Breaking the Chain (17 page)

             
Charles had the grace to look ashamed. "I know, Mary," he apologized. "I wasn't trying to be disrespectful, just practical." He tucked his briefcase more firmly under one arm. "I'll give you a call once everything's settled."
             
"Thanks." She waited until he disappeared, then slowly made her way to the nurse's station, where several nurses were working on charts.
             
"I just wanted to say thanks for all you did for my aunt," she murmured softly. "I know she was a difficult patient, but I really do appreciate everyone taking such good care of her."
             
One of the women wrapped an arm around Mary's shoulders. "I know it was a shock, Mrs. Windom, but you wouldn't have wanted her to suffer," she said. "We were glad to help."
             
"Thanks for everything." Mary walked slowly toward one of the private consultation offices and dug her cell phone out of her purse. Punching in the number for the plantation, she prayed that Jack hadn't been assigned another job.
             
It didn't take long for someone to answer. "Blue Moon Inn. Jack Windom speaking."
             
"Jack?"
             
"Mary, it's good to hear your voice. How's your aunt?"
             
"She's gone, Jack. She died a few minutes ago," Mary said in a subdued voice.
             
"I'm sorry to hear that, baby. Are you okay?"
             
"Yeah, I think so. Do you think you can come up for the funeral? I know you didn't like her, but I really don't want to go alone. DeeDee won't go; she hates--hated Elizavon, and has already said that there's no way she's going to the funeral."
             
"Of course, I'll come. I'll catch the next plane out."
             
"Thanks, baby. I appreciate it." She suddenly remembered a conversation she'd had with her aunt's pilot the day before. "You know, Jack, I think Dykes is supposed to be flying down to New Orleans in the next day or so to pick up a painting my aunt purchased. It's been on display at the Windsor Court hotel. Maybe he can swing by and pick you up. It's not out of his way. I think he was supposed to leave in the morning, fly down to New Orleans, and then fly back. He mentioned something about stopping by to see you on his way back. I'll call Elizavon's attorney and see if it's okay. I don't think it will be a problem."
             
"That would be great. He's a nice guy. Maybe that will give us a chance to talk about working out some business with his charter service once he gets it up and running."
             
"Okay, baby. I'll call you as soon as I talk to the attorney and get in touch with Dykes. I love you."
             
"I love you, too, sweetie. You sure you're okay?"
             
"Yeah, I'm fine, Jack. A lot's happened since I talked to you last night, but we'll talk about it once you get here."
             
"Like what?"
             
She took a deep breath. "Before Elizavon died, she rambled on about my always having the 'sight.' I'm not sure if she was delirious or not. She was pretty out of it. She mentioned something about a letter her attorney has. Maybe that will explain what she was trying to say."
             
"Well, you don't need to worry about anything right now. I want you to go back to DeeDee's, fix yourself a stiff drink, then put
your
feet up. Okay, honey?"
             
She smiled, grateful that she'd been blessed with such a wonderful husband. "Okay, baby. I promise. As soon as I call the attorney and get in touch with Dykes, I'll do just that."
             
"Good. Love you."
             
"I love you, too, baby. See you later." She disconnected the call, punched in the number for Charles' office, and left a message for him to call as soon as possible. As she waited for a taxi, it dawned on her that even though Elizavon was dead, her aunt was still forcing everyone to dance to her own tune.

             
           
             
             
                          
30
 

             
             
             
As Jack entered the empty kitchen, the sound of laughter drifted in from the patio. Following the noise, he spotted Sadie, Justine, and Mrs. Milliron enjoying a glass of iced tea. For once, it looked as if the three women were delighting in each other's company with no hint of animosity. Maybe Sadie had finally gotten over her dislike of Mrs. Milliron. He stayed where he was, loath to interrupt the camaraderie with his news about Mary's aunt.
             
Justine turned her head and spotted him standing in the doorway. "Come on out and join us," she invited with a wave of her hand. "It's too nice an afternoon to waste indoors."
             
He forced his lips into a smile and walked over to the table.
             
"Would you like a glass of iced tea?" Mrs. Milliron asked.
             
"No, thanks. I've already had two; that's enough."
             
"That was Mary on the phone, wasn't it?" Sadie asked. "She ain't coming back right now, is she?"
             
He scratched his head, wondering how Sadie could have known Mary was staying in Boston for a few more days. "Yes. She had bad news. Her aunt died, and she's going to stay in Boston for the funeral. In fact, I'm going to go up there for a few days to be with her." He stared at the group for a moment. "Will you be all right while I'm gone? We don't have any guests scheduled for a few days and I'll be back before the next lot arrives."
             
Mrs. Milliron patted his arm. "Of course, we'll be all right," she said. "I can take care of these two with no problem at all."
             
