Pandora's Box
Authors: Natale Stenzel
NATALE STENZEL
PANDORA'S BOX
For Jenn, Kathy, Carolyn and Tracy,
who encouraged me to walk all the way out on that limb.
“I,” the equine raised its chin and tail, appearing almost regal for a moment, “am a puca.” It widened its eyes for effect.
When Mina didn’t react, the horse dropped its tail back to normal position. “I really hate this. You’ve never even heard of
a puca? What’s the problem with the last three generations? I just do not get respect anymore.”
Mina shrugged. “We call you guys horses around here, but generally, our horses don’t talk.”
“Oh, pah!” In a shimmering flash, the stallion shifted from horse to eagle to goat to muscular nude man blur and back to horse.
Mina blinked, dazed by the sexy man blur. She couldn’t see the human form or face clearly, the flash had been so brief—just
a stirring impression of charisma and sensual arrogance potent enough to kick her in the libido. Then he was back in equine
form. “Okay. A little more than a horse…” Her damn heart was palpitating, in fact. That last image…
The horse showed his teeth in a sly grin. “You liked that one, didn’t you?”
Contents
From the Web log of Pandemina Dorothy Avery:
According to Greek mythology, Zeus created this woman named Pandora. I’m advocating that she was their version of Eve, by
the way, since this is my blog and I’m entitled to express my opinion here. As per archetype, evil Woman is created for Man’s
pleasure but, due to her weak character, becomes his downfall.
Anyway, so we have Pandora. And all the gods got together and put evil things inside a box, like plague and hatred and whatnot.
But also inside this box, they placed hope. Then they gave it to Pandora and—how cruel is this?—didn’t tell her what was inside,
just told her not to open it. But, as “evidenced” in nearly every culture’s folklore, women are weak and easily cave to evil
temptation. Thus, Pandora inevitably disobeyed, opening the box and loosing evil into the world. Ironically, in opening this
box, she also revealed hope. . . .
“I inherited a rock? Some distant relative I’ve never met willed me a rock? You can’t be serious.” Was that supposed to be
an insult? Mina wondered.
You’ve been a bad little descendant,
Mina, so here, accept this rock as a sign of my eternal
contempt. . . .
“Pandemina Dorothy Avery, right? The thirty-one-year-old unmarried daughter of Elizabeth Avery Dixon and Duncan Forbes?” When
she shrugged and nodded, the attorney smiled. “Then, yes. A rock. But more than that. It’s actually a cornerstone from a little
cottage in Wiltshire, England, last owned by your distant cousin and my firm’s client, Gladys Avebury. It’s been in the English
branch of your mother’s family for generations. I assume you’ve heard of cornerstones?”
She thought about it. “Well, sure. So the cornerstone’s a keepsake?” Leave it to her mother’s family to pass a sacred rock
down through the generations and call it a legacy.
“That, too, but cornerstones are also an old tradition. People sometimes use them as a personal time capsule, to contain mementos
and information about the property and its owners. If a building is significant in any way or large, the cornerstone might
also contain information about the structure itself. Since in this case we’re talking about a simple, if very old, cottage,
it’s more likely you’ll get your hands on some family history. Which, quite frankly, could be fascinating.”
Fascinating. No doubt. Mina pondered diplomacy. “Look. I have to be honest. This inheritance might be better off in somebody
else’s hands. I’m afraid information about distant relatives just doesn’t intrigue me like it might some others. The only
people I’ve ever called family are my mother and stepfather—and then, only when they’re behaving, which is about fifty percent
of the time.”
And yes, here now was the guilt. She shouldn’t have said that last part. At least her mom and stepfather loved and acknowledged
Mina as family. That was more than she could say for the pompous hypocrite who’d fathered Mina and abandoned mother and child
before she was even born.
And then there were the loving grandparents, who unanimously denounced Mina’s birth as an abomination. Seriously. All because
of a little premarital sex and a reproductive oops.
Mina could only assume that her mother’s life during pregnancy had been a living hell. On the rare sentimental occasion, Mina
even tried to set aside their very real differences in an attempt to build a friendlier mother-daughter relationship. But
then her mother would invariably shove some rare crystals or yet another ancient talisman under Mina’s nose, thereby driving
her daughter to distraction all over again.
“I suppose everyone is entitled to an opinion. You’ll have to do as you see fit.” Still, the attorney’s manner had cooled.
Poor man had been so excited when she walked in the door. He’d wanted to play Santa Claus and deliver his special lump of
rock, and her jaded-kid routine wasn’t satisfying in the least.
Well, what did he expect? She’d never even met this Gladys Avebury, and Mina just didn’t have it in her to weep or gush with
sentiment over the death of a stranger. Generalized but sincere regret was about all she could manage.
