Emerald Fire (Christian Romance) (The Jewel Series) (6 page)

BARRY
didn’t recognize the incoming number on his mobile phone’s caller ID at 10:26 that morning. Since he was in the middle of a conference call with a client he ignored it and let it go to voice mail. Two minutes later at 10:28, he let the same number go to voice mail again.

A little over one minute later his secretary, Elizabeth, burst into his office. The look on her face alone silently informed him that he needed to end his conference call immediately. So he did.

As soon as his handset hit the receiver, he said, “My cell’s been ringing constantly …”

Elizabeth interrupted, “Please pick up on line two, Barry.”

Barry noted that she did not address him as “Mr. Anderson,” or “Sir.” He noted that she cut him off and heard the hint of anxiety in her voice as if it were a scream.

“What is it?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s the hospital up by your ski resort in the Berkshires. They won’t tell me anything.”

A cold, sinking feeling hit Barry in the pit of his stomach as he punched the blinking button and brought the phone to his ear. He heard his own voice, sounding numb and distant in his ears, saying, “This is Barry Anderson.”

The cold, sinking feeling turned to a frozen ball of iron when he heard a distracted voice answer, “This is the Trauma Center. Can you hold please, Mr. Anderson?”

“Yes, I can hold.” Barry didn’t even complete the sentence. He began listening to canned hold music before the first word completely left his lips.

A few more heartbeats passed after which a new voice came on the line and asked, “Is this Jacqueline Anderson’s husband?”

Barry paused before affirming, “Yes, this is Mr. Anderson.”

The voice went into a kind of rehearsed speech mode. “Mr. Anderson, there’s been an accident. Your wife sustained very serious injuries and was rushed here less than an hour ago. We’ve been treating her to the extent that we can within the limits of the law.”

Barry suddenly realized how serious this conversation was. Out of all the conversations of his life on earth, this one might end up ranking in the top two, second only to when he had asked Jesus Christ to become the Lord and Master of his life as a youth.

The hospital representative continued to explain, “Your friend, Charles Mason, is here but can’t legally sign the consent forms.”

Barry thought,
Charles Mason? As in the married man I strongly suspect impregnated my wife, Charles Mason? That Charles Mason? Why exactly would THAT Charles Mason be at the trauma center in the Berkshires?

Then an absolutely terrifying thought struck him and he blurted, “Is the baby okay?” He ignored the widening of Elizabeth’s eyes and the sound of her gasp.

The voice kept talking. “Mr. Anderson, you’re an attorney. You know I can’t speak to that on the phone. We need you to get here as soon as possible so we can advise you as to the prognosis. Could you please allow me to record the remainder of our conversation while you grant me verbal consent to continue treatment?”

Again he heard his own voice, but he had no idea how he was speaking. “Please proceed. Whatever you need.”

With the receiver of his desk telephone pressed into his ear by his massive shoulder, he listened to the questions and answered them. He wished he were on his cell phone so that he could start moving right now. He stated his full name as “Bartholomew James Anderson,” and said, “I’m her husband,” then he impatiently said, “Yes, I agree,” three times. He leaned down, and years of habit made him pack his laptop and some paperwork into his briefcase before he shouldered it. Before hanging up, he said, “I’m on my way.”

He caught Elizabeth’s eye as he stalked out of his office, headed toward the elevators that would take him to the parking garage. Over his shoulder, he ordered, “Cancel the rest of my week.”

THEY
sat amongst the debris of the party. A few members of the staff set about removing furnishings and cleaning the room. They studiously avoided the little group stubbornly claiming the head table because the owner of the Viscolli Boston, Tony Viscolli, had arrived to retrieve Robin, his wife.

He sat with her feet in his lap, gently rubbing her arches. Maxine had her head back, reclining as best she could in the cloth-covered banquet chair. Sarah sat next to her, phone in hand, texting someone.

“You two did an amazing job. What a wonderful gift,” Robin said.

“Speaking of,” Maxine said, rolling her head on her shoulders, “what do you want to do with the presents people brought despite our request not to?”

Robin sighed. “I guess we need to open them. There are just so many, though.”

Maxine’s phone vibrated next to her elbow. Recognizing Barry’s number, she snatched up the phone. “Barry, hi. If you’re looking for Jacqui, she isn’t here. Did you get my texts?”

Barry was silent for a few breaths. “I know where she is, Maxi. Is Tony with you? I’ve been trying to get him for the last hour.”

Something was wrong. She could hear it in his voice. Wanting to ask, but feeling it wasn’t her place, she held the phone out to her brother-in-law. “Tony? It’s Barry. He says he’s been trying to reach you.”

Tony patted his jacket then shook his head. “I left my phone in the car.”

Robin smiled. “Miracle of miracles.”

Picking up her hand, he gently kissed her knuckles. “I’m here with you,
cara.
What call would I want to take?” He smiled at her blush and took Maxine’s phone. “Barry,
mi fratello
.”

Maxine watched Tony’s face fall as he sat straighter in his chair.

