Breaking the Chain (9 page)

15

             
The clap of thunder roared across the heavens as zigzag flashes of lightning illuminated the night sky. Moments later thick black clouds spit out raindrops, faster and faster, until it seemed as if the droplets of rain were being fired out of a machine gun toward earth. Jack hovered outside the French doors that connected the living room to the rose garden, shivering from the rivulets of water pouring down his neck, face and arms. Ignoring his discomfort, he cupped his hands against the thick glass, struggling against the elements to get a clear view of the situation unfolding on the other side of the doors.
             
Mary, Sadie, and Elizavon huddled together in front of the antique bookcase on the far wall. Across from them he could see the silver barrel of a revolver, pointed in their direction. Its owner remained couched in darkness, but the hand holding the weapon most certainly was male. His stomach twisted into a tight knot as he realized he already knew the identity of the man lingering in the shadows. It had to be Sadie's "brown man," the one Mary'd told him about.
             
What was going on, and why was he on the outside, looking in? He watched in silence as the tip of the revolver motioned toward the sofa and Mary shepherded the two old women to the center of the room, sitting down between them. Although the pitter-patter of raindrops blotted out any hope of hearing what was said, he could tell from Mary's erratic hand gestures and defensive posture that she was arguing with the brown man.
             
A gut wrenching, ice cold feeling of dread filled his body, and he knew he had to stop whatever was happening. He thrust out his right hand and clasped the curved door handle, jerking and tugging against the metal until it broke off in his hand. Tossing the worthless hunk to the ground, he slammed his shoulder into the glass, to no avail.
             
He had to get in! Frustrated, he glanced around the patio and spotted the wrought iron chairs stacked at one end of the garden. If he couldn't open the door, by God, then he'd go through it!
             
Holding the chair in front of him like a battering ram, he charged. As the legs made contact with the glass, the hard metal bit into his abdomen, knocking the breath from his body. Dazed and stunned, he stared at the door. Why hadn't the heavy metal broken the glass? Worse yet, why hadn't the noise attracted anybody's attention?
             
He had to get into the house! Sucking air into his bruised lungs, he forced wobbly legs to propel him forward as he pounded on all the windows and doors, trying to find a way in. Nothing worked. It was almost as if some unseen force wanted him kept outside.
             
Returning to the rose garden, he placed his face against the glass panes while his weary brain searched for a way to stop the brown man from hurting anyone.
             
The situation in the living room remained unchanged. Mary continued to argue and wave her hands back and forth. Shaking off the grasp of the two old women, she finally stood up and walked forward.
             
"No, Mary, no!" he cried. Screaming and pounding his fists against the door, Jack watched helplessly as one long finger pulled the trigger and flash of light exploded from the end of the silver barrel.
             
Mary's upper body jerked back from the bullet slamming into her body; a look of amazement crossed her face. She glanced down and her expression changed to horror as a thick red stain etched its way across the front of her dress. Her left hand swung up to press against her abdomen, but the pulsing river of red refused to stop and oozed out between her fingers.
             
"Noooooo..." Gasping for breath, Jack jerked upward, tangling legs and arms in the cotton sheet that was now drenched in sweat. The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in ears, and his chest heaved up and down as his breath came in painful gasps. The sound of fists pounding on his door brought him back to reality.
             
"Jack, you all right in there?" called a raspy voice.
             
"What? Just a minute." Untangling his legs from the sheet, he slid off the bed and shrugged into his robe. Shaky hands opened the door.
             
Sadie and Justine stood in the hallway, their faces etched in lines of worry. Justine carried an umbrella in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. Sadie stood behind her, a wooden hairbrush clasped tightly between the gnarled fingers of her right hand. Evidently they thought there'd been a prowler.
             
"You sure you all right, boy?" Sadie asked. "We heard you screaming downstairs, and ran up her to see what was going on." She eyed him warily. "You had that bad dream again, didn't you?"
             
Jack looked away, wondering if Sadie could read minds. "What are you talking about?"
             
"Don't you lie to me, boy. You had that dream about Mary again, didn't you?"
             