“Look, I’m sorry if I seem less than enthusiastic about all this. It probably just hasn’t sunk in yet.” Well, that was certainly
possible. Maybe she hadn’t completely processed the situation yet. She mentally paused a moment. She’d inherited a rock .
. . from a distant cousin across the ocean . . . Hmm. No, a rock’s a rock’s a rock. She’d inherited a rock, and not of the
faceted variety. That was about as “sunk” as it got, she decided, not without regret.
Sort of like her, unfortunately. A monetary inheritance from some mysterious relative she’d have welcomed with embarrassment
and sheer gratitude. So, call her materialistic, but now that Jackson, her live-in boyfriend, had dumped her and moved out—leaving
her with a mortgage and repairs she couldn’t afford—she was desperate.
Thanks to Jackson’s vindictive—not to mention married—new girlfriend, Mina had lost her job right along with her boyfriend
and potential husband. Then Jackson, in his infinite generosity, had offered to continue the mortgage payments on the house
they jointly owned until the house sold. In return, Mina would pay for renovations necessary to make the house sellable.
Right. With what money, exactly? The laughable balance in her checking account? Or maybe she could borrow ahead on a nonexistent
salary?
“Ms. Avery?” The attorney had a tight look on his face, as though he’d tried gaining her attention a few times.
“Sorry. Just thinking.” Being rude was more like it. Honestly, would it kill her to show just a little interest, out of simple
good manners? Sentiment in this case was beyond her, but curiosity she could do. “So, why me? No disrespect, of course, but
why didn’t Gladys leave her . . . her
legacy
. . . to somebody she’d at least met?”
“Because you, Pandemina Avery”—he paused, obviously trying to emphasize the drama of Mina’s situation—“are the ‘sole surviving
unmarried female descendant of the Wiltshire branch of the family who still bears some version of the family name.’ ” He paused
to take a breath.
And no wonder. If she hadn’t already verified the attorney’s credentials she’d suspect him of trying to con her with that
absurd list of criteria.
“You do realize, of course, that the family name is actually Ave
bury
over in England. It was shortened to Avery when your great-grandparents moved to America.” He smiled, obviously delighted
on her behalf.
No
of course
about it; but Mina wasn’t about to enlighten him and play Scrooge to his Santa all over again. “I . . . Sure. That’s great.”
She forced a smile. “Look, Mr. Reynolds. No offense, but don’t the requirements for this inheritance seem oddly stretched
to you? The sole surviving whatever of the whatever and so on and so forth? I’m sure the family history stuff is fascinating,
but why go to all this time and expense for the sake of a cornerstone?”
“I couldn’t say for sure in this case, but I’d suspect sentimentality. When you don’t have a spouse or children to inherit
your estate, you go searching for descendants just to feel like you’re leaving something of yourself behind when you die.
No one wants to be forgotten.” He paused, letting her absorb his words.
And those words were well chosen. Mina could understand being alone, given her current situation as resident pariah. She was
used to that role, honestly, having played the neighborhood freak so often as a kid. Isolation was a bitch. But how much worse
would it be to actually outlive the few people in this world who bothered to acknowledge the worth of your existence? When
you died, would you just . . . cease to exist? Would your absence even register beyond a minor, paperwork-based ripple in
the world around you? Mina could identify to some extent.
“So when should I expect this ro—cornerstone to arrive?”
“Possibly as soon as tomorrow. I do have the paperwork here, however.” He riffled through his briefcase and, as if he’d had
a sudden thought, glanced up. “Speaking of paperwork, you’re not to worry about the legalities of transferring property from
the UK to here. We’ve taken care of that. The cottage itself, minus the cornerstone, was donated to the historical society,
which may have smoothed the way a little.
“Not that there was any real objection to the cornerstone leaving the country.” He looked mildly puzzled. “Given the age of
that cottage, I thought the Brits would balk at letting go of any part of it. But that wasn’t the case. I suppose it helps
that the cottage wasn’t located in the historic section of the county. It wouldn’t be as valuable.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess.” Mina smiled politely. “So what’s the rest of the paperwork?”
“Just the typical forms saying you accepted the property, that I read you the exact terms, etcetera, etcetera.” He pulled
out a stack of paper. “I’ll need your signature here.” He pointed to an
X
, flipped to the next page, “and here, as well as initials on these other pages, and then here, here and here.”
She skimmed and scribbled where indicated, until she came to the final
X
. “What’s this about a guardian? I’m accepting guardianship of the cornerstone and all its contents? What does that mean?”
The attorney frowned, then shrugged. “Just that you’re responsible for them. That you own them. I gather they were pretty
special to Ms. Avebury. She was probably just concerned that you might accept them too lightly.”
Mina grimaced. That was exactly what she’d done, too. Okay, she’d be good now. Money wasn’t everything, right? A woman’s last
wishes deserved respect. “Okay.” She signed more carefully and handed the stack of forms back to the attorney.
