Pearl of Great Price (7 page)

Grandpa’s labored breathing resonated in the stifling silence. I shifted to face him, only to see a strained look deepening the lines around his eyes and mouth. “Grandpa?”

“Oh dear me.” He turned away, rubbing his forehead.

“Grandpa, you’re scaring me.” I stepped in front of him, and even in the weak light filtering through cracks in the boarded-up windows, I could see how pasty his complexion had become.

His expression cleared. “Oh, Julie Pearl, pay me no mind.” Fanning himself, he started back the way we’d come. “Whew! It’s stuffy in here. And hadn’t you better check on your dog and her pups?”

Cocking my head, I gave Grandpa a thorough once-over. Yep, he was keeping something from me—maybe not intentionally, but it couldn’t be plainer that whatever had happened at Pearls Along the Lake twenty-five years ago, he didn’t like thinking about it. About a dozen possible reasons filed through my brain. Did he know the Pearl family somehow? Did he and Grandma have a child besides my mama that maybe drowned or died some other way, and every reminder of a child’s death brought him fresh grief? Maybe if I was patient, he’d finally tell me someday.

With a resigned sigh, I glanced at my Snow White watch and saw it was nearly three o’clock. Where had the afternoon gone? In my hurry to catch up with Grandpa, I brushed against the shelf where I’d laid the guest register and knocked the book to the floor. When I bent to pick it up, a faded snapshot fluttered out from between the pages. The photo showed a dark-haired girl with a pixie haircut standing on what looked to be the front porch of this very house. She balanced a baby on her hip, a tiny thing in a jaunty sailor cap perched atop pale, wispy strands.

Something about the picture made my stomach twist in on itself. Maybe it was because one of these children would never grow up.

Or maybe it was the way those two girls seemed to be smiling into each other’s eyes, a sisterly love I would never know.

“Julie Pearl, you coming? Best see to the dog.”

Grandpa’s call startled me into action, reminding me why we were here in the first place. This was no time to be puzzling over old snapshots. I stuffed it into my back pocket and started down the hall, unable to resist a second glance into the child’s bedroom as I passed the doorway. From some unknown source, a breath of air stirred the wispy curtains, and despite the stifling heat, I shivered.

Returning to the cottage, I found the food bowl licked clean. Mama Dog had finished off most of the water too. She lay quietly now on the stained mattress, never taking her eyes off me as her pups squirmed and attempted to nurse. “Good girl,” I said. “Want some more?”

With slow, deliberate motions I emptied the can of food into the bowl, then pushed it toward her, closer this time. Her only reaction was lifting her chin and pricking her feathery black ears toward me. Speaking soft encouragement, I inched nearer, all the while gauging her response. I reached the bedroom door before she let out another warning growl.

“Okay, okay, I hear you.” But this time, instead of backing away, I sat right where I was, an arm’s length from the food dish.

It seemed like an eternity before she finally crept off the mattress in search of the food. The pups hung on tenaciously, dropping off one by one as she raised to all fours and started toward me, one cautious step at a time. Her nose twitched. Saliva dripped from her tongue. Finally she dipped her head and gobbled up the food. She took a couple of backward steps and licked her chops, her gaze slipping from my face to the water bowl, still sitting in the middle of the kitchenette. I could see her weighing her thirst against having to walk past me. Which would also put me between her and the pups—not a risk she’d easily take.

I decided to stay put. Sooner or later she’d have to choose, and I really needed it to be sooner. Hobart or his crew could show up any minute.

At long last, with a fretful glance toward the writhing mass of fuzzy pups, Mama Dog inched past me, so close that her matted belly fur tickled my ankles. I made out the bulges of fat ticks behind her ears and between her toes and hoped I’d soon have the chance to give this poor dog a warm, sudsy bath in the most powerful flea-and-tick soap I could get my hands on. And then a trip to the vet for vaccinations and a complete checkup.

After lapping up some water, Mama Dog stood in the kitchenette gazing at me with sad, hopeful eyes. She whimpered and ran her tongue across her muzzle, her gaze dropping to my pants pocket.

“Ah, you smell those doggy treats.” I tugged a biscuit from my pocket and offered it to her. “Poor, hungry thing. Sure wish I knew where you came from, girl.”