Justine tucked the scissors into the pocket of her robe and placed a warning hand on Sadie's arm. "Why don't we all go downstairs for a hot cup of cocoa," she suggested. "We're already up; we might as well get something hot to drink."
             
"Good idea," Jack agreed. "I don't know about the two of you, but I could use a stiff drink."
             
Sadie trailed behind the two of them, occasionally using her index finger to poke Jack in the center of his back. "You ain't the only one who's seen bad things," she grumbled as they descended the stairs. "I done seen more bad things, had visions worser than that dream of yours. Only I don't go round screaming and carrying on about them." Her long, bony finger dug into the back of his shoulder. "You gotta get a hold of yourself, Jack, cause we gotta figure out what to do. The brown man's getting closer; I can feel it," she said. "And it's gonna be bad, real bad."

16

             
             
The sharp pain in Elizavon's chest woke her from a light doze. Cursing her angina, she grabbed the bottle of nitroglycerine tablets from the bedside table and stuck one under her tongue. As the tight band of pain around her chest lessened, she forced herself to relax by thinking about the paintings she planned to sell. They'd been a good investment, but several offers had convinced her to part with them for a tidy profit. That was one of the good things about owning real art. It always appreciated in value.
             
Maybe she should sell the contents of the house in Colorado as well. How long had it been since she last visited there? Two years? Three? The more she thought about it, the better she liked the idea. Now that Aspen was the "in" destination for the rich and famous, the demand for housing was way up. Realtors constantly called her business manager to see if she was interested in renting the property. There wouldn't be any problem selling the house for two, maybe even three times her purchase price.
             
She pressed the staff buzzer and a few minutes later Taft entered her room, carrying a breakfast tray.
             
"Good morning, madam," he said amicably as he placed the tray across her lap and shook out a linen napkin. "Will there be anything else?"
             
"I want you to call my business manager. Tell him to be here in an hour. I want the inventory list of the house in Colorado, plus the latest real estate data for that area."
             
"Very well. Is that all?"
             
Elizavon favored him with a long stare. "Don't be flippant, Taft. You can be replaced. Call my doctor and tell him I want to see him this morning. I'm still having chest pains and I want a different medication."
             
Taft nodded, then left the room.
             
Precisely one hour later, a soft knock on her door announced the arrival of her business manager, Allan Charles.
             
"Come in."
             
"Good morning, Elizavon," he said. "How are you?"
             
"Did you bring the lists?" she said. "If you didn't, you can leave."
             
Allan shook his head as he balanced his briefcase across his knees. He should have known better that to expect any kind of cordiality from Elizavon. In all the years he'd been her attorney, they hadn't once had a friendly conversation. It was a good thing she paid him so well. Otherwise he'd have told her off long ago.
             
He forced tight lips into a smile as he removed the papers from his briefcase and handed them to her. "Here's the information you wanted. Have you decided to sell the house in Aspen? I've been trying to get you to sell it for six months. I'm glad you finally took my advice."
             
"Sit down and shut up, Charles," she said in a biting tone. "I pay you to carry out my instructions and draw up legal documents. When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Until then, keep your mouth shut and do what you're told." She rifled through the pages for several minutes, then gathered them into a neat stack. "I want you to contact the firm my niece, Mary Windom, works for. I believe the name is Markis Brothers Estate Surveyors. They're here in Boston. Tell them I want to contract their firm to do a complete inventory of the Aspen house, but there's a catch. Mary Windom is the only person I'll let do it. Nobody else is to handle the job. If she can't, the deal's off." Her cold blue eyes bored holes into his. "Understand?"
             
"Yes. I'll see to it."
             
"Don't see to it, Charles. Make it happen. I want that house inventoried by the end of next week. Is that clear?"
             
"I said I'd take care of it, Elizavon, and I will."
             
She leaned back into her pillows and closed her eyes. "Just make sure Mary does the inventory, Charles. Nobody else." Her bony hand waved through the air. "Tell Taft I want to see him on your way out."
             
"Fine." Slamming his briefcase, Charles snapped the locks shut with a vengeance. Of all the rude, overbearing, hateful women in the world, Elizavon had to be the worst. Resisting the urge to tell her to go to hell, he consoled himself with the promise to pad her bill to compensate for her unwarranted behavior. Sort of like a hazardous duty bonus.
             
