Breaking the Chain (20 page)

             
                                                
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"Justine, have you seen Jack?" Mary called down from the second floor. "He and Dykes were supposed to be heading up to the house."
             
"They haven't made it back yet," Justine replied. "Do you want me to go and check on them?"
             
"No, thanks. I'll do it." Mary returned to her room, changed her shoes, and stomped down the stairs. She should've known better than to believe Jack when he told her they'd be done in a "few minutes." Yeah, right.
             
Bits and pieces of conversation, followed by barks of laughter drifted up from inside the tunnel into the workshop. From the sound of the guffaws, it was evident the two men were still having the time of their lives. Descending the few steps at the entrance, she paused, waiting for a lull in their conversation.
             
"Jack, Dykes, where are you?"
             
"Mary, is that you?"
             
"No, it's the ghost of Christmas past," she responded dryly. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have less than two hours to get to the airport. You two need to start packing up so we can leave on time."
             
"Okay, but first come see what we've found," Jack called out.
             
She thought about declining the invitation, but decided she might as well humor him one last time. Besides, Jack hadn't had this much fun in ages; even though she had no interest in investigating the tunnel, he did, and she wasn't about to ruin his fun. Lord knows he'd put up with enough of her bad news these last couple of weeks; the least she could do was feign some degree of interest. "Where are you?"
             
"We're just past the bend," Dykes called out in a deep baritone. "Sorry to keep you waiting; we forgot about the time."
             
Minding the uneven surface of the floor, she picked her way forward, following the sound of Dykes' voice.
             
"There you are. Check this out," Jack said, holding out a small bundle.
             
"What is it?"
             
"It's part of an old weapon. Most of the wood's rotted out, but some of the metal's still there."
             
She watched as he unwrapped the cloth to reveal the cylinder of what appeared to be a revolver. "Can you tell what it's from?"
             
He rewrapped his precious find and handed it to her. "Not yet; too much dirt. I'll be able to tell more once I clean it up."
             
"That's great, baby. I'm glad you two finally found something worth keeping," she said, holding the bundle while he and Dykes picked up their tools.
             
"You know, Mary, you've been a really good sport about all this," Dykes commented as they were walking back through the tunnel. "Most wives would have thrown a fit if their husbands had holed themselves up in a tunnel for two straight days."
             
"Well, you guys seemed to be having such a good time, how could I complain?"
             
Jack draped an arm across her shoulders. "He's right, you know. You've been really good about this, especially since it's supposed to be your vacation. I'm sorry if we ruined it for you."
             
"No problem. Besides, just because I didn't want to spend all my time investigating a tunnel doesn't mean I begrudged you doing it. I didn't expect you to cater to my every whim while I was on vacation. That comes next week," she teased.
             
Jack dropped a light kiss on her cheek. "Anything you want, baby. Just name it, and it's yours."
             
"Okay, Dykes. You heard him. You're my witness. He said whatever I wanted, I could have."
             
Dykes shook his head. "Who, me? I didn't hear anything. Didn't you know I was partially deaf?"
             
"Don't worry, baby. No witnesses needed. You can have whatever you want," Jack promised as they climbed out of the tunnel. "As long as it doesn't cost over a hundred bucks, that is."
             
She thumped him on the arm. "I knew there had to be a catch. We'll negotiate pricing later. Right now I want you two to get cleaned up so we can leave."
             
Jack placed his metal detector on the workshop bench, then gently laid his find next to it. "All right. As soon as I've locked up, I'll be in to take a shower."
             
Mary paused in the doorway. "I've already packed our suitcases, so all you have to do is get cleaned up."
             
After she left, Dykes made sure his lantern had been properly switched off before he stacked it on the shelf behind Jack's. "What can I do to help?"
             
"Nothing. I just need to make sure the tunnel entrance is locked so nobody can get in while we're gone. I don't want any kids sneaking down there and getting hurt. You go on ahead while I close up shop," Jack suggested. "It'll only take a few minutes."
             
"What about the stuff we found?" Dykes asked, eyeing the bundle.
             
"I'll lock it up until we get back. There's no rush. The guys aren't coming to fill in the tunnel for a week or two."
             
"I didn't know you'd made plans to fill it in."
             
