"I have one question," I said. "Why are you helping us?"

"Not us," she said. "
You
. We Hindus have to stick together."

"You were never convinced, even for a second, by my turban?"

She shook her head.

"When did you come north?" I asked.

"'In twenty-four," she said. "I was eight."

"The big year," I said. "Me too, but I was nine."

"We got on a bus in Ciudad Juárez," she said, "and it took us to California. My parents went to work in Parks's orchard out there. I was sent to the mansion to work in the kitchen. My mother died of typhoid. My father was eventually repatriated. I was lucky, I suppose. When Parks moved here from California, I was brought along."

The moonlight illuminated her face, and I could see the sadness in it. "¿Y tú?" she asked.

"We lived in Mexico City, and my family survived the worst of the struggle—the shelling, Zapata's siege of the city, all of it. Just when it seemed that things were looking up, my father was caught in an exchange of gunfire between Zapatistas and Carranza's soldiers. He was on his way to the market."

"How old were you?" she asked.

"Four. Later, when the border opened in twenty-four, my mother took me and my older brother, Hernando, and we fled."

"You pick crops?" asked Isabel.

"No," I said. "My mother wanted to go east, to New York."

"¿Por qué aquí?"

"She heard farm labor was bad, that factory work was better. We got a small apartment in a building on the East Side, no heat, and we had to boil the water that came from the pipes. We were only there for a month before she didn't return from work one day. No one knew what happened to her. She just never came back."

"You must have been scared," she said.

"My brother and I were evicted and roamed the streets, eating out of garbage pails and scrounging leftovers from the back doors of restaurants, begging change."

She put her hand out and lightly touched the side of my face. "And the handsome man with the mustache?"

"He found me in the street, unconscious," I told her. "I'd been separated from Hernando, and I couldn't survive without him. I passed out in the gutter one night, and Schell just happened to be in the city on a job. He took me home and raised me."

"Un milagro," she said.

I nodded, clearing my eyes. It had been so long since I'd allowed myself to think about the past. All of the considerable effort put toward my studies had been an attempt to erase it. Sitting close to Isabel made the early days return, vivid and full of life, as if my memory was a room full of butterflies.

LIKE A GHOST

Y
our English is perfect," she said.

"Better than my swami?"

She laughed. "Me da problemas."

"You do well," I said. "I had private tutors. They came five days a week. Schell told me if I wanted to succeed here, I needed to get so good at the language that I could convince people that night was day."

"And that's your life now," she said.

I nodded, lifting the hat off my head.

"What's your name?" she asked.

I told her.

"Siéntate a mi lado, and we'll watch the water," she said, patting the air beside her. I moved closer to her and turned to look out over the sound. Her hair lightly whipped across my face, carrying the vague scent of some spice. Leaning back, arms behind me and fingers braced against the rock surface, our shoulders touching, I was in a daze. My head swam, I felt weak and there was a nervous energy in my chest. We sat for some time in silence, and then she leaned against me.