Jane (17 page)

Yvonne cut and shuffled the deck. “Oh, the cards don’t tell you the future, sweetie. They just tell you about yourself, give you hints on how to go about getting whatever it is you want. So you start by coming up with a question. What is it you want to know?”

I hesitated. It would have been foolish and unprofessional to share the subject that most preoccupied me. And what would I ask, anyway? Even if the cards could tell me the future, I knew mine didn’t hold hope for the one thing I wanted most. There was no point in asking how to get Mr. Rathburn to love me; it was beyond my power. Besides, was I really silly enough to believe a card chosen from a deck could tell me anything useful? “I think you should know I’m a skeptic,” I said.

Yvonne shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You might not believe in the cards, but they believe in you. There’s got to be something you want.”

I thought a moment. “Will I ever go back to college?”

“Boring!” Kitty sang out. “Is that the best you can do?”

“Ask about love,” Yvonne urged me. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, no.”

“Is there someone you like?” she persisted. “Somebody you’ve got your eye on?”

“Look at her blush,” Kitty said. “There’s your answer, Vonnie. Who is it?”

“Nobody you know.”

“It’s Dennis!” Yvonne guessed.

“I’ve only known him three days,” I said. “No, it’s not Dennis. It’s someone from my other life. Before I came here.”

Was that disbelief I saw cross Yvonne’s face? At any rate, she stopped pressing me for information. “Think about him while I shuffle the cards. What is it you want to know?”

I closed my eyes and thought of Mr. Rathburn’s face, a little shocked at how easily and vividly I could conjure up the image of his smoke-colored eyes and crooked smile. “What do I want to know?” I tried to formulate the question as vaguely as I could. “Is there… I don’t know. Is there hope?”

I opened my eyes and saw a fan of cards spread out a couple of inches in front of my face. “One of these cards is screaming your name,” Yvonne said. “So pick it.”

I made my choice and laid the card faceup on the table. It featured a colorful drawing of a nude woman kneeling on one knee beside a stream. Water poured from the pitchers she held in each hand. An enormous, eight-pointed star took up most of the night sky above her.

“It’s the Star!” Yvonne exclaimed.

“Is that good?” Kitty asked.

“You bet,” Yvonne said. “The Star is the card of hope and healing.”

“Why is she naked?” I asked.

“She’s stripped bare, completely vulnerable. And that water she’s spilling symbolizes tears you’ve been holding back.”

“Have you been? Holding back tears?” Kitty asked.

“Well, not exactly.” That much was true; yesterday I’d been unable to hold them back. The memory of how I’d fallen apart in front of Mr. Rathburn still rankled.

“Well, cheer up,” Yvonne said. “What you want is out there. You just have to go and meet it halfway. That’s not me talking, honey. It’s the card.”

I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the case,” I told them. “Nothing against your card-reading skills.”

“You may not see it now,” Yvonne said. “But you need to be on the lookout for opportunity.”

I took the throw from my shoulders. “Thank you both. This was very nice of you. I should probably get back to the barn.”

“What, are you worried about big, bad Nico?” Kitty said. “Let him wonder where you went. Hang out for a while. Vonnie’s going to read my cards. I’ll make some coffee; that’ll warm us up. And if Nico says anything, just tell him we kidnapped you.”

“He’s a softy underneath all that bluster,” Yvonne said. “But you know that, right?” And before I could answer, she turned to Kitty. “So what do
you
want to know?”

I lingered with them awhile longer before going back to the house to check on Maddy. She was already up and out of bed, and had probably run over to the barn herself, and I was most likely in hot water for slipping out of the rehearsal and not watching my charge properly. In fact, I
should
be in trouble. I was thinking grim thoughts when the intercom by the front door buzzed. I would
have expected Lucia to answer it, but she must have gone out to run an errand. It buzzed a second time and then a third.

I ran down to the entryway and pressed the button to reply. “Yes?”

“It’s Teddy in the guardhouse. There’s an Ambrose Mason here to see Nico. He’s not expected, but he says it’s important, and Nico will know what it’s about.”

I offered to run over to the barn and relay the message, since I was headed there to find Maddy anyway. Sure enough, she was parked on the love seat right in front of her father’s mike stand, watching him with still-sleepy eyes, a figurine clutched in each hand.

Mr. Rathburn was swapping one guitar for another when I climbed up onto the stage to get his attention. He looked up distractedly. “Jane?” He seemed surprised, even happy, to see me standing there. “What’s up?”

