The Girl in the Glass

CABIN NUMBER SIX

Due west of Syosset was a tract of woods in a place called Muttontown. Brill told us all we had to do was continue on Eastwood for five miles and it would take us through the pines. Along that road, amid the trees, there were some old cabins that had at one time been summer places. Since the Depression had hit, the owner had begun renting out the few that were still in decent shape for a few dollars a month. Morgan Shaw, alias Lydia Hush, supposedly lived in one of those places. No running water, no electricity. As he explained, it was merely a roof over her head. She walked to work, and showered and ate when she could at the nursing home.

We found the half dozen or so old run-down structures, spread out over an area of about three acres and hidden beneath the deep shade of tall pines. Antony pulled the car off the road and in among the trees. We got out, and Schell motioned for us to follow him. He picked the first place we came to that had a trail of smoke issuing from its chimney, walked up to the front door, and knocked. A woman in a plain cotton shift answered. In her arms was a baby, and there were two other little kids standing behind her. She wore that blank, stunned expression that seemed to me to be the mask of poverty. I'd seen it in the city on men standing around a trash barrel fire and in newspaper photos of whole families out west, trapped in the Dust Bowl.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," said Schell, "but I am looking for a young woman who lives in one of these cabins. Her name is Morgan Shaw. She's got long very blonde hair, almost white. Do you know her?"

The woman stared for a moment as if she didn't understand. "I might," she finally said. "Who wants to know?"

"Mr. Lincoln is inquiring," said Schell, and a five-dollar bill appeared in his hand.

I was somewhat put off by the crassness of this approach, playing on the woman's situation, but I'll admit it was successful. Her eyes lit up, and she snatched the bill from his hand.

"Cabin number six," she said. "All the way in the back. The one with the yellow curtain." She then shut the door, and I could hear the lock bolt slide home.

"Five dollars must go a long way here," I said to Schell as he started toward cabin six.

He looked somewhat sheepishly at me and said, "It all doesn't have to be difficult, does it?"

I wasn't quite sure what he meant.

"You probably could have gotten away with three," said Antony.

A few minutes later, we stood in front of the cabin with the yellow curtain. Schell put his finger to his lips and motioned with his hand for Antony to go around back in case she tried to escape that way. Then he reached in his pocket and retrieved his key ring. Singling out the one long thin key with a tiny hook at the end, he held the skeleton key up for me to see. He tossed the set to me and pointed at the door. I knew what to do. He'd let me practice with the key on the lock of the Bugatorium door since I was ten.

I worked the lock like a pro, and in a minute the door was open a sliver. Schell grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me away before I could enter. He pushed on the door, letting it swing slowly inward. Only after he had looked around the interior of the cabin did he step over the threshold. "Okay," he said to me and waved me in.

The place was tiny, barely enough room for a bed, a little wood-burning stove, a chair, and a desk. There were no closets, and whoever lived there, I supposed it was Lydia/Morgan, appeared to store her things in cardboard boxes. Even though the one window over the bed let in some light, it was still dim and somewhat dank as well, smelling of mold and the pine scent of the trees outside. There was a tattered, well-worn old rug, rumpled and lying askew on the floor, bearing a faded maroon and green floral design. Two candles in old-fashioned copper holders sat on either side, and a hurricane lamp rested on the floor between the end of the bed and the desk. A small anemic-looking plant grew in a clay pot on the windowsill.

"A tidy little ship," said Antony from the doorway, having just come around from the rear of the cabin after finding no evidence of Lydia/Morgan.

"This place reminds me too much of the shack we found Charlotte Barnes in," I said.

"Yeah," said Antony, "I know what you mean."

"Well, perish the thought, gentlemen," said Schell, "because I think our best bet of finding Miss Shaw will be to stake this place out. We might be here for a while."

"Boss, I better go hide the car," said Antony. "She knows it, and if she sees it, she'll run."

"Good idea," said Schell.

After Antony left, I took a seat on the desk chair and Schell settled down on the bed, the springs of which squealed unmercifully beneath his weight. "The yellow curtains are a nice touch," he said.

I nodded. We sat in silence, and I listened to the sound of the wind quietly whistling through a small crack in the corner of the window, the boughs of the trees outside creaking. I could imagine how cold and lonely it must get there late at night and began to feel a measure of sympathy for our quarry. It also struck me, as I looked around, just how well Schell had provided for me from the time I had first come to stay with him.

Antony returned after a few minutes and closed the door behind him. Seeing Schell on the bed, he turned to me and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, evicting me from the only other seat. "Curtain call, junior," he said. I got up and sat on the floor in the middle of the musty rug, crossing my legs Indian style. As Antony eased into the chair, I told him I hoped the legs broke.

"You look like a real swami now," he said.

Schell looked over and smiled vacantly, then turned his gaze back out the window. He had a silver dollar in his left hand that he was rolling across his knuckles from pinky to thumb and back again.

"One thing I want to know," said Antony, "is what we are going to call Lydia Hush now. I'm confused."

"We'll ask her what she prefers when she shows up," said Schell.

That was the last thing any of us said for a long time. An hour, passed, and eventually I lay down on my side and used my turban as a makeshift pillow. Closing my eyes, I was heading for a catnap when I heard something odd, something very faint below the whisper of the wind and the soughing of the branches. It was slow and regular, like the sound of someone breathing. I sat up and looked over at Antony but soon realized that the noise wasn't coming from him, nor was it coming from Schell.

"Have a bad dream?" asked Antony, who sat leaning back in the chair with his hat pulled down over his eyes.

I lay back on the floor, and after a moment or two heard the rhythmic sound again. This time I could place it. There was something or someone under the rug. I got slowly to my feet and kicked Antony in the bottom of his shoe. He sat up and looked at me, was about to speak, but I motioned for him to be quiet. Schell turned around, and I put my finger to my lips. With my other hand, I pointed at the floor. He gave me a quizzical look, so I walked over to him and whispered in his ear, "There's someone under the floor. I heard them breathing."

Schell stood up. Antony was already on his feet. I stepped off the rug, and each of them leaned over and took a corner. They folded it back to reveal the outline of a small trapdoor. At the midway point, along the edge on the left-hand side, was a brass ring handle sunk into a small recessed metal square that lay even with the level of the floor. Schell moved around the folded rug, crouched down, and pulled on the handle. As the trapdoor opened, Antony and I stepped closer to look in.

There, in a four-foot-by-four-foot square shallow depression in the ground, lay Lydia Hush. A blanket covered the bare dirt beneath her, and she rested on her side, her knees gathered up close to her chest, her head bent forward so that her chin touched her knees. She wore nothing but a man's flannel shirt. The paleness of her long legs and the brightness of her hair seemed to glow in the dark hole.

"Okay, Miss Hush, or should I say, Miss Shaw, come on out of there," said Schell.

Her eyes opened. She turned her head to look up at us, and she smiled. "Gentlemen," she said.

Schell reached a hand down to her. She grasped it and with a little maneuvering managed to stand up. Antony went over to the bed and stripped the cover off. As she emerged from underground, stepping up into the light, he draped the quilt around her as if she were royalty preparing for a procession. She thanked him and then stepped over to the chair and sat down. After I had closed the trapdoor and replaced the rug, we stood around her like three children waiting to hear a story.

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," said Schell.

Morgan Shaw's bottom lip began to tremble and tears formed at the corners of her eyes.