Breaking the Chain (13 page)

             
           
             
             
                          
23
             
             

             
Jack switched the windshield wipers into overdrive and slowed down when the thunderstorm turned into a torrential downpour. The rhythmic hammering of rain on the van's metal roof reminded him of the sound nickels made as they fell into the metal trays beneath slot machines.
             
"If I'd known it was going to rain this hard, I would've told the pilot stay in town," Mary complained as she wiped the windshield with a cotton cloth since the defroster couldn't keep fog from forming. "This isn't rain; it's a deluge. Maybe you should pull over until it stops."
             
"Nah, it's not that bad," Jack answered. "Besides, it's already starting to ease off. As long as I can see the road, we're okay." Some ten minutes later the outline of the control tower appeared like a lighthouse beacon shining in a sea of darkness. "See?" he said, pointing to the tower. "There it is. I told you we were almost there. Feel better?"
             
"No. We still have to drive back in this mess. I think we should wait out the storm, even if it takes a while. This road's dangerous, even in the best of weather. All it takes is a few sprinkles to turn it into a slick sheet of glass. One wrong move and, poof, you're sliding into the bayou. I can't wait till they finish that new interstate off ramp. At least then we'll have a decent way to get to and from the plantation. No more two lane, bumpy asphalt strips, with alligators lined up on either side, just waiting for you to become their next meal."
             
Jack slowed the van to a crawl and stopped in front of the passenger loading zone. "When did you get to be such a chicken? Talk about overactive imaginations!" He caught the murderous look she sent his way, then sighed heavily. "All right, Nervous Nellie. Tell you what. I'll park the van and we'll wait for the storm to blow itself out. How's that sound?"
             
"Thanks. I hate to be like this, but I don't want to end up as some alligator's main course." She rested her forehead against her window, trying to peer through the rain to figure out which one of the people huddled together against the rain was the pilot.
             
"Why don't you go on inside?"
             
"Okay. I'll leave you the big umbrella; you'll need it." She jumped out and raced to the terminal's front door.
             
"You must be Mary," a tall man said announced as he held the door.
             
She looked up, then winced at the loud flowers printed on the man's shirt. "You've got to be Paul Dykes," she said with a grin. "You were right--nobody could miss you in that getup."
             
He chuckled and tugged one collar. "Like it? I picked it up in Hawaii last time I was there. I know it's kinda loud, but it sure makes a change from that God-awful uniform your aunt insists on."
             
"Well, I'm not sure which is worse; the uniform or your shirt," she teased.
             
"Hey, I did my time in uniforms. I was a chopper pilot in the Gulf War. Flew to hell and back six, seven times a day, for three long years. Had to wear a uniform every stinking day I was there." He scratched the side of his chin. "Maybe that's why I hate 'em so much now. Guess they bring back too many bad memories." He leaned closer, studying her expression. "Please tell me you're not going to make me wear that awful thing when we leave. It's bad enough that I have to wear it whenever your aunt's around."
             
"No. As much as I hate to admit it, the uniform's worse."
             
He sighed dramatically. "Thank God. A woman after my own heart."
             
She shook her head. "Don't be too sure about that. I'm as anal about details as my aunt."
             
"Nah. Nobody can be that bad. That woman's in a league all by herself."
             
"I agree with him," Jack chimed in as he joined the group. He held out a damp hand. "Jack Windom. I take it you're Paul Dykes?"
             
Dykes grasped Jack's hand. "In the flesh."
             
"Glad to meet you. How about a cup of coffee? It's raining like hell outside. Might as well get something hot while we wait for it to slack off." He glanced at the floor, then looked up. "Where's your stuff?"
             
"Left it in the plane. Figured we could drive around and pick it up on the way out. Didn't want to get everything soaked; it's a long walk from the plane. Hope you don't mind."
             
"Not at all. Good idea."
             
The small restaurant was unusually crowded, and they had to wait for someone to leave before they could sit down. Mary watched the single waitress rush from table to table. "Everybody must've had the same idea," she observed. "I'll bet this is the most business this place's done in years."
             
The waitress grabbed a pot of steaming black coffee and shuffled over to their table. "Two or three cups?" she asked with a grin. "I've already told the cook to dish up two orders of peach pie with a scoop of ice cream on the side."
             
"Coffee for three, thanks," Mary replied. She turned to Dykes. "Are you hungry? They make the best pie in St. Francisville, and their sandwiches aren't bad, either."
             
"You must spend a lot of time here," Dykes commented, putting down his menu. "I'll take a ham sandwich, fries, and a slice of that peach pie, please. With ice cream."
             
"We probably spend as much time in airports as you do," Mary said. "Jack and I are estate curators, which means we travel all the time."
             
"I'm only working for your aunt until I've got enough money stashed away to start my own charter service," he announced as the waitress brought their order.
             
Mary studied him out of the corner of her eye as he inhaled his food. "How long have you been working for my aunt?" she asked innocently.
             
"Long enough to know I don't want to do it for the rest of my life," he replied, deftly side-stepping her question.
             
Jack shoveled a forkful of pie into his mouth. "How do you stand being cooped up with her in that small plane? She'd drive me crazy."
             
"Easy. She has to be nice to me. Otherwise the plane goes down," Dykes said, straight-faced.
             
