Элизабет Чандлер: Legacy of Lies

“Megan,” Sophie called, hurrying after me. “Megan!” She waited till we were in the side yard, out of earshot. “What are you up to?”

“I have a lot to tell you,” I said, “but not now. I want to talk to Mrs. Riley, then go to the mill.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Go to the mill. I have a bad feeling about it.” Shaded by a cedar, her blue eyes were a flicker of light and shadow.

“Look, Sophie, don’t get prophetic on me. It’s the past I need info on, not the future.”

“I’m telling you, it’s dangerous.”

“I’ll watch where I step and look out for rodents.”

“You’re asking for it,” she warned.

“Is that a prediction?”

“Yes.”

“Want to hear my prediction?”

She looked surprised, then smiled. “From the person who claims she isn’t psychic? Okay.”

“Before I leave Wisteria, you and Alex are going to be totally in love.”

I left Sophie with a look of wonder on her face.

Mrs. Riley couldn’t see me. At first I suspected that the purpose of Grandmother’s visit had been to forbid the woman to speak to me, then I saw the worry on Jamie’s face.

“She’s had another bad night and is resting now. How about I fix you a late lunch? Some dessert?”

“No, thanks.” Though I hadn’t eaten that morning, I had no appetite.

“Try back later,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll feel better.”

I wandered up and down the streets of Wisteria, hoping for inspiration, some theory about what had happened sixty years ago that would help me understand what was going on now. Each time I tried to reject the idea of reincarnation, I came back to it. It was the one theory that explained all the strange things that had been happening. Sophie’s suggestion made sense: While sleepwalking I had moved the Bible, the clock, and the painting to where they belonged when I was Avril. Small matters fell into place, such as Matt’s reluctance to go to the mill. Did he remember something terrible happening there? Was he trying to get me away from Wisteria before I remembered?

On my wanderings I passed Tea Leaves, and Jamie flagged me down. He said his mother wanted to see me at four. I used the remaining time to look for Sophie, checking her house and Alex’s, then the college, but didn’t catch up with her. I browsed in a New Age bookstore, looking at covers and reading their fantastic blurbs, till the incense and tinkling music got to me-not to mention the weird shoppers.

They’re probably all Mrs. Riley’s patrons, I thought; and now I’m one of them.

At four o’clock the old woman was waiting for me, beckoning from the top of the café stairway. I climbed it and followed her down the narrow hall. When we sat at the table beneath the fringed lamp, I saw the deep circles under her eyes. There was a tremor on one side of her mouth that I hadn’t noticed before. She lay her palms flat on the table in front of her. Her fingers looked sore, the nails bitten down to the pink.

“What is it you want of me?” she asked.

I hesitated, torn between my own need to get answers and the realization that she wasn’t well.

“You want to know more about Avril and Helen,” she guessed.

“You look so tired,” I said, starting to rise.

“Stay!” She gripped my wrist with surprising strength. “I have been concerned about you and hoping to see you again. Ask your questions.”

I sat down and carefully pulled away my hand, lowering it into my lap. “I want to find out about reincarnation.”

“Go on.”

“Sophie told me it’s a chance to complete things that have been left undone,” Mrs. Riley nodded.

“She said that if a person died young, she might be reincarnated. Sometimes two people can be reincarnated together if they are separated too soon in a previous life.”

Mrs. Riley studied my face. “And you think that has happened to you?”

“I think I’m Avril.”

The old woman sat back in her chair. After a moment she said, “Do not be misled by appearances. You look like your great aunt, but that is not significant.”

“It’s not what I look like. It’s what I dream about. It’s what I seem to remember.”

The shrill whistle of a teakettle sounded in another room.

Mrs. Riley ignored it.

“What do you remember?” she whispered.

“Scarborough House. The dollhouse that looks like it. I dreamed about them before I saw them.”

“And?” she asked, her eyes as bright and sharp as the whistling sound.

“The mill, its basement, the big wheels in it.”

“And?” she pressed.

I bit my lip. “That’s it.” The dream about Thomas, Helen, and Avril was too uncomfortable, too personal to tell.

She looked at me doubtfully. “You must be honest with me if I am to help you.”

I stared down at the table and said nothing.

She stood up. “Very well. Think about it while I get my tea.”

As soon as she disappeared, I covered my face with my hands. What did I hope to prove-that Grandmother was guilty? Why reveal that now? It would only cause a lot of pain. Still, the doubt and suspicion that grew out of that dark secret were quietly poisoning the minds of Grandmother, Matt, and me.

Mrs. Riley reentered the room and set two cups on the table. “It’s cinnamon apple.”

“Thank you,” I said, then sipped the fragrant tea.

“Do you know anything about karma?” she asked.

“I’ve heard of it.”

“It is the belief that we are rewarded or punished in one life according to our deeds in a previous life.” She held her cup in both hands and gazed at her tea as if reading it, then took a long drink. “Karma is just,” she said. “According to it, the victim of an unnatural death will return in a later life and seek out the killer.”

“Seek out the killer?” I repeated.

“It’s justice, dear. If you take away someone’s life, then in the next cycle, your life will be taken by that person. The victim will kill the murderer.”

I stared at her. Did she know what I suspected?

“You’re remembering, aren’t you,” she said quietly.

I sipped my tea, avoiding her eyes.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice soothing. “Avril, tell me what you are remembering.”

“I had a dream,” I said at last. “Helen was very angry at me. She threatened me, said I would pay. But that doesn’t mean anything,” I added quickly. “Brothers and sisters say that all the time without meaning it.”

“True enough,” the psychic replied. “Do you remember anything else-anything from the day you died?”

“No.”

“And yet you are remembering more and more,” she said.

“I don’t know how to advise you.” She rose from the table and walked restlessly around the room. “I have my suspicions. To speak them may influence a clear memory.

Not to may endanger you. You know that Helen came to see me yesterday.”

I ran my finger around the moist rim of my cup. “Yes.”

“I warned you, child, not to tell her you were here.”

“But I didn’t. Someone in the café must have told her.”

“Can you trust your cousin?” Mrs. Riley asked. “YouVe hesitating. That tells me you can’t.”

“He’s very protective of Grandmother.”

Her hands worked nervously. “Then it would be foolish and dangerous to trust him.”

“Why?”

“He’s loyal to her, dependent on her money, and you fear the same thing I do-that you were murdered by Helen.”

For a moment the raw statement of my suspicion shocked me. I struggled to think clearly.

“But if I was the victim in my past life,” I reasoned, “I’m the one who is the threat now. According to karma, Avril would destroy her murderer-that’s what you said. And I would never hurt my grandmother.”