"Too much of an insurance risk. I called the guys last night and made arrangements for them to come out. I think they're coming on the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth."
             
Dykes turned to leave, then swung back around. "I just wanted to say thanks for letting me help out. I appreciate it."
             
"No problem. Mary doesn't like tunnels, so I was glad to have the company." Jack watched Dykes make his way to the house, then turned his attention back to the bundle on the shelf. Unfolding the cloth, he brushed off as much loose dirt as he could, then held the cylinder up to the light. Unfortunately, too much mud still clung to the metal to identify any markings. Sighing softly, he spread out two new rags on the shelf and gently rewrapped the fragile hunk of metal. As interesting as this find was, it would have to wait until he got back from Boston.
             
Unless...unless he took it on the plane with him. No, better not. With airport security as tight as it was, it probably wouldn't be a good idea. With his luck, the security guys would probably do a surprise inspection and he'd have to do a lot of explaining to the authorities. Better to leave it home until he returned.
             
Once he'd secured the entrance to the tunnel, Jack headed toward the house. It was obvious Mary was in a hurry to return to Boston. Why? Did it have something to do with what she'd learned from Sadie? He hadn't had a chance to talk to her since this morning, so he had no idea what she'd found out. Was it good news or bad, and if bad, what kind of havoc was it going to wreak in their lives?

             
           
             
             
                       
35
 

             
Jack hung up the intercom and turned toward Mary. "All buckled in?"
             
She nodded and felt the slight change in cabin pressure as the plane lifted off the runway and began its upward climb. Once they rose above the clouds and leveled off, she unbuckled her seatbelt, dug the two unopened letters out of her briefcase, and set them on the worktable to her left.
             
"Want anything to drink?" she asked, moving toward the small refrigerator.
             
"Diet Coke."
             
"Ice?"
             
He shook his head. "Not if they're cold."
             
The pop of the soda can lids cut through the silence like a knife. After handing Jack his soda, Mary returned to her seat. "I spoke to Sadie," she began in a slow voice. "But her answer wasn't at all what I expected."
             
"How so?"
             
"Well, to begin with, Sadie was insulted that I even asked for her help. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she wasn't a con artist. She said her visions are from God, and she has no control over when they come or what they're about. I really think I hurt her feelings." She ran a hand through her hair, then continued, "I felt terrible. I've never seen Sadie so upset. After she chewed me out, she just stared at me. It was awful."
             
"You're kidding."
             
"Would I joke about something as serious as this? To say I was floored by her response would be putting it mildly. I'm not sure what to think, but I'm afraid she might have had a reason to refuse."
             
"What's that?"
             
"What if she sensed that there's really bad news in the letters and didn't want to comment on it?"
             
Jack stared at his wife sympathetically. She certainly needed his support now. "What happened then?"
             
"I tried to apologize, but she wasn't in the mood to listen. Like I said, she just stared at me with those big, dark eyes, then left."
             
He clasped his hands together under his chin and eased back into his chair. "What are you going to do now?"
             
"We're going to open them. I have to deal with this. Might as well get it over with." Picking up the letters, she tossed one to him and kept the other. "You open one; I'll take the other. Then we'll switch. Okay?"
             
"You sure you want to do this?"
             
She nodded. "Yeah. If it's something really rotten about my parents, just tear it up."
             
"Who goes first?"
             
"You. That is, if you don't mind."
             
"No problem." Pulling an ink pen out of his pocket, he slid the tip of the pen under the back flap and ripped the top of the envelope. "Okay, here goes." Unfolding the pages, he quickly scanned the spidery scrawl for any mention of Mary's father. "Nothing about your parents here."
             
She shifted nervously in her chair. "What does it say?"
             
He reached out and squeezed her hand. "I think it's a continuation of the other letter. Why don't you open yours, and once you've read it, you can read this one."
             
"Okay." She quelled shaking hands and tore open the side of the envelope. Withdrawing the folded sheets, she started to read her aunt's childish scrawl out loud.
             
             
Dear Mary:
             
If you're reading this letter, I'm dead. Don't bother to shed any tears for me; I don't want or need them. Also, don't expect any money from my estate, because I'm not leaving you any. I'm writing this letter because you haven't bothered to return my call. If you had, you wouldn't have had to wait until I died to find out that you come from a family of very special women.
             
