Breaking the Chain (19 page)

             
"Was your aunt really that bad?" he asked.
             
"When it came to my dad--yes. She absolutely despised my father and refused to allow any mention of his name. When he and my mother died, she actually spit in his face at the funeral. It was awful." She shook her head. "Now maybe you can understand why I'm not sure if I'd be better off burning these letters without opening them."
             
Jack scratched the back of his head. "I hate to mention this, but what if they hold some clue about why you can see things. If you burn them, you'll never know."
             
"I've already thought of that. Just before my aunt died, she mentioned that I'd always been able to see things, even when I was little." She shivered as goose bumps raced up and down her spine. "The question I keep asking myself is: Was she telling the truth, or just making sure I'd read these letters?"
             
An uneasy silence fell between them as she tapped an index finger against one of the envelopes. "You know, there's another possibility that we haven't discussed. What...what if these letters tell me something about my so-called gift that's absolutely terrible? My own mother didn't want me to know about it, so something awful must have happened. What if Elizavon discloses something that adversely affects the rest of our lives? Do we really want to risk that?"
             
"I don't know, baby."
             
She laughed derisively. "Welcome to the club. I don't know either. When it comes to these letters, I'm damned if I do, or damned if I don't. I just wish I knew which one is the lesser of the two evils."

             
           
             
             
                            
33
             
 

             
             
The gentle buzz of the intercom interrupted Jack's concentration on the novel he was reading. Sighing, he marked his spot with a piece of paper, then reached for the receiver.
             
"We'll be landing in about forty minutes," Dykes announced in a crisp tone. "Unfortunately, before we do, we have to pass through a storm front, and it could get a little rough. You might want to get buckled in."
             
"Got it, thanks." Jack said, placing the receiver back into its carved niche.
             
"What did Dykes want?" Mary asked, lazily stretching her arms overhead.
             
"We're heading into a storm front. He wants us to make sure we're buckled in."
             
She paused mid-stretch. "Anything we should be worried about?"
             
"Nah. He didn't sound worried, so I'm not."
             
"You know, I think I like traveling on commercial airlines better," she said, nervously peering out the window in search of storm clouds. "The planes are about three times bigger; you don't feel every little bump and air pocket like you do in this one."
             
Jack's glance circled the cabin. "Not me. I like being in the lap of luxury." He rubbed his feet in the thick carpet, slipped into his shoes, then eased back into his seat with a sigh of contentment. "I'll say one thing about your dear departed aunt. She certainly knew how to travel in style. After riding in this puppy, I'm not sure if I'll
ever
enjoy traveling with the masses again."
             
"Well, don't get too used to it, sweetie. Her attorney only gave us the use of this plane until we're finished the inventories," Mary pointed out. "After that, it's back to the commercial airlines."
             
His eyes twinkled. "Yeah, but there's no law that says I can't enjoy it while I've got it."
             
"You're terrible, do you know that?"
             
A dimple in his cheek flashed in and out. "I know."
             
She tossed her pillow at him, then proceeded to buckle her seatbelt as a clap of thunder momentarily melded with the sound of the engines. Brilliant streaks of lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating the dark clouds. "I thought you said this was a small storm front," she complained when turbulence hit suddenly.
             
"Think of it as a bump in the road," he soothed, glancing out the window. "Hey, I can see a few rays of sunlight," he announced in a cheerful voice. "We must be almost out of the storm."
             
She leaned forward, arching her neck to peer out the window. "Where?"
             
"Over there, to the left of that big cloud," he said, pointing. "See? I told you there was nothing to worry about. Dykes' a good pilot. Your aunt wouldn't have hired him if he wasn't."
             
"Yeah, right. I'll just be glad when we're on solid ground."
             
"Why are you so nervous? It's not like you to be afraid of flying."
             
She shook her head. "I wouldn't say that I was...afraid, Jack. It's just that being in a small plane makes me nervous."
             
"Yeah, but you've flown in this plane before."
             
"I know it's silly," she sighed. "Maybe I'm just tired. Don't pay any attention to me. I'll be fine once we're back at the plantation and I've had a good night's sleep."
             
He patted her arm. "You'll be fine once you relax for a few days."
             
"Want a piece of gum?" she asked, rifling through her purse. As she dug through the contents, her two unopened envelopes fell to the carpet.
             
"Er, no, thanks. You dropped something," he noted in a careful voice.
             
