Breaking the Chain (24 page)

* * * *

             
Dy
kes acted surprised when Jack told him they'd need to return to Boston immediately. "I thought you said you were done with the inventories."
             
"I know, but we came across a few items that have to be rechecked," Jack explained. "Unfortunately, that's what happens when you try to rush through an inventory--you always find one or two items you missed. Sorry. Shouldn't take long; a couple of hours at most. We'll fly to Boston today, then come back tomorrow. Normally we'd stay longer, but the dozer guys are coming on Tuesday to fill in the tunnel, and I need to be here."
             
Dykes paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Wait a minute; you must have your days mixed up. You told me they weren't coming till Friday to fill in the tunnel. What about my friend, Sal? Today's Sunday--he's supposed to arrive this afternoon."
             
"There's been a change of plans and the dozer guys are coming two days early. No problem, we'll just work around it. If your friend wants to stay on while they're here, fine. He just needs to keep away from the workshop till they're finished. If he checks in while we're gone, Mrs. Milliron can take care of him. She's more than capable of running the house."
             
Dykes rose from his chair. "I'll need to borrow a car so I can get the flight plan filed and do my pre-flight checks before we leave."
             
"Mary's packing our bags now; we should be ready to leave in a few minutes. We'll drive down together, and Mary and I can wait in the coffee shop while you get all the paperwork taken care of."
             
"I see. Well, in that case, I'd better pack my bags."
             
Jack followed him out of the room. "Sorry to spring this on you so quick, Dykes. Believe me, if it wasn't important, I wouldn't be going. Mary and I are both anxious to get this inventory behind us."
             
Dykes shrugged one thin shoulder. "No problem; I'm used to sudden whims. Remember, I worked for Mary's aunt. Just give me a few minutes to get my stuff packed and I'll be ready to go."
             
"You know, you could leave most of your stuff here if you want to," Jack offered. "We're only going to be gone two days. Nobody'll bother it."
             
"Nah, thanks anyway. I'd feel lost without my tools."
             
Jack watched Dykes climb the stairs, puzzled by his reaction. The pilot's words had seemed amicable enough, but the way he'd folded his arms across his chest and clenched his jaw implied otherwise. If he didn't know better, he'd think Dykes didn't want to return to Boston.
             
Jack thought about their exchange for a few more minutes, then decided that the pilot's recalcitrant attitude had been a figment of his imagination. Dykes was too easy-going to balk at a simple change in plans. He must have misread the man's body language. Satisfied with that explanation, Jack headed for the kitchen.
             
Dykes stayed in his room until he heard Mary call for Jack to take their luggage downstairs. Of all the dirty, rotten luck, his had to be the worst. Opening his door slightly, he watched Mary go downstairs, and waited until he was sure she wasn't coming back up. The floorboards creaked and groaned as he tiptoed down the hall to the telephone. Lifting the receiver, he listened to make sure the line was clear, dialed a number, then waited for someone to pick up.
             
"This is Dykes. Tell Sal there's been a change in plans." The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears when he heard Mary and Jack reenter the house. "Look, I gotta go. Tell Sal not to leave until he hears from me."

             
           
             
             
                             
41
             
 

             
Jack picked up the carafe of coffee sitting on their restaurant table and gently shook it from side to side. "Want another cup before we go?" he asked innocently. "There's still some left."
             
"Not funny, Jack. I know you're stalling," Mary pointed out as she rummaged through her purse for a couple of dollars to leave for the waitress' tip. "I wish you'd cut it out."
             
"Who, me?" he asked in an incredulous voice. "I'm not stalling. Besides, you know Taft won't allow anyone into the house before nine. Even though Elizavon's dead, he's still following her 'house rules.' If I remember correctly, last week we had to wait ten or fifteen minutes before he let us in, and then he gave me dirty looks once we got inside. I do not wish to repeat that experience again." He glanced down at his watch, which showed eight o'clock. "Besides, he's probably still in bed, making the most of his leisure time now that he doesn't have to cater to your aunt's every whim." Jack cast a thoughtful look in Mary's direction. "You did call and tell him we were coming today, right?"
             
Mary rolled her eyes upwards. "Nah, I thought we'd surprise him." Sarcasm dripped from her lips. "Come on, baby. I want to get over to the house. It'll take us at least thirty minutes to get there."
             
"Which still leaves us fifteen to thirty minutes to cool our heels." Jack poured himself another cup of coffee. "I'd much rather sit here and wait than stand on Elizavon's front porch like some salesman, begging to be let in."
             
Mary sighed dramatically, then leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. "I can't believe you're being so obstinate about this. Aren't you the least bit curious about finding the journal?"
             
