My Sister's Prayer (51 page)

I sat back, my mind reeling.

“Where is the ring now?”

He ran a hand down his face. “I'm pretty sure Hedge still has it. He's been trying to reach Nicole. I figure he wants to give it back to her, or he wants to know if he should sell it for her.”

At his words, my mind filled with the image of my sister at the church tonight, one hand on the car door.

You would love me no matter what, right?

I leaped to my feet. “Don't go anywhere,” I commanded.

Then I ran out the door, not even pausing to explain.

I made it to the church just minutes before her meeting was to end. I raced inside and down the hall, bursting into the room.

A handful of startled addicts all turned to look at me.

“May we help you?” asked a man at the podium.

My eyes scanned the room.

Nicole wasn't there.

I dialed Greg's number as I rushed back out. Thankfully, he answered on the second ring and, after my tumble of words, said he was on his way. Frantic, I looked around until I spied an older woman on a porch across the street. Running toward her, I described Nicole and Hedge and asked if she'd seen either one, but she simply shrugged.

Moving up and down the block, I questioned everyone I could find. Finally, just as Greg arrived, a college-aged couple told me that yes, they had been in a lounge on the next block where they had noticed a guy who sounded like the one I was describing.

We took off at a run. Sure enough, as soon as we stepped inside, I spotted Hedge in the dim light at the end of the bar. He was alone, head down. Greg and I walked over and took the seats on each side of him.

“Where's Nicole?” Greg asked sharply.

Startled, the man looked at him. Then he turned my way, and understanding filled his eyes.

“Don't know.” He pulled his drink a little closer.

“Did you see her tonight?” I asked. “Did you talk to her?”

He hesitated for a long moment before mumbling, “Yeah, at the church.”

“And?”

“And I returned some of her stuff to her. Then I came over here. What of it?”

“Where is she now?”

Hedge shrugged. “No clue. She had to go. Somebody picked her up.” His voice sounded bitter.

I glanced at Greg. “Picked her up? Who?”

Hedge shrugged. “I don't know. Some guy. I didn't recognize him. She just said thanks for holding on to her things and meeting up with her tonight, and she guessed she'd see me around.”

“What did the guy look like?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. That's when I took off.”

“What kind of vehicle was it?”

“Like I said, that's when I took off. I've been trying to connect with her for weeks, and then she just ditches me? Forget her.”

He gulped from his drink and then hung his head again.

We'd gotten all we could from him tonight.

Greg and I raced back to the carriage house, hoping desperately that the PI was still there and that he could tell us who this other man Nicole left with might possibly be. We opened the door to find him still at the table, a cup of coffee in hand.

Stepping inside, I glanced to the right and was startled to see Nana in the living room. She was folding a shirt on the bed, but when she leaned forward to place it inside the Louis Vuitton suitcase, her movement revealed someone sitting behind her.

Nicole.

“What's going on?” I demanded, moving toward them.

Nana looked up in surprise, and then she smiled. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying, but she certainly seemed happy now.

“We're packing up your sister's things.”

“What?” I continued forward, looking to Nicole. “Why? How did you end up back here?”

My sister's eyes were also red, but on her face was a mix of sadness and relief. “I called Nana to come and get me from the church. I needed to return some things that belonged to her.”

“But we were told you left with some guy.” Even as I said it, I realized Hedge's misunderstanding. That “guy” had been Jerome, Nana's driver.

Suddenly, more pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Nana insisting Nicole read those letters. Nana urging us to go to Williamsburg. Nicole standing and looking at the pillory—the same place where Celeste first learned the royal origins of the ruby ring—and then suddenly insisting we leave so she could go to a meeting. I realized that had been our savvy grandmother's plan all along, to make Nicole understand the history of the ring, the importance of it to our family, the value of what she'd taken. And it had worked too. Between reading the letters and visiting the site in person, Nicole had become overwhelmed by guilt for what she'd done—which in turn had led her, finally, to contact Hedge and have him bring her the ring and then hand it over to Nana along with a full confession.

“So why are you packing now?” I asked, the one part of this picture I still didn't understand.

“I made a decision, and I don't want to wait,” Nicole replied. “I'm going to rehab. Tomorrow.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-T
HREE

Celeste

C
eleste coughed, Berta's prayer still ringing in her ears, as Spenser rolled her to her side. Water sputtered from her throat. Spenser held her head as Berta knelt beside her.

“Is she going to be all right?” Berta asked.

Spenser nodded.

Berta sprang to her feet. “I'll go tell the governor what happened. Everything.”