Taft shot him a sympathetic grin when they collided at the base of the stairs. "How do you put up with it?" Charles asked.
             
"Same way you do. Every time she's hateful, I keep reminding myself that she pays me three times the going rate," Taft answered with a sly grin. "I just keep picturing the dollar signs in my head and telling myself she won't be around much longer, that I need to hang on to this job as long as I can."
             
"I don't think I could do it on a day-in day-out basis, no matter how much she paid me," Charles said. He reached over and clapped the butler on the back. "You deserve a medal for putting up with her."
             
Taft's eyes crinkled as his grin widened. "It isn't so bad. I see her three, maybe four times a day. The rest of the time I'm surrounded by beautiful paintings and live in one of the finest mansions in Boston. My meals are prepared by one of the top chefs in town, and a maid cleans my room and does my laundry. There are worse lots in life."
             
Charles chuckled as he climbed into his car. "Yeah, but at the moment I can't think of any." He backed his car out of the narrow parking space and sped down the driveway, showering an incoming vehicle with bits of loose gravel.
             
"Morning Dr. Bruin," Taft said as he held the door for the doctor.
             
"Morning Taft. How's she doing?"
             
Taft paused, carefully choosing his words.
             
"That bad, huh?"
Dr
.
Bruin asked.
             
"Well, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, I'd give her an eleven," Taft remarked. "She's in one hell of a mood; already reamed me and her lawyer out this morning, and it's not even half past ten. Guess it's your turn next," he said as he opened the door to Elizavon's door. "Have a nice day."

17

             
The annoying ring of Mary's cell phone interrupted her concentration. Sighing softly, she saved the file on her laptop, then dug her cell phone out of her purse.
             
"Mary Windom".
             
"Hello, my love. It's me, Jack."
             
Her irritation evaporated. "Hey, baby. What's going on? Is everything all right?"
             
"Everything's fine. Our guests are gone, so I thought I'd give you a buzz and see how you were doing," Jack purred.
             
"Hang on a minute," she said, rising from her chair. "I need to shut my door." Returning to the desk, she sank into the overstuffed chair. "Okay, I'm back."
             
"How's it going?"
             
"I'm going to kill Mac when I see him," she complained in a whiny voice. "You would not believe this place. It's an old run-down hotel that's supposed to be haunted."
             
Jack's low chuckle echoed in her ears. "No wonder he wanted you to do it."
             
"It's not funny, Jack. On top of everything else, I've started 'seeing things' again."
             
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
             
"Yeah. This time it's different. I haven't seen any ghosts, but I do see images of a diamond necklace that's supposed to be missing. It's weird. I get a mental image of somebody's arm shoving the diamond necklace into a hole, but I can't tell who's doing it, or where it is. It's really strange."
             
"Well, at least you're not seeing ghosts this time."
             
"Not yet, anyway. I don't know what's worse, seeing ghosts or bits and pieces of somebody's arm. You should see this place. It looks like a reject from an old cowboy movie. It's a three-story building, set up to imitate an old hotel from the 1800s. Apart from the exterior, it's not too dilapidated. At night it gets real exciting when the wind blows and all the walls creak and groan. Just the recipe for a good night's sleep, especially since this whole building's empty, except for me and the caretaker couple."
             
"How come the place's haunted? Did somebody get murdered there?"
             
"Gee, Jack. Thanks for bringing that up. Word is the old woman who died here had a little help. According to the locals, her nephew is suspect number-one. However, since he's supposedly buddy-buddy with the police chief, they ruled the old woman's death to be from natural causes and that was it."
             
"What's the nephew like?"
             
"Don't know, don't want to know. The caretakers hate his guts and that's putting it mildly. Evidently he's supposed to be a real jerk."
             
"Gee, kinda sounds like our last job together."
             
"That's not funny."
             
He laughed. "All right. I get the message. Are you sure you're going to be okay, babe?"
             
