back of the brush glimmered in the lamplight. She slammed it against the glass. The mirror shattered, fragments of our reflections dropping onto her bureau.
For a moment Aunt Iris seemed as stunned as I by what she had done. I grabbed the brush from her, then scooped up the matching hand mirror and retreated from her room.
Knowing she still had lamps and other potential weapons, I pulled the door closed behind me, pausing for a moment in the hall, listening for activity inside her room. Hearing none, I continued on to mine. I debated whether to shove a piece of furniture against my door. I assumed I could outrun her, but if I fell asleep and she came in. .
I could no longer deny it: If the right object were in her hand, Aunt Iris was capable of killing someone. It frightened me because I didn’t know what she saw, what she thought she saw when she looked at me, or the mirror, or the grandfather clock. I could only guess at what would set her off.
I considered calling the sheriff, but I knew that neither he nor anyone else had the power to whisk her away to a psychiatric hospital, not if she wasn’t willing to go. She’d have to do something clearly life-threatening, and even then, they’d probably just stick her in the hospital for a day or two and medicate her. Afterward, I’d be bringing her back here — spitting mad.
Mom would know how to handle this kind of thing, and she would be back in ten days. I just needed to hang on till then.
I didn’t bother to barricade the attic — there wasn’t much chance of me falling back asleep. Outside, the sky was growing lighter. At twenty minutes after five I crept to Iris’s room and quietly opened the door. She was sleeping soundly.
I returned to my own room and dozed for the next two hours, then was awakened suddenly by the loud creak of my door.
“Just me,” Aunt Iris called cheerfully.
I sat up quickly, hitting my head on the ceiling.
“The sun is up. It’s a lovely day.”
“Great,” I muttered, swinging my feet down to the floor, resting my arms on my knees, more tired now than when I had gone to bed. I watched her carry the broken mirror past my corner of the attic room, placing it with the cemetery of smashed television sets.
This had happened before; it would happen again.
ALWAYS CHRISTMAS WAS a world apart from Aunt Iris’s house, and as soon as I entered the shop, I felt better. Marcy and I got along well, maybe because I liked to work hard. About three o’clock that afternoon, when the temperature and humidity had soared high enough to keep vacationers inside whatever air-cooled place they’d found, the sleigh bells on the door stopped jingling. Marcy perched on a stool behind a counter, paging through wholesale catalogs, circling items. I picked up a spray bottle and attacked smudgy surfaces.
“Audrey mentioned meeting you two nights ago,” Marcy said. “I’d be willing to bet you had an interesting conversation.”
I glanced across the room at her and detected a smile.
“Yes. When Uncle Will invited me, he didn’t tell me I’d be living in a house of evil.”
She laughed. “That’s Audrey for you. My friends find her very strange and wonder why I keep her on.”
“Why do you?”
“Loyalty. She worked for my parents and was very good to me when I was growing up.” Marcy turned a page, then looked up. “You and I have something in common. I was adopted. Most people would consider it lucky to be me, adopted by a wealthy family like the Fairfaxes. It would have been, except that my mother later gave birth to a son, one who happened to look like the portraits of every firstborn male Fairfax since the seventeenth century. They nearly worshipped at the crib.”
“That doesn’t sound good, for him or you.”
“It wasn’t for me. Unfortunately, getting into trouble was the one way I could get my parents’ attention. Audrey looked past the stupid things I did. While the other servants enjoyed reporting those things to my parents and making our relationship worse, Audrey always tried to make it better. I guess she figured it was her job to save me and took me on as her mission in life.” Marcy smiled wryly. “I certainly kept her busy.”
“I hope she doesn’t make me her next mission. Marcy, are there other people in Wisteria who think Aunt Iris is in league with the devil?”
She thought about the question. “A few, probably, because of her reputation as a psychic. People fear anyone who differs from what is considered normal, and in a small town the idea of normal can be as narrow as the streets.”
“Did anyone fear my mother?”
“Why would they?”
“She was psychic.”
“I knew she lived with Iris and William, but I was away at college when she moved in. She died in a robbery, didn’t she? How old were you?”
“Barely three. I don’t really remember her. When Uncle Will asked me to come, he said he wanted to tell me about my family. He said there were some things that he needed to explain.”
Marcy nodded and turned a page, her eyes on the catalog. The fact that she didn’t study me with the overly concerned expression of a school guidance counselor encouraged me. “I need to ask you a question.”
She waited a moment, her pen holding her place on the page. “No point in backing out now.”
“Aunt Iris can get angry, crazy angry. You heard what the elf man said yesterday. Do you think she could have killed Uncle Will?”
“No.” Marcy circled an item in the catalog, then looked up.
“I don’t believe Iris is capable of really harming someone.
She’s just not that kind of person, Anna. I would worry about her health, but not that she’s a murderer.”
She flipped the page of the catalog. “Oh, my.” She brought over the book to show me the picture she had been looking at. “How do you like these?”
“Leprechaun angels?”
“Handsome, aren’t they? I could probably sell a bushel of them and turn a nice profit, but I do have some pride.”
“I didn’t know leprechauns were that big an item.”
“It’s angels. People collect them. I could sell an angelic choir wearing fatigues and riding in Humvees.”
“I like the ones by Cindy Reed.”
“Me too, but I’m afraid that’s the last of them. Cindy took her newest set of Christmas figures to Jeanette’s Crafts, showed them to Jeanette before she showed them to me.”
I walked over to the shelf of wooden angels. I was hoping to buy one for Mom’s Christmas gift.
Marcy returned to her perch. “Loyalty is very important in retail. Sometimes it is the only thing one can rely on.
Unfortunately, Cindy doesn’t know what I know. Jeanette’s lease is up next year and she’s planning to retire. Cindy will be out of luck — I’m not buying from her again.”
Having no experience in business, I wasn’t going to argue, but it seemed kind of senseless to me to stop carrying a product that customers bought, just because someone else got first choice.
Marcy laughed. “Your face is an open book. I admit, I have a healthy streak of pride in me, and I am the kind of person who likes to know whom I can rely on. I built this business out of nothing. My parents, with all their money, didn’t loan me a nickel — they thought I couldn’t pull it off.”
“That must have been hard.”
“Yes, but most things that are satisfying are hard. Don’t let others tell you that you can’t have what you want, Anna. Go after it.”
“Most of the time I do.”
As I turned away from the shelf of angels, I glanced out the window. Zack was coming down the street, carrying cardboard mailing tubes and wearing the preppy office clothes I had seen him in before. When he started