“
Come tragica
! Where are you right now?” Tony asked as he bolted to his feet. Maxine found herself standing with Tony. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He held the phone out to her and she saw his hand tremble as she retrieved it. “There’s been an accident. Jacqui’s dead.”

Simultaneously, Maxine exclaimed, “What?” as Sarah repeated, “Dead?” and Robin gasped, “When?”

Tony leaned down and kissed Robin’s forehead. “I don’t have all the details and I don’t know when I’ll be home. I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She looked at Maxine. “Can you take me home?”

“Of course.” Maxine assured. “Or you can stay with me here. Sarah and I have a suite upstairs. I’ll sleep on the couch and you can take one of the beds.”

Derrick quietly asked, “Should I come, too?”

Tony considered, then said, “Better if it’s just me for now. But I’ll let him know you asked about him.” By way of answer, Derrick offered a single nod of understanding.

A well of panic bubbled up in Maxine’s chest as she watched Tony march away. “Tony, wait!” He stopped and pivoted on his heel, a questioning eyebrow raised at the distraction.

Maxine rushed toward him. “Tell Barry…” She paused and felt her throat burn with tears. “Tell him to call me if he needs anything.”

Tony cocked his head and his brown eyes searched her face before he answered, “I’ll be sure to tell him, Maxine.”

“Thank you.” Maxine felt her cheeks burn with unidentified embarrassment as she slowly turned back toward her group. “I left my room key with the front desk so that I wouldn’t have to keep up with it all night. I’ll go get it.”

Robin maneuvered herself to a standing position, rubbing her large belly. “I hate that our evening ended with such tragic news.”

Sarah put one arm around Robin’s back and with her other hand, rubbed Robin’s stomach. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. I have some time yet.” She patted Sarah’s arm. “Just us three girls. Kind of like old times, huh?”

THE
engine of the tiny green sports car hummed in perfect tune and all four tires left the pavement as it crested the hill. The tires chirped as the empty street, slick and glistening from a recent downpour, reached up and welcomed the vehicle back to earth. Maxine managed to continue accelerating, watching the speedometer climb as the clock on the dash remorselessly ticked away precious seconds.

The headlights cut through a sudden mist and spotlighted an unforeseen puddle less than a second before all four tires plowed through it, sending an almost artistic rooster-tail spray high into the air that Maxine could see in her rearview window. The engine whirred as she shifted gears and turned the wheels hard. A little bit of a fishtail sent her heart pounding. She regained control, straightened the car, and punched it.

Harsh music blared out of the speakers, a modern staccato rock beat with heavy emphasis on the bass. The music felt exciting, dangerous, thrilling. Maxine stabbed the knob to increase the volume even further as the swift car continued to whip down the interstate ramp. After what seemed like forever but was actually mere minutes, the suburban exit appeared. Maxine hit the blinker to announce her intention to take that exit, then whipped into the left lane to pass three more cars before careening back to the right, barely missing the bumper of the car she just cut off as she downshifted in an attempt to slow down the little green bullet.

Barely pausing at the red light at the end of the exit, she made a quick right, a succession of a few turns into the heart of suburbia, and finally wheeled onto the street where she would find the big white church with the tall black steeple.

She forced herself to slow down. Nothing could be gained by the sound of screeching tires penetrating the walls of the building. She parked her car, double-parked it, technically, at the end of the parking lot and grabbed her little black purse that perfectly matched her sedate and stylish black suit. A quick check of her lipstick and she could go.

Few women could get away with that shade of red lipstick. Maxine considered herself one of the lucky few. Her straight black hair and olive skin, both traits inherited from her father, made the lipstick a perfect shade for her. She bared her teeth to the mirror to make sure no lipstick marks marred the white surfaces, then slipped out of the car.

The two sets of double-doors at the top of the stone steps were shut tight and no one remained outside the church. The December sky, pregnant with ominous looking gray clouds, silently spit out a few flakes of snow and Maxine shivered. Before quietly shutting the car door with her hip, she bent and reached inside and grabbed her long black trench coat and threw it over her shoulders as she dashed up the stairs.

She silently opened the giant wooden church door just wide enough to squeeze inside, and found herself standing in a huge vestibule with ceilings at least three stories high. Corridors branched off in either direction, with rest rooms on either side of the massive lobby. A large tripod supporting a poster sized framed head-shot dominated the middle of the room. Maxine walked up to it and bit her lip to keep herself from snarling.

Jacqueline Mayfield Anderson’s long, wavy red hair, her porcelain smooth skin, and her glowing blue eyes all mingled together to create a classically beautiful woman. The artist in Maxine allowed herself to admire Jacqueline’s bone structure and cream cheese exterior.

Her personal knowledge of Jacqueline’s character, however, identified a true wolf in sheep’s clothing. Maxine hesitated to speak or even think uncharitably about the dead but she also considered herself a realist. Her own mother had been murdered when Maxine was very young, and Maxine never minced words about the kind of woman she had been in life.