Her glance fell to the two letters. "Oh." Reaching down, she picked them up and shoved them back inside her handbag.
             
"Have you decided what you're going to do?"
             
"No. I thought I'd give them to Sadie, to see if maybe she can sense anything in them first."
             
His eyebrows rose. "You sure you want to do that? She's not the most reliable source."
             
"I know. But I don't really have any other option. Sure, she's a little odd, and sometimes scares the crap out of me with all her portents for disaster, but maybe, just maybe, she can sense if what's in here is the truth or a lie. I figure it's worth a shot."
             
"I see. Well, it might work. Have you thought about what you're going to do if she can't sense anything?"
             
Mary shook her head. "No, and I don't want to think about it, either. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."
             
"Fair enough."
             
An uneasy silence lingered in the cabin as the small plane descended from the clouds and headed for the short runway. A few moments later, it rolled to a halt outside the hangar. As they unbuckled their seat belts, Dykes' lanky frame appeared in the cockpit doorway.
             
"Well, folks. Was that some kind of ride, or what?" he asked with a crooked grin.
             
"Great job," Jack congratulated him. "You cut through that storm front like a steak knife slicing through butter. I wasn't worried at all."
             
"Yeah, good job. Thanks." Mary echoed, although not so enthusiastically.
             
"So, what happens next?" Dykes asked.
             
"We go to the plantation," Jack answered. "You're coming as our guest, and I won't take no for an answer."
             
Dykes peered at Mary for a few moments. "That okay with you, Mary?"
             
She forced her frown into a false smile. "Of course you're welcome, Dykes. What kind of question is that?"
             
He scratched his forehead. "Just making sure. I don't want to put you out, and I know you've been through a lot these last few days."
             
"Don't be silly. You're always welcome. Especially now that we'll be making several trips to Boston to take care of my aunt's affairs." She massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers. "I'm sorry if I seemed distant. I've just got a lot on my mind."
             
Jack clapped Dykes on the back. "See? I told you Mary liked you. Now that that's all settled, I'll help you with the luggage."
             
"Nah, I can get it. Why don't you two wait in the coffee shop while I take care of all the formalities? It won't take long, and I need you to make sure they save a piece of peach pie for me." He smacked his lips. "I've been thinking about pie ever since we left Boston. Can't wait to sink my teeth into a piece," he grinned.
             
Jack followed him out of the plane. "Sounds like a good idea." Turning, he waited for Mary. "What do you think, baby? You feel like a cup of coffee and a slice of pie?"
             
She nodded. "Sounds good."
             
He cupped Mary's elbow and walked with her toward the terminal. "Okay then, Dykes. We'll catch you in a little while."
             
"Where's the third musketeer?" their waitress asked with a wide grin. "I already gave the cook your order."
             
"Who, Dykes? He'll be here in a few minutes. Said for you to save him a piece of peach pie," Mary answered, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
             
"I'd like to save up more than that for him," the waitress teased. "Man, oh man, he's some kind of hunk."
             
"Hey, what about me?" Jack asked, puffing out his bottom lip into a pout. "What am I, chopped liver?"
             
The older woman patted his arm. "Don't worry, Jack. You're still my favorite," she teased. "After him, of course."
             
"See if I leave you a big tip anymore," he threatened in mock anger.
             
Mary snickered. "Don't worry, Pauline. I'll leave you a bigger tip than Jack ever did, just for taking him down a peg or two."
             
The waitress ruffled Jack's hair and sauntered into the kitchen. She returned a short time later with their order. Winking at Jack, she made a big production out of placing his pie just so on the table.
             
"You think she was serious about Dykes?" he asked after she disappeared into the kitchen.
             
Mary shook her head. "Nah. He has that effect on all women. Old or young, it doesn't matter. They all have a crush on him."
             
Jack lifted his eyebrows. "And what about you? Does he have that effect on you, Mary?"
             
She nearly choked on her spoonful of pie. Was Jack jealous? Stifling the smirk that rose to her lips, she chose her words carefully. "Nah, he's too slick for my taste. Besides, as charming as Dykes is, he can't hold a candle to you, baby. And that's the truth."
             
Jack flashed her a wide
grin
. "Just checking, sweetie. Gotta keep an eye on the competition, you know."
             
She patted his hand. "That's one thing you don't have to worry about, Jack. Nobody--and I do mean nobody--can even come close to you."
             
