Breaking the Chain (25 page)

             
             
             
             
             
             
             
43
             

             
A full moon greeted the private jet as it rolled to a stop in front of the hangar at the St. Francisville airport. Swallowing the last of her brandy, Mary unfastened her seatbelt and carried her snifter to the sink. "Thank God we made it in one piece," she said. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to fly in this plane anymore. At least not with Dykes."
             
"Shhhhhhhhhh, Mary," Jack admonished. "He's still in the cockpit; he'll hear you."
             
Embarrassed by her outburst, Mary lowered her voice. "I'm sorry, Jack, but that's the way I feel. Every time we fly with him something bad happens. We either run into bad weather, or the plane breaks down and we have to make an emergency stop for repairs. The man is jinxed, and I, for one, don't want to fly with him anymore." Holding up an index finger, she pointed it toward Jack. "And another thing--I don't care what he said; that man was not the victim of a street mugging. Muggers don't give you two black eyes and a bloody face. They either shoot you or throw you to the ground so they can make off with your purse or wallet. They don't beat your face to a pulp." She ran a hand nervously through her hair. "There's something fishy going on with him; I can feel it."
             
Jack rolled his eyes upward and shook his head. "I can't believe you said that, babe. You sound just like Sadie. What's wrong with you? Look, I talked to Dykes before we left Boston, and if he says he was mugged, then I believe him. Why would he lie?"
             
"I'm telling you, Jack, that was no mugging."
             
"Since when are you an expert on mugging injuries?"
             
The door to the cockpit swung open and Dykes moved gingerly through the doorway, one arm nursing his ribcage. "Well, folks, at least your last trip was uneventful," he announced with a grin, then winced in pain.
             
"You sure you don't want us to take you to the hospital to get those ribs x-rayed?" Mary asked, noting the pilot's pallor. "I hate to say it, but you look terrible. You might want to have a doctor check you out to make sure you don't have any internal injuries."
             
"I'm fine," Dykes answered quickly. "Believe me, all I want to do is get back to the plantation, lie down on one of your feather beds, and sleep for a year. That is, if I'm still invited."
             
"Of course you're still our guest," Jack interrupted. "Don't be ridiculous. And, since you're obviously in pain, I'll grab the suitcases out of the back and put them in the van."
             
"No, don't," Dykes protested, his voice rising several octaves. "I'm fine. It's my job and I'll take care of it."
             
"But that's silly. Why do more damage to your ribs when I'm perfectly capable of taking the luggage out of the plane?" Jack argued, puzzled by Dykes' unusual reaction to his offer. "It's no bother, really."
             
"No, and that's final," Dykes repeated in a loud voice. He walked over to Jack and patted his arm. "Look, I appreciate your offer, but it's a personal thing. I've never let any of my passengers unload their own luggage before, and I'm not about to start now. This is, or was, my last flight with you guys, and I want to be the one to do it. I know that sounds silly, but it's a matter of pride. I don't want any of us to remember that my last flight as Elizavon's pilot was the first one where my passengers had to do my job. Besides, I hate to pull rank, but technically I am still the captain of this plane."
             
Jack threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. Whatever. Is it okay if I unlock the van for you?" he asked sarcastically.
             
Dykes grinned and clapped him on the back. "Come on, Jack. Don't get touchy on me now. Tell you what. I'll let you help carry the bags once I unload them. How's that?" He unlocked the cabin door and inched his way down the stairs. "Why don't you and Mary get the van while I grab the suitcases?"
             
Mary followed Jack down the stairs. "See? What did I tell you?" she whispered when they were out of Dykes' hearing. "There's something wrong, Jack. You didn't believe that line about not wanting passengers to unload their own baggage, did you?" She grabbed his arm. "Please, tell me you didn't believe that line of bull he was handing out."
             
Jack shrugged out of her grasp. "Okay, maybe Dykes is acting a little strange. But, if I'd just been mugged and then had to fly from Boston to Louisiana, maybe I'd be acting a little strange, too. You gotta give the guy credit for doing his job even though he's obviously in pain, Mary."
             