I've traced our family tree back to the early 1500s, and have found four women who were blessed with unique abilities. As far as I can tell, one of them was a healer, another had an uncanny affinity with wild animals, the third foretold disasters, and the last could see bits and pieces of the past. Because of their unique abilities, life wasn't easy for any of them, especially the last two.
             
I, too, possess a unique talent, but mine is questionable at best, and seldom appears. For whatever reason, I sometimes know when certain stocks are going to do well. Don't ask me how, because I can't explain it. I just get this "feeling" about a specific stock. Given my financial background, some people might call this business acumen or coincidence, but I believe it to be a gift. Unfortunately, it doesn't work on anything else, and rarely occurs. Even though I work hard at making financial decisions, my greatest portfolio gains were the result of trusting intuitions which ran against conventional wisdom--without fail. I have, however, upon occasion, managed to greatly improve my portfolio by knowing when to translate my intuition into the purchase of certain stocks, and when not to.
             
I believe that you also have a unique gift. It would appear that you possess the ability to locate objects from the past. You're what's known as a "retriever." As a child, you were always finding things others had lost, both large and small. Your mother believed this talent to be the work of the devil, and punished you every time you used it. Because of this, you ignored your talent and lost control over it.
             
I'm not sure why it suddenly reappeared, but I suspect it has something to do with Jack. Perhaps he works as a catalyst for you, helping you to amplify your ability. Or, maybe he has a talent of his own; I don't know. I just know that, from what I've observed, your talent works best when he's around.
             
That's all I have to say for now; I'm so exhausted. Unique abilities are like everything else in life--you either use them, or you lose them.
             
Elizavon
             
             
An uneasy silence hung between them after Mary finished reading the letter. Jack waited a few moments, trying to gauge her reaction, but her expression was unreadable. When she remained silent, he walked over to the liquor cabinet.
             
"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink," he said. "Want one?"
             
"Yeah. Whatever you're having will do."
             
He opened a bottle of whiskey and poured several shots into their glasses. Handing one to her, he kept the other.
             
"Thanks." She took a few sips, then placed her drink on the side table. "So," she said lightly, "what do you think about the letter?"
             
He chose his words carefully. "Well, at least it didn't say anything terrible about your parents. And, it could explain why you found the necklace at the old hotel. That's assuming, of course, you believe what your aunt said about the women in your family. Maybe you can find things that were lost or hidden. I mean, people have all sorts of gifts. Some are great pianists, singers, dancers, and then there are the savants, people with serious disabilities who, nevertheless, can do complex mathematics without even knowing how. Why couldn't someone have the ability to locate lost objects?"
             
"I don't know. I just wish Aunt Elizavon would've told me about this before she died. I have so many questions I want to ask." A sigh escaped her lips as she re-read the letter, then folded the pages and inserted them back into the envelope. "Now it's too late."
             
He squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "There's still another letter. Maybe that will answer some of your questions."
             
She glanced up. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about the other one. Maybe you're right. Maybe it will."
             
He passed the letter to her, and was nearly thrown from his seat when the plane lurched unexpectedly.
             
Before he could reach for the headset, the intercom buzzed, and Dykes' voice boomed in his ear. "You guys okay?"
             
"What's going on? Is something wrong?"
             
"Turbulence. You better buckle up, just to be safe." Dykes explained. "I'm not sure how long it will last."
             
"Jack, what is it?" Mary asked.
             
"You better buckle up, Mary," he ordered in a no-nonsense voice as his glass slipped from his hand.
             
"Are--are we going to crash?"
             
"No. It's nothing like that. Dykes said we're going through some turbulence; that's all." He checked his seatbelt, then held on to the armrest as the plane lurched again, this time to the left.
             
"You okay, baby?" he asked, glancing at his wife.
             
"Next time, I want to travel by commercial airlines," she retorted, grim faced.
             
"Don't be silly," Jack chided. "It doesn't matter what kind of plane you're in. Turbulence is turbulence. Don't worry; we'll be fine in a few minutes."
             
She mopped the rest of her whiskey from her pants. "What if it doesn't stop? What do we do then? Crash?"