"Yeah. I'll be fine. Believe it or not, the place has quite a few antiques, along with a lot of worthless junk. Made for a real interesting assessment. I never knew when I was going to stumble across something worthwhile. Kind of like a treasure hunt. I finished inventorying the last room about an hour ago, so I just need to double check my descriptions, then e-mail the file. The airlines already switched my flight, so I should be home about five tomorrow afternoon." She paused for a minute, then continued. "Jack, why did you really call? Are you sure nothing's wrong? Are Sadie and Justine all right?"
             
"We're fine, Mary. I just wanted to see how you were doing, and how long you thought you'd be gone. That's all."
             
His words belied the strain in his voice. It wasn't like Jack to call her on a job unless something really serious had happened. She tried again. "Jack, you didn't have another nightmare, did you? Have you talked to Sadie about it? Somehow she knows what you're dreaming, Jack. She mentioned your bad dreams before I had a chance to tell her about them."
             
He sighed. "Well, now that you mention it, I did have another nightmare last night. Sadie, Justine, and I had a talk about it. She seems to think that it's some kind of premonition, but I'm not buying it." His voice lowered to a whisper. "I couldn't bear to lose you, Mary. I don't think I could go on without you."
             
Her heart soared with joy, then plummeted back to earth as the ramifications of Sadie's interpretation dawned on her. Icy fingers of fear locked themselves around her chest, making it hard to breathe. Sadie was seldom wrong. "Are you sure Sadie said she thought it was some kind of premonition, Jack?"
             
"I knew I shouldn't have said anything to you. Don't worry, Mary. Sadie didn't say it was a premonition; she told me she'd been having some bad dreams of her own and they were along the same lines. However, in her dreams you don't die, so there's nothing to worry about."
             
Some of her fears evaporated. Thank God Sadie didn't think Jack's terrible dreams were a portent for the future. "I just wish your nightmares would stop. What did Sadie think was causing them?"
             
Silence.
             
"Come on, Jack. What did Sadie say? I want the truth, not something you made up."
             
He cleared his throat. "Mary, you know I don't believe in this mumbo-jumbo Voodoo stuff. I'm sure my dreams are connected to the fact that I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you. That's what's causing all this."
             
"That's probably true, Jack. However, you still haven't told me what Sadie said. Why don't you want to tell me? Is it that horrible?"
             
"No, babe, it's nothing like that," he said in a soothing voice. "She said she thinks I'm having these bad dreams because the brown man's getting closer."
             
"How...how soon does she think he's going to come?"
             
"Didn't say. God, I knew I shouldn't have said anything to you. Now all you'll do is worry."
             
"Jack, I'm fine. Really. I just wish we could figure out who this brown man is. Does Sadie have any clue?"
             
"Nope. Said all she sees is the color brown. Nothing else." He paused, then added, "She did say something odd, though."
             
"Oh yeah? What?"
             
"Well, she seems to think that I'm some kind of catalyst for your 'power' as she calls it. Says that since we're soul mates, my being around you triggers off something that makes your power stronger. Does that make sense?"
             
She thought about it for a moment. "Well, in a strange way, it does. After all, you were already at the plantation when I arrived, and each time I had the flashbacks about Jean-Pierre and Magdalene, you were with me. And, you were in the house the first time I saw her ghost."
             
"Yeah, but you haven't had anything happen since then, and I'm not with you now, so how could I be the trigger for your power?"
             
"I honestly don't know, Jack. Maybe you work like a battery charger."
             
"I'd like to recharge your batteries. Shouldn't take more than say, an hour or two."
             
Mary giggled. "Be serious, Jack. How am I supposed to know how it works? Maybe whenever we're together, my power gets stronger, and it carries over. Who knows? Anyway, you can believe me when I tell you that I wish this wasn't happening again."
             
"I know, honey. I wish it wasn't either. I remember how bad it was the last time."
             
The concern in his voice chased away some of her depression. "Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. We can sort everything out when..." Her voice trailed off as a vivid image of the diamond necklace flashed across her mind. Only this time, she saw how and where it'd been hidden.
             
"Mary, are you there? Mary? Maryyyyyyyyyy! Answer me, damn it. Are you all right?"
             
The link snapped, and she responded excitedly. "Jack, you're not going to believe this. I know where the necklace is! I've just figured it out!"
             