Shocked, she stopped dead in her tracks. "What is it with you and Dykes, Jack? Some kind of macho male bonding? I don't believe you. The man is acting weird, and all you can say is that maybe it's because he got mugged and then had to fly a plane?" She threw her hands in the air. "Wake up, Jack. The man is obviously hiding something. Why else wouldn't he want you to unload the suitcases?" She became suddenly quiet as a thought occurred to her. "Oh my God. You don't think he's hiding something in the cargo bay, do you? What if he's a thief? Did I tell you somebody's been switching fakes for some of Elizavon's antiques in the Colorado house? I know, because I found two of them when I did the inventory. They were listed on the report I turned in to her business manager. What if Dykes is in cahoots with the staff in Colorado, and he's using the plane to take the stolen items to unscrupulous art dealers?"
             
Jack grabbed her by the shoulders. "Stop it, Mary. Right now. You're being ridiculous. Why would the man get involved with stealing antiques when he'd be the first one the police would question? Only a fool would try to pull that kind of stunt, and Dykes is no fool. Besides, the last place he'd hide contraband would be in a cargo bay. Too obvious. Come on, baby. Think about it."
             
"But--"
             
"No buts, Mary. You're obviously letting your imagination get the best of you. Dykes is a good, conscientious pilot. Why else would he insist on flying us back to the plantation? Maybe he's acting a little squirrely tonight, but for God's sake, woman, cut him some slack." He patted her shoulder to take the sting out of his words. "Look, sweetie. You're tired, I'm tired, and God knows Dykes has to be exhausted. Why don't we just go home so we can all go to bed. I'm sure you'll see things differently after you've had a good night's sleep."
             
She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I am being silly." She wrapped her arm around his waist. "However, you have to agree with me that his behavior has certainly been out of character. Even for Dykes."
             
He squeezed her shoulders. "Agreed. I'll bet he's having some kind of delayed shock from being mugged. Dykes is too level-headed to act this weird." He released her and pointed to the parking row ahead. "There's our van. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go home."
             
Mary climbed into the passenger seat as Jack walked around to the driver's side. "Me, too. I sure hope Mrs. Milliron's got everything under control at the plantation. The last thing we need is to go home to a house full of unhappy guests."
             
Jack shifted the van into gear. "No problem, babe. The only guest we have is Dykes' friend, Sal something or other. Mrs. Milliron can take care of him with one hand tied behind her back. And, considering the fact that he's here to think about putting us on his bus tour agenda, I hardly think he's going to go out of his way to cause problems."

             
           
             
             
                   
44
             
             
             
             
Though it was well past eleven pm when Mary, Jack, and Dykes arrived at the plantation, someone had thoughtfully left the porch lights on to welcome them home. The soft glow of the amber colored lights felt like a homing beacon to Mary, and she could feel the tension in her body dissipating as they neared the house. "Let's leave our bags until morning," she suggested as the van rolled to a stop on the curved driveway. The sound of snoring reminded her that Dykes lay sleeping on the back seat. "Dykes, wake up," she called in a soft voice. "We're home."
             
Dykes stirred, but did not awaken, the sounds of his snores echoing in the stillness of the night air.
             
"You try waking him," Mary said. "We can't leave him out here all night." Her heart softened as the interior light of the van illuminated the pulpy mess that used to be a handsome face. "I'll bet his face hurts like hell. Poor guy. He must be exhausted."
             
"Let's not forget his bruised ribs," Jack reminded her. He reached over and gently shook Dykes' shoulder. "Hey, wake up, guy. We're home."
             
Dykes opened one swollen eye, yawned, then struggled to an upright position. "Sorry, I must've crashed."
             
"You've been through hell this past twenty-four hours; I'd have been surprised if you hadn't," Jack said. "You want your bags now, or can we leave them till morning?"
             
Dykes slowly edged out of the van. "Much as I hate to say it, I want them now. Could you give me a hand?"
             
