Breaking the Chain (22 page)

             
           
             
             
                       
38

             
Mary listened to the blaring of horns as Jack navigated the rental car through the maze of rush-hour traffic. "This is one thing I don't miss," she said, watching the endless line of cars speed up, then slow down. "Living at the plantation might have its drawbacks, but at least we don't have to fight traffic every single day."
             
"How much further do we have to go before we turn off?" he asked. "I never can remember which exit to take."
             
"You better get into the right hand lane as soon as you can," she advised. "Our exit is about three or four down." She was relieved when they finally turned off the freeway and covered the few blocks to their hotel. "I've got first dibbs on the tub," she called out to Jack after the porter brought up their cases.
             
He glanced up from plugging in his laptop. "You okay, babe?"
             
"Yeah. I'm just tired; that's all. I think I'll soak in the tub for a while."
             
"No problem. I need to check my e-mail anyway. If you need anything, just holler." When he heard the water start draining from the bathtub, he called out, "You want to go out for dinner, or would you rather do room service?"
             
"Room service--if you don't mind. I don't particularly want to go out," she answered. She wrapped one towel around her hair, then another around her body as she emerged from the bathroom. Perching on the edge of the bed, she massaged the muscles in the back of her neck. "I feel a hundred percent better. It's been a long day, and that flight we had didn't help matters."
             
Jack tossed the room service menu over to her side of the bed. "I know what you mean." He glanced at the bedside alarm clock, which read eight o'clock, then laughed when his stomach growled. "It's way past dinner and I'm starving. What do you want to order?"
             
"I better stick to something light. Scrambled eggs and toast, please." She changed into a pair of silk pajamas while he called in their order.
             
"Not too bad; they said it would be here in about thirty minutes."
             
"That's good." She watched him empty the contents of his briefcase onto the bed and sighed when he placed Elizavon's second letter on the pillow next to her. "You gonna get your shower now or later?" she asked, ignoring his not-too-subtle hint.
             
"I'll take one in the morning." He glanced at the letter, then back to her.
             
"Nothing like being subtle, baby," she said, reaching over to pick up the envelope. Taking a deep breath, she removed the folded pages. "You know, I've been thinking about what Elizavon did, and I'm like...really over this. I'm sick and tired of my aunt's petty games. To be honest, I don't know if I even want to bother reading this."
             
He sat beside her on the bed and draped an arm across her shoulders. "That's the spirit, baby. Be tough. Don't let her get to you." Removing the pages from her hand, he unfolded them and smoothed out the bend in the center. "For what it's worth, I think you ought to read the second letter, now that you're in the right frame of mind."
             
Her eyebrows shot up. "Really? Why?"
             
"I just think you ought to read it; that's all. For closure, if nothing else."
             
"All right," she said, taking back the pages. "Here goes." She began reading out loud.
             
             
Dear Mary:
             
By now you've read my first letter, and are probably wondering if what I said was true, or just the ramblings of a senile old woman. Well, I can assure you, I may be old, but I'm certainly not senile, nor am I stupid. There is one way you can validate my comments about your gift. If you're smart, you'll do it; if not, well, then you're a lot dumber than I thought.
             
Everything I've managed to find out about our family history is written in a journal I've hidden in the house. Don't bother looking for it on the inventory list, because it's not there. Nor will looking at the any of the builder's plans help you. Talking to the servants won't work either, because they don't know about the journal. The only way you'll be able to find it is to use your gift. My attorney should have left instructions for you and Jack to work together inventorying my properties. This is my legacy to you--paying for a second inventory company when one could've done the work, and telling you about your gift. Having Jack there may or may not help you find what you're looking for. I'm betting you can. Trust your instincts, Mary. They will lead you to the discovery that you are, indeed, special. If you ignore them, then you're the one who'll lose out, not me. The choice is yours.
             
Elizavon
             
             
"She's done it again," Mary said, shaking her head. "I don't believe this woman. Of all the nerve. Even though she's dead, she's still trying to manipulate my life." She ripped the offending letter into shreds and tossed the pieces into the wastebasket. Taking the first letter out of her purse, she did the same to it. "There, it's over," she said, brushing her hands against each other as if to cleanse them. "No more Aunt Elizavon, no more games."
             
Jack raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
             
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Mary asked.
             
He shrugged. "Not really. If you want to throw a childish tantrum, who am I to stop you?"
             
She felt her jaw drop. "What? I'm not being childish; I'm merely putting a stop to her interfering in my life."
             
A knock on the door forestalled his reply. Taking the tray from the waiter, he carried it to the dresser, glanced at the bill, then handed the man a twenty-dollar bill. Returning, he lifted the lid off the tray and sniffed the aromas rising from the plates. "Smells good." He handed Mary her dinner, then carried his over to sit beside her.
             
She toyed with her food. "Why do you think I'm being childish?"
             
"Well, tearing up the letters the way you did certainly wasn't adult-like, now was it?" he asked in between mouthfuls of hamburger.
             