"Don't ever scare me like that again," he chided. "I thought something had happened to you."
             
"It did. I saw how she hid the necklace."
             
"Who?"
             
"Mrs. Cogrell. Maybe you are some kind of trigger for my psychic senses. A couple of minutes ago I saw the necklace and bracelet again and then I 'saw' her pick them up and hide them."
             
"You're pulling my leg for teasing you, right?"
             
"No, I'm serious. I know where the jewelry's hidden."
             
"Where?"
             
She lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's in the base of the old grandfather clock that's stored in one of the third floor bedrooms. That's why I couldn't piece it together before--the clock used to be in the foyer! There's a hidden panel in the bottom. Look, sweetie, I hate to ring off, but I've got to go check this out. I'll call you back after I'm done. Love you. Bye."
             
"Mary--"
             
Jack's response was cut off when she disconnected the call. Tossing the cell phone onto the bed, she raced out of the room, and bounded down the stairs. "Mrs. Durall, where are you?"
             
Susan's voice boomed from the dining area. "I'm in the kitchen, cooking dinner. What's the matter?"
             
Mary ran into the kitchen. "I think I've figured out where Mrs. Cogrell hid the necklace, but I need your help to get it," she rattled off in a breathless voice.
             
"The necklace? Oh my God, that would be a miracle. How on earth did you figure out where it might be?" Susan asked, wiping her hands on her apron. "Let me turn off the stove and then I'm all yours, Mary." She twisted several knobs, then covered a frying pan full of oil with a metal lid. "What do you want me to do? This is so exciting. I can't believe you're looking for the necklace."
             
"Follow me. I'm not promising anything, but I think I know where it might be," Mary whispered as she headed for one of the third floor bedrooms. She pointed to the clock, partially obscured by a heavy wooden dresser. "I need to look at the bottom of the grandfather clock. Do you think you could help me move the dresser away from it?"
             
In response, Susan grabbed one end of the dresser. Mary leaned against the other and pushed as hard as she could. After several exhausting minutes they managed to shove the heavy piece of furniture away from the clock.
             
"What are we looking for?" Susan asked, bending low to peer at the base of the clock. "I don't see anything."
             
"That's the beauty of these clocks. If you didn't know the compartment was there, you'd never find it," Mary said as she rubbed her fingers back and forth across the narrow wooden base. "A lot of these clocks were built with a secret compartment, and if Mrs. Cogrell inherited this piece, I bet she knew about it. I learned about them a couple of years ago when I worked with a furniture restoration expert." Her fingers paused over the left edge, and she pushed against the wood with her thumb and middle finger. "Keep your fingers crossed. If I'm right, the compartment should be right about here."
             
Her efforts were rewarded with a click as the wood sank beneath her fingers. Immediately afterward, a small drawer slid out of two near-invisible cuts in the wood. "Oh my God, it worked!" Mary cried triumphantly. "They're here, Mrs. Durall. We've done it."
             
"Ohhhhhhhhh." Susan stared at the drawer for a few moments, then stooped over and gently retrieved the necklace and bracelet. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she held the necklace up to the light. "I can't believe it's really here," she stammered. "It's like all my prayers have been answered." She turned to Mary. "You've found them. How can we ever repay you?" Clasping the jewelry to her ample bosom, she struggled to her feet. "I have to call the lawyer, then the museum director right away," she muttered as they left the room. "They're never going to believe this."
             
Mary dug a clean tissue from her jacket pocket. "It was nothing, Mrs. Durall. The look on your face was all the thanks I needed. I'm glad I could help."
             
Susan's eyes sparkled. "Know what I'm gonna do after the museum director and lawyer come and get the necklace?"
             
Mary thought she knew what was coming, but played along. "No, what are you going to do, Mrs. Durall?"
             
"I'm gonna call that no-good nephew of hers and tell him you found the necklace and bracelet. Then I'm going to tell him that if he wants to see them, he'll have to go to the museum. I wish I could see the expression on his face when he finds out he ain't gonna get his filthy hands on them, especially since he planned on searching this place once we moved out." She blushed, then continued, "I know that's probably a sin, but that good-for-nothing rotten dirt bag deserves it."