"Sure. Come on." Jack walked to the rear of the van, opened the back doors, then began pulling out suitcases. "Mary, can you give us a hand, please?" he asked.
             
Mary was tempted to start clapping, but figured Jack wouldn't appreciate the humor, so she made her way to the rear of the van. "Here, give me a couple," she said, holding out her arms.
             
The bags were surprisingly light, considering they held mechanics' tools. She thought about saying something to that effect, but the painful expression on Dykes' pulverized face told her he'd had enough for one day, so she kept silent.
             
A few seconds later the front door swung open and Mrs. Milliron waved them into the house. "Welcome home," she beamed. "Did you have a nice trip?" It wasn't until the weary trio stood at the foot of the stairs that she noticed Dykes' face. "Oh my God," she exclaimed. "What kind of ugly stick did you run into?"
             
Grabbing Dykes by the arm, she pulled the protesting pilot down the hall and into the kitchen. "I have just the thing for that face," she said. "Sit down in one of those chairs while I pull a steak out of the freezer. I'll have you fixed up in no time."
             
"Please, Mrs. Milliron. Don't go to any bother," Dykes said, to no avail. Realizing that it was useless to argue with the housekeeper, he sat meekly in a chair while she rummaged through the freezer.
             
"Here you go," she said, wrapping a dishtowel around a slab of frozen steak. "Hold this against your face and it should take some of the swelling down." She patted his shoulder in a comforting fashion. "Your friend's here, but he's gone out for a walk in the moonlight." She glanced toward the back door. "He's been gone quite a while; should be back any minute."
             
Holding the frozen meat against his face, Dykes stood up. "Thanks, Mrs. Milliron. I appreciate it."
             
"Wasn't no trouble," she cooed. "It's been a long time since I had a handsome young fella to fuss over." She eyed him thoughtfully, then reached for the bags lying at his feet. "I suspect you'll be wanting to go to bed soon. You can have your same room, if that's okay."
             
"Here, let me get that," Dykes said, grabbing the straps out of her hand. "I can carry them upstairs."
             
"Don't be silly," she argued. "How can you carry both bags and hold that steak on your face? The least I can do is help you bring them upstairs." She lifted one bag and grunted at its weight. "What do you have in these? Cement?"
             
He hoisted the remaining bag under his arm, grimacing when it made contact with his sore ribcage. "Tools, Mrs. Milliron. I always carry my tools around with me." His glance flickered one last time toward the back door as he followed her out of the kitchen. "How long ago did you say Sal went for a walk?"
             
"About an hour ago, I think," she said, huffing and puffing as she slowly climbed the stairs. "I'm beginning to get worried; do you think we ought to go and look for him? He might've gotten lost."
             
"I wouldn't worry about Sal," Dykes said quickly. "He's always taking long walks. Doctor's orders. He's probably on his way back to the house right now. Tell you what. If he's not back by the time I get this stuff unloaded, I'll go look for him," Dykes volunteered. "I wouldn't mention being concerned about him to Mary and Jack just yet. No sense worrying them when it's probably nothing. Don't say anything until after I come downstairs and take a look around. If I can't locate Sal, then we'll tell Mary and Jack. Okay?"
             
She shook her head. "I don't know. Mary and Jack might be mad if I don't say something."
             
"No they wouldn't. Besides, they're exhausted. Why worry them when it's probably nothing? Sal walks three, maybe four miles a day. Knowing Sal, he'll probably be back before I get downstairs." He wrapped one arm around the old woman's shoulder and planted a kiss on her leathery cheek. "Come on, Mrs. Milliron. It'll be our little secret. Okay?"
             
"All right. But if you don't come back with him, I'm going straight to Mary and Jack."
             
"Don't worry, I'll find him."
             
"I hope so. The bayous around here are full of alligators looking for their next meal. At night they sometimes lie in the pathways. I'd hate for something to happen to him because he wasn't watching where he was walking."
             
Dykes nudged her toward the hallway. "Don't worry, Mrs. Milliron. I can take care of Sal. Leave it to me."
             
             
             
             
             
             
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