The Girl in the Glass

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 Schell 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 assistance 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 Schell 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. Schell wanted very much for us to pay another visit to Katie at the newspaper office to research the biographies and associations 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period, have nothing to do with our investigation until the hubbub died down and the reporters and police had somewhat withdrawn from the scene.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 butterflies 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. Schell 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 Schell.

"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.

Schell 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 Schell, raising his eyebrows. "This girl has you 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, Schell 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 Schell 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 Schell.

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 Schell. "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…"

Schell 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 sйance 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. Schell was obviously opening a window for me to go and find Isabel, so whatever small complaint I had was swamped by gratitude. 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 Schell 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 Schell 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 Schell 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 passed through a glassed-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 passed 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. "Come," she said and waved me toward a door to her left. We entered a kind of anteroom, and then went through another door to an inner office furnished with a desk and bookcases, filing cabinets, and a separate table with a typewriter. She set the pail down beside the door, which she closed behind us.

"їQuй pasa?" she said.

I wanted to tell her about the Barnes girl, but knew, in all fairness to Schell, that I couldn't. Instead I slowly put my arms around her. She didn't push me away but fell softly forward against me, and we kissed. This was no parting kiss to initiate a romance, as the last had been, but an urgent, passionate one. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was doing it with everything I had.