Celeste struggled to speak. “Tell him about Constable Wharton's maid too.” She coughed. “The one who spoke with Spenser and me. The governor should interview her and any others in the house. Make sure he knows Mr. Horn is probably also involved.”

Berta agreed and then scurried away, and Sary took her place. Celeste reached for her good hand as she turned her head toward Spenser and whispered, “Thank you.” He'd saved her, once again. For the last time, she was sure.

“You need to get warm,” he said. “Can you stand?”

She nodded. She struggled to her feet with Sary and Spenser both supporting her. The wind felt icy now, biting fiercely at her wet skin.

They passed the governor speaking to Berta. His assistant and several sailors, including First Mate Hayes, had Jonathan in custody, and a group of soldiers was marching down the wharf toward them.

Captain Bancroft wasn't in sight, but Constable Wharton had a scowl on his face and was keeping quiet. He frowned as Celeste slipped past him onto the boat.

“Help her get dry,” Spenser said to Sary. “I'll try to find a blanket for her.”

“We have one,” Sary said in English. “But you should find another one for yourself.”

Spenser gave her a smile and a nod. “Will do.”

It was nearly dark by the time the
York
set sail for Williamsburg. Celeste, in her other set of clothes and wrapped in a blanket, was wedged between Berta and Sary.

Celeste turned to her sister. “I'm sorry I didn't believe you about Jonathan.”

“I wish you had. It would have saved you so many troubles.” She paused, and then she added in a lower voice, “I can see why you didn't, though. I wasn't very trustworthy. But I've learned my lesson, believe me. I've both repented and reformed.”

After all that had happened, Celeste truly believed her sister. She'd been deceitful too, and Berta had long ago forgiven her. They both understood the consequences now. They both also understood what it meant to be forgiven by God, and what it meant to seek His guidance, to trust His care.

They were silent for a long moment, but then Berta said, “I'm honestly not doing what I did with Jonathan. I mean, I'm not trying to steal your beau.”

“What are you talking about?” Celeste asked. She didn't have a beau.

Berta whispered, “George.”

“Oh,” Celeste said. “I wondered…” She smiled. “I'm happy for you.”

“I don't want to encourage him if you're interested…”

“No, I'm not. Truly. But you're fond of him, then?”

Berta smiled. “Yes. It turns out I'm the reason he came with Emmanuel. He was concerned about me and wanted to make sure I was safe.”

Celeste laughed. “He seems to have gotten over me rather quickly.”

“Apparently so.” Berta smiled.

Celeste patted her sister's arm. “You have my blessing. And my prayers for a good life.”

Berta managed to thank her before the motion of the water sent her to the edge of the boat. This time it wasn't Celeste or Spenser who went to her aid. It was George.

Poor Spenser,
Celeste thought.
If only he'd known about Berta's feelings for George before getting so worked up about the ring.

The ring! Where was it?

She searched the deck for Emmanuel and Spenser. They stood near the hull, the still-damp Spenser wrapped in a blanket of his own. The two men were deep in conversation. She would wait until they were finished before asking.

In the meantime, she turned to Sary and whispered to her in French. “Clearly you understand English.” She smiled at Sary's cunning. “And I imagine you're better at speaking it than you let on. Why did you pretend not to?”

The woman was silent for a moment, and then she matched Celeste's low tone, “I wanted Mr. Edwards to find someone who spoke my language. I needed a friend.”

Touched by her words, Celeste gave the woman a warm smile and a nod.

As Sary rested, Celeste turned back toward her brother. When he eventually glanced at her, she waved him over.

“I have a question for you,” she said as soon as he sat down beside her. “What happened with the ring? Did Spenser find the appraiser?”

Emmanuel winced. “I'm afraid he's much more intuitive than I am. Yes, Spenser found the appraiser. Once he heard our story, he confronted Wharton, who had stopped at the tavern for a drink. It turns out the ring is worth far, far more than Wharton revealed. There were enough patrons around that once the story was out quite a scene developed against Wharton. We were negotiating when Berta and George arrived, followed by Captain Doane. The governor, once he was aware of what was going on with you, suggested we all move to the wharf,
while he consulted with the appraiser. Spenser led the way, of course. He's quite something, you know. A man of rare character.”

“I know,” she replied, hoping her voice didn't reveal her longing. She cleared her throat. “So where is the ring now? Still with Wharton?”

“No.” Emmanuel patted his side. “I'm happy to say it's in my pouch. The governor sorted it all out while you were changing out of your wet things. The appraiser verified its worth and even gave me a copy of the document he'd made for Wharton—of course Spenser was right. I was a fool not to push Wharton on the matter.”

“What counts is that you have it back.” Gratitude swept through her. “Thank you,” she whispered, closing her eyes for a moment.