"We don't need nobody to take care of us," Sadie snapped, her dark eyes glittering with anger. "We's quite capable of seeing to ourselves. We don't need you for nothing."
             
"What Sadie means is that we won't be any trouble, Mrs. Milliron," Justine interrupted in an apologetic tone. She turned to Jack. "We'll be fine. You go to Mary. I'm sure she needs you."
             
Jack eased backwards into a chair, glad to have overcome that particular hurdle. "Well, she and her aunt weren't all that close, but I'm sure Elizavon's death shocked her. That old woman had a will of iron. I'm surprised she died. I'd have thought she, of all people, would have overcome a heart attack and gotten better."
             
Justine shook her head. "You never know," she said in a low voice. "God's the one who determines whether we live or die. It's not for us to question his ways."
             
"I'm sure Mary will miss her aunt, even if she wasn't a very nice person," Mrs. Milliron remarked sympathetically. "It's good that you can go and be with her in a time like this." She squeezed her ample frame out of the metal chair. "Now that everything's settled, I'd better see to dinner." She looked up at Jack. "Will you be leaving tonight or tomorrow morning?"
             
"Mary is trying to contact Elizavon's pilot to see if I can catch a ride with him on his way back to Boston. I should know something definite in a couple of hours."
             
"Fine. Dinner will be served at six o'clock in the dining room," Mrs. Milliron announced as she trudged toward the kitchen.
             
"Don't like that man," Sadie announced in a loud voice. "There's something about him. Too flashy, that's what he is. I don't like him. No sir." She wrapped her fingers around Jack's wrist and tugged until he turned toward her. "You watch yourself, Jack. That one's trouble; I knowed it when I first laid eyes on him," she said, shaking a misshapen index finger.
             
"I will, Sadie. Thanks," Jack replied, humoring the old woman. He wanted to discount her remarks, but the fact that her observations had occasionally been right lingered in the back of his mind. He shook his head, wondering what criteria the old black woman used to formulate her instant dislike of people. First Mrs. Milliron, now Dykes. Who was she going to dislike next? The mailman? The grocery delivery boy?
             
He leaned closer to Sadie and lowered his voice. "What about the brown man? Will you two be all right while I'm gone? I didn't want to say anything in front of Mrs. Milliron, since she doesn't know anything. I checked the bookings; there's not supposed to be another Garden Club Meeting for several weeks. With any luck, this brown man won't be back until then."
             
Before Sadie could respond, her dark eyes rolled back into her head and her arms and legs began to twitch. Jack watched in surprise as she weaved back and forth for several minutes, her entire body shaking to some silent rhythm.
             
As he started to rise from his chair, Justine held up one hand in warning. "Don't say or do anything," she mouthed. "It will be over in a few minutes."
             
Just as suddenly as it had started, Sadie's shaking ceased, and she slumped back in her chair. Time seemed to stand still as Jack waited for some sign that the 'vision' was over and she'd returned from whatever level of consciousness she'd been transported to.
             
Sitting up straight, the old black woman opened her eyes and grabbed his elbow, squeezing tightly. "The brown man will be back, but I think we got a little time afore that happens. I ain't sure how much, or when, but spirits done told me he's coming back." She released Jack's arm, her black eyes glittering in the afternoon sunlight. "You go to Mary. Her aunt's passing was a bad omen, Jack. Real bad, and it has something to do with the brown man. Things gonna get worse afore they gets better. I done seen it."
             
Jack rubbed the sore spot on his elbow where Sadie had squeezed. For an elderly female, she had a grip like a vise. "What else did you see?"
             
"Same thing I been seeing."
             
"What?"
             
She sent him a withering look. "Don't you ever listen none? I seen my death. How many times do I have to tell you I keep seeing my own death?"

             
           
             
             
                            
31
 

             
             
When Jack entered the airport, Dykes waved at him and motioned for him to take a seat. "You were right about the food," he remarked in between bites of peach pie. "I don't know when I've had a better piece of pie."
             
Jack nodded. "Yeah, most airport food isn't very good, but this one seems to be an exception." He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "Take my advice, however, and don't ever order the chili. It's terrible; I nearly gagged when I tried it."
             
Dykes wiped the last of the crumbs from his chin with a napkin. "Thanks for the tip; I appreciate it." He signaled the waitress and waited patiently for her to remove his bill from the stack in her apron pocket. "Ready to go?" he asked as he dug a ten dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the waitress.
             
"Yeah. I appreciate your giving me a lift to Boston," Jack replied as he grabbed his suitcase from under the table.
             
"No problem. I was planning to stop by and say hello anyway. This just gives me a good excuse."
             
"Do you need to take care of anything else?" Jack asked as they walked toward the hangar.
             
"Not really. Flight plan's been filed and everything's ready to go. All I need to do is get cleared for take-off once we're buttoned up."
             
