In the Shadow of Blackbirds(26)

I gritted my teeth and breathed through silent tears that plunked wet stains upon the paper.

“Oh, Dad,” I said to his tidy loops of black handwriting. “Why should I bother making the world better when some of my favorite parts about it are gone?” I wiped my eyes. “You’re locked away and Stephen’s dead, and I don’t feel like one of the brightest, bravest, and kindest individuals without you.”


THE FOLLOWING EVENING, AFTER AUNT EVA RETURNED from work, a familiar baritone voice drifted up to my bedroom from the entryway.

My father’s voice.

I swear up and down—I heard my dad.

I hurled myself out of bed in my nightgown and bolted to the staircase, wondering if the telegram and the letter were mistakes—or mere dreams. Dad wasn’t going to be sentenced after all. He had come to fetch me.

“Dad!” My bare feet scrambled halfway down the steps and slipped out from under me. My backside slammed against wood.

“Don’t break your neck, Mary Shelley!” said Aunt Eva from down in the entryway. “Why are you running?”

I regained my balance and pulled myself upright. “I heard—” My fingers went limp around the banister when I got a good look down below. My aunt stood by the front door with a slender stranger in a brown suit. Not my father.

“Oh.” I stooped with disappointment. “I didn’t know you had a visitor.”

The gentleman’s face, aside from his blue-green eyes, was hidden beneath a flu mask. He removed his derby hat and said, “Good evening, Miss Black,” and I saw receding hair the glistening golden red of copper wire.

I lifted my chin. “Do I know you?”

“No,” said Aunt Eva, “but you’ve heard of him. This is Mr. Darning.”

“Mr. Aloysius Darning?” I took a single step downward. “The photography expert who’s been investigating Julius?”

He nodded. “The one and the same. I was just across the bay at Mr. Embers’s house, paying my respects for his brother, and he told me the young model from his handbill had experienced a recent taste of death.”

“I told you not to tell Julius what happened to me,” I snapped at my aunt.

“Don’t get huffy in front of our guest, Mary Shelley. I simply telephoned Julius to let him know you’d been badly injured.”

“He seemed concerned about you,” said Mr. Darning. “And once I learned your name, I realized I knew your aunt.”

“Mr. Darning attends my church.” Aunt Eva rubbed the back of her neck in a nervous manner. “While I don’t care for the fact that he questions Julius’s photography, he is a kind man.”

Mr. Darning’s eyes smiled above his gauze. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Ottinger. I know supporters of Julius Embers often view me as the villain.”

“I want you to know,” I said, traveling two more steps, “I had no idea Julius Embers used me in that advertisement until I arrived in San Diego over a week ago.”

“Oh … really?” He lifted his copper eyebrows. “He didn’t obtain your permission?”

“No, and I wouldn’t have given it to him, either. Stephen told me all the ways Julius doctors his images. Double exposures, alterations in the developing process—”

“Believe me, I know all about the tricks of the trade, Miss Black. I’ve investigated all those possibilities with Julius Embers numerous times, but I’m afraid the man is either outsmarting me or genuinely photographing spirits.”

“But Stephen was so insistent it’s all a hoax,” I said.

“I know, I know—I understand Stephen’s concerns entirely. An amateur photographer who becomes a false celebrity is just about the worst thing a real photographer can encounter. But I can’t find one shred of evidence that Julius is a fake.”

I squeezed the handrail. “Isn’t there anything else you can do?”

“Mary Shelley.” Aunt Eva shook her head at me. “Please don’t tire yourself out with subjects that upset you. Go back to bed.” She turned to our guest and grabbed the doorknob. “Thank you so much for stopping by to see how she’s faring, Mr. Darning.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help with your investigation,” I said before Aunt Eva could shut the door on the man, “please let me know.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Darning. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He took a parchment-colored business card out of the breast pocket of his brown coat. “And when you’re feeling better, I invite you and your aunt to come to my studio for a complimentary sitting. I’d love nothing more than to show Julius Embers I can create a superior print of one of his prized subjects—even without a spirit involved.” He handed my aunt the card, placed his derby back on his copper hair, and bid us a cordial good-bye in that gentle baritone voice that made me ache for home.

Aunt Eva shut the door and looked my way, her eyebrows raised. “Why were you calling for your father when you came down?”

“His voice sounded like Dad’s.”

“Oh.” She averted her eyes from mine and hugged her arms around herself. “I know how that feels. There’s a man at church who sounds like Wilfred.”

“May I have Mr. Darning’s business card?”