"Nope. I have complete faith in your abilities, baby. As far as I'm concerned, there's no way you're not going to find that journal, even if you have to tear up the entire library to do it." His grin disappeared as he watched a wide range of emotions cross her face. Reaching over, he covered her hand with his. "All kidding aside, I don't want to have to listen to Taft sighing behind me the entire time we're there. He's so dramatic, and every time he sighs, he creeps closer, like some ghoul out of a Grade B movie. It's...unnerving," he confessed.
             
"Ahhhhhh. So that's why you're not in a hurry to go back to Aunt Elizavon's house. I figured there must've been a good reason." She reached out and patted his hand. "Don't worry, Jack. I happen to know he's not about to stab you in the back. You're safe with me."
             
Jack drained his cup. "Very funny, Mary."
             
She tucked the waitress' tip against the metal napkin holder and smiled sweetly at him.
             
"Oooohhhh. Getting touchy, are we? What's the matter, Jack? Don't you like it when I tease you?" Her smile took the sting out of her words.
             
"Touché. I deserved that one for stalling. Sorry."
             
She linked her arm through his as they walked out of the restaurant. "Don't worry, baby. I'll protect you from the big, bad butler."
             
"Ha ha. Just remember
paybacks are a bitch," he whispered softly in her ear as they made their way to the car. "And I never forget."
             
"Truce, truce," Mary laughed. "I take it all back. I apologize for teasing you about Taft."
             
Jack closed the passenger door and walked around to the driver's seat. "Okay, truce it is," he agreed, chuckling at her easy capitulation. He stuck the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. "Now, what's the best way to get to Elizavon's from here? I hate driving in Boston; the streets are laid out all weird."

             
             
             
             
             
             
* * * * *
 

             
Dykes paced back and forth across his hotel room while he waited anxiously for the phone to ring. Where was Sal? Why hadn't he heard from him? He'd left three messages at Sal's office--two yesterday and one this morning. Why hadn't Sal returned any of his calls?
             
He started nervously when he heard a loud knock at the door, then cursed himself for being so jumpy. It was probably a waiter, bringing breakfast. Walking over to the door, he cautiously wrapped his fingers around the doorknob. Instead of a waiter, two large men burst into the room, thrusting the door so hard that Dykes stumbled backwards and fell.
             
"Who--who are you?" Dykes stammered.
             
"Your worst nightmare, chump," the smaller of the two answered, grabbing Dykes by the hair and jerking his head upward. "Sal sent us to pay you a little visit."
             
"But--but I've been trying to contact Sal since yesterday. Didn't he get my message?"
             
"He got it all right," the larger man answered, closing his hairy fist and slamming it into Dykes' stomach. "This is from Sal. He don't like last minute changes. Seems you called too late--he'd already left. Sal's been sitting at that plantation, waiting for you. He hates waiting. In fact, the thought crossed his mind that you might be trying to double cross him. Guess what, chump? Sal ain't happy, and when he ain't happy, nobody's happy." He punched Dykes again, his grin spreading as the pilot doubled over, then fell to the floor.
             
The first blow sent agonizing pain through Dykes' entire body; the second drove all the air from his lungs. As he collapsed, the contents of his stomach spewed out in every direction. Gasping for breath, he held up a shaking hand in an effort to ward off more blows. "I swear on my mother's grave, I'm not trying to double cross Sal. I'm a pilot, for God's sake; the plantation owners made me fly them back to Boston yesterday. They only gave me about thirty minutes notice once they decided to go. I didn't know anything about it until they told me to pack my bags; I called Sal as soon as I found out. I was trying to stop him from coming."
             
Dykes wrapped his left arm across his stomach and stumbled to his knees. "I can prove what I said is true." Shaky fingers pointed to a chair near the bed. "There's a copy of the flight plan in my bag over there. It shows that we flew to Boston yesterday, and have plans to fly back to Louisiana tonight. That's why I was calling Sal: to tell him what's going on. Not only did I have to fly to Boston, I also found out yesterday that the bulldozer guys are coming to fill in the tunnel two days early. They weren't supposed to come till Friday. We'll have to move up our timetable, and I wanted to let Sal know what was happening. It's the truth--I swear."
             
Dykes felt hairy knuckles brush against the back of his neck as the larger man grabbed his shirt, dragged him to his feet, then shoved him against the wall. Something cold and hard pressed against his cheekbone, and he realized it was the barrel of a gun. As fear overcame him, Dykes felt a warm wetness run down his pants leg, and realized with dismay that he'd lost control of his bladder.
             
"Look, Paulie," the larger thug exclaimed. "This creep's pissed down his own leg. Guess we scared him good, huh?" He moved a few inches to the left, still holding the gun in place. "You better hope none of that piss gets on my shoes," he warned. "Otherwise, you're a dead man."
             
The shorter thug picked up Dykes' flight bag and dumped the contents onto the bed. Picking up a folded piece of paper, he opened it and scanned the contents. "This looks like the thing he was yammering about, Marco. Maybe we better double check with Sal before we slit this chump's throat."