"What do you want me to do?" Jack asked as Dykes unlocked the luggage compartment. "Can I help with anything?"
             
"Nope. Just hand me your suitcase and get settled in. I'll take care of the rest," Dykes answered, smoothly swinging Jack's single suitcase into the storage compartment. "Make sure you're buckled in, then lean back and enjoy the ride." He studied Jack's face for a moment. "You aren't nervous flying in small planes, are you?"
             
Jack snorted derisively. "Me? No. And I don't get air sick, either. No matter how bumpy the ride."
             
"That's good. Because if you barf it up, you clean it up. House rules."
             
"Fair enough," Jack replied, climbing the few stairs to the cabin. He let out a soft whistle of surprise as he stepped inside. He'd been in private jets before, but nothing had prepared him for this. Talk about decadent capitalistic luxury--this plane took the cake!
             
It was obvious that no expense had been spared in decorating the interior. The floor was covered in a luxurious carpet so thick his shoes left deep imprints as he walked, and the interior walls were paneled in a rich wood that reflected the rays of sunlight with a warm amber glow. Gazing at the gleaming wood, he calculated that the paneling alone could easily have cost more than his new van.
             
Shaking his head in disbelief, he finished his inspection of the cabin. Near the windows, two oversize leather chairs filled one half of the cabin, and a hand-carved wooden credenza lined the opposite wall. Opening the credenza, he noted with satisfaction that Elizavon's hidden bar was stocked with several bottles of his favorite brandy. Well, at least he and the old bat agreed on something; there was nothing like a good bottle of brandy to cleanse the palate.
             
Scattered atop the credenza were carved wooden trays containing a television, laptop computer, fax machine, and telephone. A folding wooden door near the rear of the cabin concealed a refrigerator, microwave, and stove; a second door opened into a luxurious bathroom, complete with shower, sink, toilet and bidet.
             
Trust Elizavon to settle for nothing less than gaudy opulence, he thought sourly, washing his hands and wiping them on a monogrammed towel. It was just too bad the old battle axe wasn't around to enjoy it any longer.
             
Reentering the cabin, he chose the chair nearest the window and buckled his seatbelt. A quick glance to his right revealed an intercom system, presumably to the cockpit. He started nervously when it buzzed, and gingerly picked up the receiver.
             
"You okay back there?" Dykes asked. "We're cleared for
takeoff
, so make sure your seatbelt's buckled tight."
             
"Got you," Jack replied.
             
"Okay, then. Here we go." Dykes said, disconnecting the call.
             
As the plane accelerated, Jack was pushed back in his seat. His ears popped as the plane gained altitude, angling up through a low cloud ceiling. Some five minutes later the intercom buzzed once more.
             
"Everything still okay?" Dykes asked.
             
"Yep."
             
"Good. I just wanted to let you know that we have one quick stop before we hit Boston. I have a package to drop off for Mrs. Phelps' lawyer. Won't take long; the art dealer's meeting us at the airport. We should be back in the air in ten, maybe twenty minutes, tops."
             
"No problem. I just need to give Mary a call and let her know what time to pick me up."
             
"Okay. I'll let you know when we get close. For now, just sit back and enjoy the ride," Dykes suggested. "By the way, I noticed when I was at your house that you're a brandy man. You might want to try some of Elizavon's private stock. I've had it before and it's unbelievable. One thing I'll say about the old bat--she sure knew her brandy. No sense wasting it now that she's no longer here to enjoy it, is there? If you don't drink it, one of the cleaning crew will either throw it out or steal it. It would be a shame to waste brandy that expensive on somebody who wouldn't appreciate it."
             
Jack chuckled. "Sounds like you're a man after my own heart. Thanks. I just might do that. Like you said, there's no sense wasting fine brandy on somebody with no palate for it. Especially if it's gonna get tossed out," Jack agreed.
             
Some two hours later Dykes buzzed again, informing Jack that they would soon be landing outside Roanoke. He suggested that Jack wait in the plane while he transferred Elizavon's merchandise to the art dealer, indicating that it wouldn't take very long. Taking Dykes advice, Jack finished his snifter of brandy, placed the crystal goblet back in the sink rack, and returned to his chair.
             
When the plane rolled to a stop on a private airstrip, he thought it odd, but figured that Elizavon's business was her own. Knowing the old woman's penchant for keeping her business dealings a secret, he surmised that she'd probably made the arrangements for the art dealer to meet them here so she wouldn't have to bother with talking to any airport personnel. Snotty old bitch.
             
Yawning, he stared out the window. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open; he must be more tired than he realized. Struggling to stay awake, he watched a black sedan roll to a halt just behind the plane. Dykes strolled up to the driver's window, leaned inside for a few moments, then retraced his steps. A few moments later, two men got out of the car and walked forward. The last thing his mind registered before he fell asleep was a scraping noise, followed by the cabin door swinging open.