She grinned sheepishly. "Maybe not, but it sure felt good."
             
He tugged playfully on a strand of her hair. "All right, I'll give you that one." He shoveled a few fries into his mouth, then continued. "Have you thought about the possibility that maybe the second letter might be Elizavon's way of saying she was sorry for what she did? Maybe that's why she hid the journal; so you could have a way to prove whether or not you're a retriever."
             
"Maybe. But we don't really have the time to look for it right now; we have too much to do. What if we don't find it?"
             
"Well, you wouldn't be any worse off." He wolfed down the rest of his hamburger and carried the empty plate to the dresser. "You done?"
             
She waved her fork through the air. "The way you inhale food, I don't know how you don't die from indigestion. I'd be up all night with heartburn if I ate as fast as you do." Taking her time, she finished her eggs, then handed him the empty plate. "So, given what we know about my so-called talent, how do you think we ought to look for it?"
             
"Well, if I were you, I'd try not to worry about it. Chances are, the harder you try to figure out where she hid the journal, the less successful you'll be. Remember when you saw the image of where the necklace was? It came to you when you weren't actively looking for it. My guess is this talent of yours works out of your subconscious."
             
Yawning, she slipped between the covers. "You know, you might be right. Maybe we should just do the inventory like we planned, and if I'm lucky, I'll figure out where she hid it once I've seen all the rooms in her house. What do you think?"
             
He checked the lock on the door, then climbed into bed. "I think it's time we got some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow. Don't worry about trying to find Elizavon's journal. I'm sure it will come to you. Just be patient."
             
She snuggled close to him. "Unfortunately, patience isn't one of my virtues."
             
"I know," he said, switching off the lamp. "However, lucky for you, I can think of several other ways to keep your mind occupied."

             
           
             
             
                        
39

             
             
To Mary and Jack, the Beacon Hill mansion was dismal and gloomy as they spent the next day and a half plodding their way through the tedious task of inventorying Elizavon's num
e
rous belongings. Mary kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting her aunt to appear at any moment. When a hand suddenly tapped her on the back, she yelled at the top of her lungs, and scattered the papers in her hand in every direction. "Don't do that," she chided once she caught her breath. "You almost gave me a heart attack."
             
"Sorry, babe. I thought you heard me come up behind you." Jack's eyes twinkled, belying his apology.
             
"Right, like I'm going to hear your footsteps on inch thick carpet." His grin was infectious, and she felt her lips curving in return. "I'll bet you're just getting even with me for all those times I snuck up on you, aren't you?"
             
His face was a study in astonishment. "Who me? I would never do something like that."
             
Her bark of laughter echoed throughout the empty library. "You are sooo bad. You know, people do go to hell for lying."
             
Grinning, he leaned against the outer edge of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases while his glance made a circuit of the room. "I hate to say it, but this place is like a mausoleum without your aunt. You can say what you want about her, but she certainly had a way of making her presence felt."
             
Mary's mood sobered. "I know. Just think how the servants feel."
             
"What servants? The only people left are the butler and the housekeeper. Taft told me the attorney came by and let the rest of the staff go the day she died."
             
"That's probably because Elizavon figured they'd steal her blind once she was out of the way." Mary shook her head sadly. "She had a hard time keeping staff because she always suspected them of stealing whenever her back was turned."
             
Jack snorted derisively. "Would you want to work for somebody like that? I pity poor Taft. He put up with that old woman's crap for years. I sure hope his severance package made his sacrifice worth it."
             
"Can you imagine how miserable our lives would be if we mistrusted everybody we knew?"
             
"Well, I can't say that I trust everybody I know, but you have to put your trust in someone. God I trust; everybody else has to show an ID. 'Cept for you, that is." He unfolded his arms and dragged his fingers across the spines of several books, occasionally pulling one out and checking the wall behind it. "Speaking of trust, have you had any insight into where she might have hidden the journal?"
             
Mary shook her head. "No. I've been keeping an eye out for anywhere that feels familiar, but so far all I've drawn a big fat blank." She sighed wistfully. "It's so frustrating. When I need my so-called talent to work, it doesn't. When I don't want it to work, it does. There doesn't seem to be a happy medium. I wonder if everybody who's the least bit psychic has this problem."
             
"Didn't Sadie tell you she has no control over her visions? Maybe that's the downside of having your kind of talent."
             
She examined the antique ink well on Elizavon's desk, then set it back on the blotter, taking care not to spill any of the dark blue liquid. "Must be. I just wish that for once I could make it work when I wanted it to. It'd be nice to know if I really do or don't have this so-called gift."
             
"Well, worrying about it won't help. How about we up finish up this last room so we can head out to the airport? I don't know about you, but I'm ready to blow this popcorn stand."
             
Nodding in agreement, Mary picked up her clipboard. "Right. The last item you described was the mahogany table in the corner..."

             
             
             
             
             
             
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