"Okay, no smooching in the corner," Dykes teased as he grabbed a chair. "Save that for later."
             
"Actually we were just talking about you," Mary answered with a wry smile. "Seems that you've made a conquest with our waitress."
             
Dykes grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Really? Well, if she's who I think she is, maybe I'll have to see about cultivating some new friendships while I'm down here."
             
Jack swatted him lightly with his newspaper. "Down, Rover. She's sixty-five and old enough to be your mother."
             
Dykes' grin faded, then reappeared. "Damn. Well then, it looks like I'll just have to spend all my spare time helping you check out the tunnel. What do you say?"
             
Much to Mary's chagrin, Jack nodded enthusiastically, and his face lit up with excitement. "Sounds like a plan. I just bought this really cool metal detector. Wait till you see this puppy. It can detect and identify almost anything..."

             
           
             
             
                            
34
 

             
Jack dropped the last of his dirty clothes into a heap on the bedroom floor. "That's all I have," he announced, flopping onto the bed.
             
Mary glanced over to the pile of dirty laundry. "Those are supposed to go into a basket."
             
"I'm waiting for you to finish so I can carry everything down at once," he retorted with a sly grin, and ducked when a pair of folded socks nearly hit his head.
             
"No, you're not. Besides, I don't have any dirty clothes. You're waiting for me to take them downstairs; admit it."
             
"Not true," he protested. "Just to prove it, I'll even do the laundry myself."
             
Her laugh echoed through the room. "No thanks, sweetie. The last time you did laundry, we all had pink underwear for a month. Your job is to carry the basket down to the washer; I'll do the laundry."
             
"You sure they'll have enough time to dry before we leave? If it's a problem, I can always stick the dirty stuff in a garbage bag and do laundry when we get to Boston. I've done that lots of times."
             
She wrinkled her nose. "Yuk. I don't think so, baby. I'm not about to let either one of us start out on a trip with a garbage bag full of dirty clothes. If you'll take the basket downstairs, I'll make sure everything's washed, dried, and in your suitcase before we leave this afternoon."
             
He sighed dramatically. "Okay. You forced me into it."
             
"Gee, and you didn't even put up much of a fight," she teased.
             
He watched as she removed clothing from her dresser drawers and placed it in the open suitcase. When she accidentally knocked her purse off the edge of the bed, the two unopened letters fell to the floor.
             
"You can't ignore them forever," he pointed out, bending over to retrieve the errant envelopes. "We've been home nearly two days and you haven't even looked at them."
             
"I know," she answered, moving away from the bed to stare out the window.
             
"Are you still going to talk to Sadie?"
             
"I think so. I haven't found a good opportunity to approach her."
             
He rose from the bed, wrapped both arms around her waist, and hugged her close. "There's never going to be a right time, and we're scheduled to fly back to Boston later this afternoon. If you're going to ask Sadie, you better do it quick. Besides, no matter what happens, I'm here for you and I won't let anything come between us. I promise." Lowering his chin, he nuzzled her on the side of her neck. "Do you want me to come with you?"
             
She shook her head and slipped out of his arms. "No. This is something I need to do for myself. Thanks anyway." She brushed the tips of her fingers down the side of his face and kissed him. "Why don't you and Dykes continue your exploration of the tunnel?"
             
"You don't need me for moral support?"
             
She nodded. "Nope. Besides, I don't want Dykes anywhere around Sadie, in case she has another vision."
             
"But what about--"
             
"I'll be fine, Jack. Just take the clothes down to the laundry room before you go. Please. That's all you have to do. Once I talk to Sadie, I'll fill you in on the details."
             
He grabbed an empty basket from the bathroom and stuffed the pile of clothes inside. "Okay, you can count on me to keep him busy."
             
"Thanks." After he disappeared into the hall, she picked up the envelopes. Perching on the edge of the bed, she used her index finger to trace over her name. What did the letters contain? Information about her past that could help her understand what was happening to her, or a pack of hurtful lies, fabricated by an embittered, spiteful old woman?
             
After several minutes ticked by she realized she was no closer to reaching a decision than she had been when Charles first handed the letters to her. Maybe Sadie was the answer. If not, she couldn't be any worse off than before. It was time she made a decision; she'd stalled long enough. Taking a deep breath, she tucked the letters into the back pocket of her jeans and started down the stairs.