             
           
             
             
                      
42
             
 

             
Beads of sweat formed on Mary's neck and trickled down her back as she and Jack waited at the servant's entrance to Elizavon's mansion. Ignoring Jack's sighs, she pressed the buzzer once more, this time leaving her finger on the button so that the buzzer would continue to ring. If that didn't rouse the staff, nothing would. Several minutes later the door opened and a frowning Taft motioned for her and Jack to enter.
             
"Good morning, madam, sir," he droned.
             
"Morning, Taft," Mary responded automatically. "How are you?"
             
"Very well, madam. I was surprised to hear from you last night. I thought you said you finished the inventory last week."
             
Mary ignored the butler's subtle reproach. Stuffy old goat. "Ah, yes. Sorry about that, but there are a couple of items we need to reexamine. They're in the library." She scooted past him. "No need to escort us, Taft. I know the way."
             
Taft hurried to pass her. "It's no bother, madam. It's my job," he announced stiffly, leading the way.
             
Mary's lips quivered, but she held back her amusement. She very nearly lost her composure when Jack's finger poked her in the back several times. Shaking her head, she refused to look at him, knowing that one glance his way would rocket her into peals of laughter. Biting her lip, she followed Taft into the library.
             
The butler stepped aside as they entered. Mary made her way toward Elizavon's desk, but Jack walked quickly toward one of the tall bookcases. Closing the double doors behind them, Taft moved to stand behind Jack, sighing loudly. Jack sent Mary a withering glance, and she turned away, pretending to examine a dictionary while she struggled to regain her composure. Her shoulders shook as wave after wave of silent laughter roared through her. This was priceless! She knew Jack didn't appreciate her laughter, but his discomfort around Taft provided a much-needed distraction from the tension arising from her search for Elizavon's journal.
             
"We can take it from here, Taft," she finally managed to get out a few minutes later. "Would you be kind enough to bring us a cup of tea?"
             
The shocked look on the man's face was very nearly her undoing. "Very well, madam. Would there be anything else you require?"
             
"No, thank you, Taft. That'll be all." She watched him glide out of the room, his stiff bearing radiating disapproval, then collapsed into the nearest chair. "Oh my God, Jack. I see what you mean," she said between peals of laughter. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she struggled to quell her fit of giggles.
             
Jack moved to stand behind her; his fingers dug into her shoulder. "I'm glad you think it's funny, Mary," he spat out.
             
"I'm sorry, baby. It's just too precious," she said, giving way to another spasm of mirth. "You're right; he's like some ghoul out of an old horror flick."
             
"Yeah, well, I don't think it's very funny," Jack pointed out, moving to stand by the French doors that led into the garden.
             
"Come on, baby. If it was me, you'd laugh, and don't say you wouldn't, because I know better." She moved behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Resting her cheek against his back, she squeezed him once, then let go. "I'm sorry. I promise, I won't laugh again," she soothed. "Okay?"
             
He turned and stared into her face, as if trying to assess her sincerity. "Apology accepted," he murmured, ruffling her hair. "I guess it was pretty funny."
             
Her lips curved upwards and she quelled the grin before it got started. "It was, but having promised not to laugh anymore, I refuse to incriminate myself."
             
"Right." He turned to survey the room. "Where do we start looking?"
             
Mary felt her gaze being drawn back to the center of the room. "You know, I keep coming back to Aunt Elizavon's desk." She crossed the room and knelt beside one of the intricate wooden side panels. "I think she hid the journal in her desk. It had to be somewhere she could reach without anybody's help. And, given the fact that she was so ill, it would have to have been at waist level or lower, because her heart condition wouldn't allow her to raise her hands above her head. What do you think?"
             
Jack knelt on the other side of the desk. "I think you're right. Nobody would think to look for a hidden compartment in this old desk when they knew she kept her papers and jewelry in a safe. What are we looking for? A false panel? A drawer? What?"
             
"I don't think it's a false panel," Mary murmured, more to herself than Jack. "That would be too obvious." She paused, then cleared her throat. "There's something else, too. What do you think about when you hear the word journal?"
             
Jack shrugged his shoulders. "A book? A diary? I don't know, why?"
             
"Right, you picture something about the size of a book. But that's not what I've seen. I keep getting the image of something much smaller. Elizavon told me she wrote down the information in a journal, but I don't think that's what it was. The journal I see isn't very big; it's tiny, like one of those small notebooks you buy in the dime store that fits in the palm of your hand. I think she deliberately misled me to test my ability. What we're looking for is small, so it's got to be hidden in a drawer somewhere. I'm betting it's behind one of those carved birds on the sides of the desk."
             