With each bite she grew more trusting. I inched farther into the bedroom until I knelt at the side of the mattress where the puppies lay squirming, their eyelids and ear flaps still sealed shut. Without so much as a growl or a snarl, Mama Dog ambled past me and curled up around her babies, resting her chin on one tiny rump. Her gentle eyes spoke gratitude.

The time had come. I made my way outside and called to Grandpa, where he rested on the stone retaining wall. “Get the puppy box. We’re ready to roll.”

We’d just arranged the dog and her puppies in the back of the van when I heard the low rumble of an approaching vehicle. My heart did the cha-cha-cha on its way up my throat. I climbed in the rear door next to Mama Dog. “Get in and drive, Grandpa.”

But before he could get his rusty joints moving or I could slam the door, a car pulled up behind us. Not Hobart’s maroon pickup. A silver Mercedes.

The driver’s door swung open and a long, bronze leg stretched toward the pavement. A thick, mahogany-colored mass of hair appeared above the door, and I found myself staring into the smoky depths of wide tortoise-shell sunglasses.

The air whooshed out of my lungs. “It’s
you
!”

C
HAPTER 6

August, 25 years earlier

Hot Springs, Arkansas

Rennie sat on the top step of the front porch, chin resting on her bare knees. Above her head, metal creaked against metal as the “Welcome to Pearls Along the Lake” sign swung from its short chains in the steady breeze. The house behind her stood empty now. The brawny men in their olive-green jumpsuits had carried out the last of the packing crates and furniture—everything except Jenny’s toddler bed, matching dresser, and the decorated pine toy box Daddy had built.

Rennie thought back to the day she’d helped Mama cut out six yellow-beaked ducks and eight pink-nosed rabbits from the leftover roll of Jenny’s wallpaper. After trying several different arrangements, Mama had Rennie spread craft glue on the back of each figure before she positioned them just so on the sides and lid of the toy box. Then they carried it outside to the patio and coated it with several layers of clear shellac, until it glistened in the afternoon sunshine.

That had been one of Mama’s good days—too few and far between.

Now, Mama said she couldn’t bear to see those things from Jenny’s room again. Aunt Geneva had already packed up all Jenny’s clothes and toys and donated them to the Salvation Army. With nothing left of her little sister but a few sticks of furniture and the starched yellow Priscillas adorning the windows, Rennie could almost imagine tears to match her own in the wide, staring eyes of the ducks and rabbits staring down from the walls.

Her father’s footsteps echoed behind her. He rested his large, warm hand on the crown of her head. With his callused thumb he smoothed back her sweaty fringe of bangs. “Time to go, Rennie.”

Without looking up, she answered, “I don’t want to.”

Daddy lowered himself to the step next to her. “I know, my girl, I know. But you’ve seen how hard”—he cleared his throat and blinked several times—“how hard what happened this summer has been on your mother. We need to leave here, for her sake.” He sniffed. “For all our sakes.”

She’d heard the speech a million times—from Aunt Geneva, Daddy, even their pastor. They’d each explained in patient detail how none of them could be expected to heal from the tragedy if they stayed on where the memories were so vivid.

Rennie swung around to face her father, octopus tentacles constricting her throat. “Please, Daddy, please don’t make me come with you and Mama. Let me stay here and live with Aunt Geneva. Send me away to boarding school—anything!”

“Rennie Pearl, you gotta stop such talk. Of course you’re coming with us.” Daddy drew her close against his chest, and she could hear his thumping heart. His moist, sighing breath whispered across her cheek. “It’ll be all right, honey-girl. You’ll start at your new high school next week, make new friends. We’ll all begin a new life. We’ll get through this together, I promise.”

“But she hates me, you know she does.”

She waited for him to deny it, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, after all. Mama had spoken it outright the day of the memorial service, said it plainly for all the world to hear:

“I left you in charge, Renata Louise Pearl. And you
killed
your baby sister. I will never, ever forgive you, not even if I live to be a hundred. I will hate and despise you until the day I die!”

C
HAPTER 7

Present Day

From behind me came the sounds of Mama Dog’s soft whimpers as her puppies rustled around in the box. I edged out of the van and closed the door before the lady got close enough to see inside.