Mary choked, and Jack thumped her several times on the back. "It's okay, honey. He's only kidding."
             
"Remind me to be very nice to you when we leave," she said, rubbing watery eyes.
             
Dykes lifted his eyebrows a couple of times, and a dimple appeared, then disappeared in his cheek. "Yeah, it sure pays to be nice to the man who holds your life in his hands," he teased. He turned toward Jack. "So you guys own a plantation? Tell me about it. Maybe we can cut a charter deal out to your place once I get my business started."

             
           
             
             
                        
24
             
             
 

             
"Do you want another piece of fruit?" Justine asked as she wiped off the kitchen table.
             
Sadie reached for her cane, then rose from her chair. "No. I'm going to my room. It's almost time for my favorite television--" She paused mid-sentence, her body started to shake, and one bony hand shot out to latch on to Justine's arm. "He's come," she croaked in a strained voice. "The brown man's here."
             
Startled, Justine helped Sadie to a chair, then collapsed into the one next to her. The brown man was here? How could that be?
             
When Sadie's shaking stopped, Justine poured a shot of whiskey into a glass and handed it to her friend. "Here, drink this. It'll help you catch your breath."
             
Sadie took several sips, then returned the empty glass with shaky hands. "I can feel him, Justine. Sure as you're standing there."
             
Justine studied her friend for a moment--she'd clearly been traumatized--then squeezed her hand in silent understanding. "The Garden Club's holding a meeting in the dining room. Do you think he's in there?" she asked. "Would you know him if you saw him?"
             
"I don't know," Sadie whispered. "I ain't been able to put a face to him yet. I'm scared, Justine," she confessed. "Real scared. This ain't like nothing that ever happened before. Maybe if I took a look at those folks it might come to me."
             
"All right, we'll go in," Justine agreed. "But, before we do, I want you to do something. If he's in there, promise me you won't make a scene. Don't say or do anything that will upset anybody because--" She was interrupted by Mrs. Milliron, who burst into the kitchen, pushing a cart stacked with dirty dishes.
             
The housekeeper took one look at Sadie's troubled face and stopped. "Is everything all right?" she asked. "Do you need me to call the doctor?"
             
Justine shook her head. "No, thanks. Sadie's had a bad spell, but she's all right now. We were just getting something to drink." She glanced at the trolley. "How are our guests doing? Is everything going smoothly without Mary and Jack being here?"
             
The housekeeper's face broke into a smile. "They're doing fine. I told Mr. Windom I could handle this bunch by myself, and I have. That was a good idea he had, inviting them to hold their meetings here. Maybe they'll come back every month. Catering to groups is a good way to bring in a little extra cash."
             
"I agree--as long as it doesn't overburden you. Lord knows you do the work of three people," Justine said. She glanced at the stack of dirty dishes. "Do you need any help?"
             
"Nah. I'll load the dishwasher later, once I clear out the dining room." The housekeeper mopped her forehead with the tip of her apron. "I think I'm going to take a break before Mr. and Mrs. Windom get back from the airport. I've been working non-stop since lunch, and I'm plum tuckered out."
             
"Well, you certainly deserve one," Justine said. "Why don't I keep an eye on the group while you relax for a few minutes? It's the least I can do."
             
"That would be real nice," Mrs. Milliron said as she eased her ample body into a chair. "Do you want anything before I finish up?"
             
Justine nudged Sadie off her chair. "No, we've had more than enough to eat, thanks." She edged past the table, not wanting to be drawn into another one of the housekeeper's 'little chats.' "I'll let you know when the group leaves," she promised while stepping into the hall.
             
As Sadie braced herself to enter the dining room, Justine placed a warning hand on her shoulder. "Remember what I said. If he's in there, don't say or do anything. Mary and Jack need this group's business, and we don't want to upset any of the guests. I want you to go in, stand in the back of the room for a couple of minutes, then come out. Understand?"
             
"I heard you. I ain't stupid," Sadie grumbled. "Quit treating me like a child." Under Justine's watchful eye, Sadie shuffled toward the back wall and stood beside the buffet table, unnoticed by all but a few of the guests.
             
Justine waited anxiously while her friend studied the sea of faces. Would Sadie know the brown man when she saw him? One thing troubled her--the room was mostly filled with women. What...what if he turned out to be a woman? Could that be why Sadie couldn't put a face to her fear? What would happen if he--or she--recognized Sadie first?
             
Justine's blood ran cold at the thought, and she wished they'd never started this journey. They should never have come back. A tight knot formed in her stomach, and her heart began to pound. What was taking Sadie so long? There were only ten, maybe fifteen people in the room; she ought to be done by now.
             
Just when Justine thought she'd scream from the tension, she saw Sadie turn and shuffle toward the door. Taking her cue, Justine followed her friend into the hall, forcing one rubbery leg in front of another. "Well? What did you see?" she asked.
             
Sadie shook her head in despair. "Nothing. I couldn't tell if he was there or not." Gnarled fingers latched on to Justine's arm as she hobbled down the hall. "Help me to my room," she mumbled. "I gotta get ready."
             
"Ready? For what?"
             
"To make my peace with God," Sadie answered in a grim voice. "It's almost time for me to die."