He accepted it. “Oh, and one last thing. There’s a letter from Gladys Avebury herself.” He riffled through his files again.
“I don’t know the contents, just that they were intended to be confidential.” Finally locating the proper document, he extended
a sealed envelope to her. “Here you go.”
She accepted the envelope from him and studied it with fresh curiosity. It was a standard envelope, but the paper had yellowed
with age. Still, it was free of creases and unstained. Like the attorney said, it had obviously been important to someone.
She ran a finger down the seal, slipped her nail into the corner—
“You should probably open that in private.”
She glanced up. “Private even from you? Her attorney?” Eccentricity and sentimentality were all well and good, but this was
just odd. “What is it? A confession?” She laughed a little. “Did Cousin Gladys kill somebody with the cornerstone and decide
to confess all to her descendants?”
He smiled. “I doubt it. Although, I have to admit I don’t understand what the secrecy’s all about either. Maybe it’s information
regarding a scandal or something valuable. Or it could be that Gladys suffered from simple, generalized paranoia. It’s hard
to say. I never actually met the woman; she dealt with my firm’s affiliates overseas.
“As for the letter, ” he nodded at the missive, “like I said, all I know is that it was Ms. Avebury’s wish that the heiress—that
would be you—should be the only one to read it. My job is to respect the client’s wishes.”
“Of course.”
Twenty minutes later, Mina emerged from the attorney’s office, envelope in hand and mostly unopened. She supposed a properly
respectful descendant of the great Avery—no, Avebury—family would be jumping all over a letter from deceased Gladys.
Sure, Mina wondered what kind of letter would merit secrecy even from the woman’s attorney. But right now, she was going to
be late to meet with her new contractor unless she kicked it into gear. She just hoped he hadn’t already given up and left.
And—ugh—charged her for a wasted day’s worth of labor.
Mina squinted into the sun, finally locating her ancient Ford Escort in the crowded line of cars parked along the busy downtown
Richmond street. She climbed into the car and prayed to all the gods of motor vehicles that the engine would start at least
one more time. She had half an hour’s drive back to Oakville ahead of her and she didn’t want to break down this far from
home.
But start it did. Smoothly, in fact. “Okay.” She merged into traffic, pleased to see that, for once, traffic lights seemed
to be working in her favor. Maybe her luck was improving?
When she finally pulled into her own driveway, she was further cheered to see the contractor’s truck still sitting in front
of her house. Noticing that the cab of the truck was vacant, she decided he’d probably gone around back to survey the job
ahead of him. So she trotted around to the backyard, only to discover that the contractor had already started working. Excellent.
“Hello?” She glanced around, looking for a face that would fit the voice she’d heard over the phone. That voice had certainly
made an impression. What kind of face would go with tones as richly textured as crushed velvet? she’d wondered.
A man squatting in front of blueprints spread neatly on the grass rose to his full height. He turned to face her.
Oh. Sure, that would do it. Rough-hewn features, silky-looking black hair, and a shadowed jaw square enough to put a comic
book hero to shame. Ooooh, and then there was the body, also as hot as she’d fantasized. He was big and rugged and trim, but
weathered just enough, so he was probably in his thirties.
Even better, humor lined the corners of twinkling green eyes. And he had a very nice mouth, sculpted and bracketed by attractive
dents that deepened when he smiled. “Mina Avery?”
“Wuh?” As in,
duh
? She cleared her throat. She’d probably been staring too long, damn it. “Yes, I’m Mina. And you are—”
“Jonathon Teague. You can call me Teague, though.” He held out a hand.
She stepped forward, attempting with effort to stave off hyperventilation, and clasped it. His hand was easily twice the size
of hers. Warm and calloused. Of course it would be. No soft and clammy grip would do it for a guy like this. She reluctantly
released him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Teague.”
“No, it’s just Teague.” He shoved one hand in his back pocket and shaded his eyes with the other, squinting against the evening
sun to see her.
“Just Teague, huh? Like Cher, just Cher?” She was shameless—but any heterosexual woman would be, in Mina’s shoes. “So you’re
a temperamental artist, then?”
He laughed. “No, just practical. My family’s got a Jonathon, a John, a Big John, a Little John, a Johnny, a Jay, a Jon-Jon,
a JT, a Junior, a Third and a Senior.”
“Big family.”
He shrugged. “Traditional family. They like the name. So do I, but it can get confusing. And I ran out of options. So, ever
since I turned twelve and declared myself a manly adolescent, I’ve gone by Teague.”
“I see.” And she did. There was rough affection in his eyes and voice when he talked about his family. “That’s kind of nice.
Family pride.”
“Nah, we just lack imagination. And girls. My family produces a lot of boys.”