“You—you’re the girl from the flea market.” Ms. Moneybags cocked her head and slammed the door of her Mercedes. She took mincing steps toward me. “What in heaven’s name are you doing
here
?”

“Howdy-do, ma’am.” Grandpa joined me at the rear of the van and extended a gentlemanly hand, but his voice was tight. “Otto Stiles.”

She took Grandpa’s hand with limp fingers. “Renata Channing. I was in your shop yesterday.”

“Picked out one of Hazel’s lace tablecloths.” He nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Hope it suits you.”

“Yes, it’s lovely.” She glanced toward the house, and I thought I detected a shiver. “Really, why are you here? This encounter seems . . . entirely too coincidental.”

Indeed it did, and I was beginning to wonder what fate had in mind, placing this snooty rich lady in my path two days in a row. Not to mention I had a few questions of my own—like was she connected with the Pearl family who used to own this resort, and why had she left the Swap & Shop yesterday in such an all-fired hurry?

I rubbed my arms, feeling as if I’d caught a chill. She glared at me like she was waiting for an answer, so I thought I’d best give her one. “My best friend just got hired by the new owner. We thought we’d see if there was anything worth salvaging before they start demolition.”

The lady bristled. “Ah, yes, the new owner. Micah Hobart.”

“So you know him?”

“I’m the one who sold him this worthless pile of trash. We signed the papers yesterday.”

“Then you
are
one of the Pearls.” She must be one of the children in the snapshot that was now burning a hole in my back pocket. I ached to ask her about the child who’d drowned, why her family abandoned the place, why she’d held onto the old resort for so long while letting things fall into such disrepair.

“It was a long time ago.” The woman’s eyes took on a distant look. “A very, very long time ago.”

“Then why . . . ?” I lifted one hand in a vague motion toward the house.

“I felt the need to see the place one more time before—” She blinked several times and crossed her arms. “Honestly, why is this any of
your
business?”

“Sorry, it’s just—”

Grandpa cut me off, his grip biting into my wrist like an ice-cold vise grip. “We best be on our way, Julie.”

I couldn’t leave, not yet. Not when the woman who might hold the answers I needed stood right in front of me. But I didn’t get the chance to say so, because Mama Dog chose that moment to let loose a pitiful whine.

“Is that a child in there—and in this heat?” Mrs. Channing barged past me, her face a mask of righteous anger. She peered through the cloudy rear window, then instantly shrank back. “Oh—a dog! It can’t get out, can it?”

I rolled my eyes. I could never understand some people’s irrational fear of animals. If a dog is vicious or dangerous, there’s usually a logical reason. Like abuse. Starvation. Illness. Abandonment. Conditions likely traceable to a cruel or irresponsible human being. “No, she can’t get out,” I snapped. “I agree, though—she’s probably getting overheated by now. You’re right, Grandpa. Let’s go.”

I could probe Grandpa with questions after we got Mama Dog and her pups safely settled in. All of a sudden I just wanted to get out of there, away from this woman who made me feel as jumpy inside as a frog in a hot frying pan.

~~~

Back at the Swap & Shop, I didn’t have time to think much more about the resort or the crazy lady who used to live there or the grumpy old guy she’d sold it to. All my attention went to getting Mama Dog and those pups settled in, and I was amazed at how quickly she made herself at home. It convinced me she must have once lived with decent folks, just got lost somewhere along the way and was forced to fend for herself. She seemed plenty happy to hop in the big galvanized washtub out back, letting me lather her up and pick those nasty ticks off with a pair of old tweezers. When I finally rinsed her off, she hopped out of the tub and yipped with pure glee. After a good shaking, she had me almost as wet as herself.

And by then it had gotten so late that I’d never get myself cleaned up, fix Grandpa some supper, and still make it to Bible study on time. I gave Sandy a quick ring and told her to make an excuse for me. “We found another stray,” I told her, not saying where. “I just got through de-ticking her, and I’m a mess.”

“Then for heaven’s sake,
please
stay home,” Sandy said with a gasp. “I’ll catch you up on everything tomorrow.”

Mama Dog and the pups spent the night on a fresh, clean blanket in a box at the foot of my bed, and the next morning we headed to the vet for a checkup and shots. I cradled one of the tiny black pups in my two hands and lifted it to eye level. “What breed do you think they are?”