were. Today's date for him was the same as for them. Somehow the meeting between this Joanna Cross and Ralph Cazaubon had predated the meeting between his Joanna and Ralph Cazaubon by exactly one year.
“Anyway,” she said, “the coincidence of our both being in that tiny churchyard at the same time and looking for the same grave was so extraordinary…” She made a gesture that implied she need elaborate no further. “It just seemed sort of inevitable.”
“And so you wrote your book,” Sam prompted her.
“I wrote my book with the subject's great-great-several-more-greats-grandson correcting my spelling and making sure I was no more horrible about his family than I had to be.” She gave Ralph's hand a squeeze.
“Had you published anything before?” Sam asked her.
“Heavens, no. I'd been working in a brokerage firm-incredibly dull, just a job. I'd always dreamed of becoming a writer, but never had the confidence to start. Now I'm hoping I can make a career of it. I've got a few more ideas for biographies, then maybe a novel.”
“Now come on, Dr. Towne,” Ralph said, “you must tell us something about what's behind all this. Are you working on something about Adam yourself? Or has he come up in one of your psychic investigations? It wouldn't surprise me, he was a pretty dark character-used to dabble in black magic by all accounts.”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact he has come up in connection with my work-in a way.”
“How exciting! Do tell all,” Joanna said, like a little girl eager to hear the latest gossip from a friend.
Sam hedged delicately. “I'm afraid it's difficult to go into detail right now. But I'll be glad to tell you whatever I can as soon as I'm able.”
Joanna looked faintly disappointed at his evasiveness, but said nothing.
“Do you think I might borrow a copy of this book?” Sam asked tentatively. “I'd be happy to buy one, but if it isn't published yet…”
“Take that one as a gift,” she said at once, and gestured toward the shelf behind her. “As you can see, I've got plenty.”
“That's very kind of you, thank you.” Sam got to his feet.
“Now I really mustn't trouble you any longer.”
“Just one thing,” Ralph Cazaubon said, frowning like someone tripping over an awkward detail that he'd briefly forgotten, “when you got here, you said something about two men dying. What exactly was all that about?”
The question took Sam by surprise. He too had pushed the matter from his mind.
“I'm sorry,” he said, as reassuringly as he could, “that was misleading of me. As your wife is plainly not the Joanna Cross I thought she was, none of that applies any longer. I know that sounds obscure, but I can't tell you more for the moment. I don't really know any more.”
“Well, this is all very mysterious,” Ralph said, though he didn't seem especially perturbed, “but I can see we'll have to take your word that you'll explain everything when you can. You don't have a card by any chance, do you? Somewhere we can get in touch with you if we need to?”
“Yes, I should have one somewhere…” Sam fished out his wallet and found one of the cards Peggy had gotten printed for him a couple of years ago and that he rarely found use for. He wrote his home number on the back. Ralph took it with thanks and placed it on the mantel.
“You must be sure to let me know what you think of my book, Dr. Towne,” Joanna said. “I'd love to have an academic opinion.”
“I promise I'll call you.”
“And let me know if there's anything you can think of about Adam that I've left out. It's not too late to add a few footnotes.”
“Yes, of course,” Sam mumbled. Then he looked at them, first one, then the other, and said, “I assume you're not superstitious, either of you.”
“Superstitious? How do you mean?” she asked.
“Oh, you know, history repeating itself. I mean, Adam being your husband's ancestor…”
“Oh…” She laughed as though he'd made a joke, and reached out to ruffle Ralph's hair playfully. “No, I'm not superstitious in that way. Neither of us is.”
They saw Sam to the door and watched as he walked off into the night.
“Strange man,” Ralph said when they were back inside.
“I thought he was kind of nice.”
“All right-nice and strange. But I hope we find out what that was all about someday.”
“Maybe Adam's started haunting somebody-clanking around in chains and uttering low moans. I wouldn't put it past him-he's done just about everything else.”
The phone rang. Ralph went back to the room where they'd been sitting to answer it.
“Hello? Oh, Bob…” He gestured to Joanna that it was her father. “How are you? You want Joanna, she's right here…?”
He broke off, his face clouding. Joanna, realizing something was wrong, came quickly to his side.
“What is it?”
He gestured her to be patient while he listened.
“You're kidding. When was this?”
He listened some more, then he said, “That's the weirdest thing. We just had someone here looking for her. It must be the same woman.”
Joanna's patience, never remarkable, was reaching its limit. She was holding out her hand for the phone, expecting him to pass it over any moment, but instead Ralph said, “No, sure, I understand. I'll tell her. Okay, bye, Bob.”
He hung up and turned to her. “That is quite extraordinary.”
“What? What?”
“Your parents have had some strange woman at the house banging on their door and claiming to be you. It must be the same woman Sam Towne was looking for.”
“Is she there now?”
“No, she got away. Apparently your mother was alone and freaked out and called the police. Who can blame her? Your father got back in time to see the woman, but then she gave them the slip.”
“What was she like? What did he say?”
“Not much-only that she was about your age, dark hair. He said Elizabeth's still pretty shaken, but she'll call you tomorrow. He just wanted to warn us in case the woman shows up here. She must be some kind of weirdo-a stalker or something.”
“Jeez!” Joanna gave an involuntary shudder. “That's a little creepy.”
Ralph reached out to brush back the hair where it fell across her forehead. “Don't worry, the cops seemed to think she was harmless. They said there was a name for it, some kind of syndrome-people who develop an obsession about being someone else. Maybe it'll turn out to be somebody you went to school with, or college. I've heard of that kind of thing happening.”
“All the same, I don't like it.”
He took her in his arms and held her face against his. “Don't worry, nothing's going to happen to you. I'll make sure of that.”
54
She took the subway from Grand Central and emerged on Sixty-eighth Street. Minutes later she was on the street that she had walked along the day before with Sam. The house they had seen then had been neglected, closed up and uninhabited. Tonight its windows blazed with light, and its door, painted in a green so dark that it was almost black, bore the number 139 in plain brass characters.
Filled though she was with an apprehension bordering on terror, she stepped up and rang the bell. She heard a lock turn, and the door opened. There was no recognition in Ralph Cazaubon's face when he saw her.
“Ralph?” She spoke his name uncertainly, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.