She bent down and gently caressed each of the four birds that had been carved into the side panel. "Look for a subtle change in the way the wood feels under your fingers. Remember when I showed you how some of the old grandfather clocks had a hidden drawer in their base? I'll bet you this desk has the same kind of setup. Look for a slight break in the wood. It won't be obvious, but if it's there, you should be able to feel it."
             
"Mary, I've found something," Jack exclaimed a few minutes later. "I think this might be it," he cried. "Come over here."
             
Staying on her knees, Mary crept over to Jack's side of the desk. "Where is it?" she asked, eagerly covering his hand with hers.
             
Jack took her index finger and rubbed it across a small section of wood in the center of the panel. "Feel it? There's a slight cut, just there."
             
Mary nodded and rubbed her finger across the wood several times. "I think you're right, Jack. Can I get a little closer, please?"
             
"Sure." Jack moved back, out of the way. "What do you think?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder.
             
"Honey, you're killing my shoulder. Please, let me look."
             
"Oh, sorry. I just wanted to see what was going on."
             
"Hang on, baby. We'll know if we've found it in a second or two." She placed her thumb against the spot and pressed down. "Yes!" she cried when a small drawer slid out from the corner of the desk. She lifted out a black notebook that fit into her outstretched hand. "We've found it," she cried, hugging Jack. "You did it, baby! You found the hidden drawer!"
             
He patted her shoulder. "No, I only helped. You knew where to look."
             
"Well, it was a joint effort," she said, climbing to her feet and flipping open the cover. "I'm so excited. I wonder what she's written..."
             
"Uh, I'd wait a minute, if I were you," Jack interrupted, pointing toward the double doors. "I think I hear Taft bringing our tea."
             
As if by command, the doors swung open and Taft strode into the room, carrying a silver tray.
             
"Your tea, madam," he said, setting the tray on the corner of the desk. He shot Mary a disapproving glance and stared pointedly at the notebook in her hand. "Will there be anything else?"
             
"No, thank you, Taft," Mary replied, closing the notebook. "In fact, as soon as we drink our tea, we'll be ready to leave."
             
"Shall I return in ten minutes?"
             
"Yes, that'll be fine. Thank you."
             
"Did you see him staring at the notebook?" Jack asked once Taft closed the door behind him. "I thought his eyes would burn a hole in the pages."
             
Mary grinned. "Yeah. Did you see his expression when I closed the cover? I thought he was going to have a stroke."
             
Jack eyed the tea tray sitting on the edge of the desk. "You don't really want that tea, do you?"
             
"Nah. It was just a diversion to get Taft out of the way. You ready to leave?"
             
"I was ready to leave the moment we got here," Jack responded, walking toward the doorway.
             
Mary stuffed the notebook into her purse. "Sounds good. I'll check out the notebook once we're in the car."
             
Taft met them in the hallway, scowling. "You could have rung for me."
             
Mary patted his arm. "We didn't want to bother you, Taft."
             
"Like I told you before, madam, it's my job," he pointed out. Sniffing loudly, he escorted them back to the servant's entrance, and slammed the door behind them with a bang.
             
"Did something we say annoy him?" Jack asked as they pulled onto the freeway.
             
Mary's chuckle echoed in the car. "I think it was our irreverent attitude that made him mad. He's not used to 'normal' people like us. He's more my Aunt Elizavon's kind of person--very prim, very proper."
             
"Yeah, well, I'm just glad it's over," Jack said, glancing at Mary out of the corner of his eye. "We are finished with him, right?"
             
"You are; I'm not. I still have to escort Aunt Elizavon's paintings to New York next month, but once that's done I'm free as a bird. Believe me, I can't wait."
             
Jack pointed to an overhead sign. "Isn't that our exit coming up?"
             
"Yeah. Don't miss it, because the next one's not for five miles."
             
He turned onto the airport off-ramp and slowed down. "I know you're anxious to check out the notebook. How about I drop you off at the plane first?"
             
"Sounds good. Dykes is probably waiting for us. He can stow the baggage while you turn in the car."
             
The plane was sitting outside the hangar when they drove up, but Dykes was nowhere in sight. "He's probably in the plane. I'll go check," Mary offered, climbing out of the car.
             
Both the cabin and the cockpit were empty. "Dykes are you here?" she called out. "It's Mary. We're ready to leave when you are."
             
"I'm in the restroom," Dykes responded. "Be out in a minute."
             
"No rush. Jack's getting the suitcases out of the trunk; he still has to turn in the rental car." She stepped back onto the stairwell and waved to Jack. "It's okay, baby; he's here."
             
"I'll be back in five minutes," Jack promised as he stacked the last suitcase at the foot of the stairs. Climbing back into the car, he disappeared around the corner of the hangar.
             
Mary waited outside for a few moments, then stepped back into the cabin the same moment that Dykes emerged from the bathroom. "Oh my God," she cried, running toward him. "What happened to you?"