I relayed the message. When I pronounced the visitor’s name, the smile on his lips faded. “I’ll be right back,” he announced to the band. “Take five.”

Bianca, who had been sitting just offstage reviewing pictures she had stored on her camera, got to her feet as if to go with him. “No, stay here,” he ordered her. “Jane, come with me.”

I had expected him to hurry down to the guardhouse or at least to the intercom. To my surprise, the moment we got out of the barn, he pulled me aside to a space between the trees. It was still drizzling; I could feel the dampness of my clothes against my skin. He grabbed my hand. “Ambrose Mason? Are you sure you got the name right?”

I assured him that there was no way I could have mistaken a name like that.

“Did you see him? Did he say anything to you?” His face was paler than I’d ever seen it before.

“He’s down at the guardhouse. I haven’t seen him. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Jane, you have no idea.” He loosened his grip on my hand a bit. “This is a nightmare.” We walked on, toward the pool house. He looked both ways, let himself in, and held the door open for me. Once inside, he dropped to the nearest chair. I sat beside him.

“Who is he?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“He was a friend of mine” — his voice was grim — “a long time ago.”

“Can’t you just tell him to go away?” I asked. “Teddy will send him away if you don’t want him here.”

“No, Teddy can’t help me with this.”

“What about me, Mr. Rathburn? Can I help you?”

He reached over, took my hand in both of his, and rubbed it. “Your hand is cold,” he said. “It’s too bad the two of us can’t just run away together somewhere. But tell me something,” he asked in an urgent voice. “If all this disappeared tomorrow” — he let go of my hand and gestured to the house — “if the tabloids invented a scandal about me and turned my name into shit, and nobody bought my records, and the recording company let me go… if I had nothing and went back to being Nick Rathburn from Wichita, would you stick by me? Would you still be my friend?”

“Of course I would,” I told him. “No question.”

“You know what, Jane?” he said quietly. “I believe you.”

“Let me help you. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“Nobody can help, not even you. Not with this. This I need to handle myself.”

He told me to go back to the house and started down the long path to the front gate. Once inside, I sat in the living room and waited for what felt like hours, though it must have been only minutes. Just when I was wondering if I should have insisted on going down to the guardhouse with Mr. Rathburn, the front door opened. I hurried to the entryway to find him with a man of about thirty — handsome in a feminine way. He wore what looked like an expensive suit and carried a suitcase.

“Jane,” Mr. Rathburn said in a low voice. “Do we have a spare bedroom?”

“I think there’s still one empty in your wing. I don’t know if it’s ready for a guest.”

“Could you dig up some towels and whatever else the room needs? Just leave them outside the door.” He looked past me, into the hallway behind me. “Is anyone else in the house?”

“Some of the staff, maybe,” I told him. “I passed Walter in the kitchen a while ago. I haven’t seen anyone since. Lucia is out, and all of your guests are still in the barn and the guesthouse.”

“Good, good.” He sounded somber. “Once you’ve taken care of the towels, get out to the barn and check on Maddy. Tell everyone I’ll be there soon. Keep them out of the house. And whatever you do, don’t mention Mason to anyone.” Then Mr. Rathburn left, with Ambrose Mason hurrying to keep up.

After I’d taken care of the towels and an extra blanket, I ran out to the barn and found Maddy right where I had left her. The
band was milling around a buffet table; they all looked up when I entered. Behind the stage, Bianca paced back and forth. The look she gave me was as cold as that of a Bengal tiger eyeing a human on the other side of its wall of bars.

“Where is he?” Tom asked. “What’s taking him so long?”

“He said he’ll be here any moment,” I told them. “He had some urgent business to take care of.”

“We’re out of coffee,” Lonnie said. “And we’re low on sandwiches.”

I assured them I would let the cook know and said again that Mr. Rathburn would be back shortly. This seemed to pacify the band members, if not their agitated photographer. Why she so obviously disliked me, I had no real idea, and there wasn’t time to puzzle it out. I made sure Maddy was happily occupied, then ran off to the kitchen to find Walter. By the time I returned, Mr. Rathburn was back, and the rehearsal had started up again. The music lasted until sunset. For the rest of the day, throughout dinner, and at that evening’s party in the living room, I saw no trace of Ambrose Mason. And though I watched him closely, Mr. Rathburn didn’t look my way once.

That night I fell asleep easily but woke abruptly a few hours later. The day’s storm clouds had cleared, and my room seemed flooded with moonlight despite the drawn venetian blinds. I sat up in bed, lifted up one of the slats, and observed an enormous full moon, its light transforming the familiar view from my window into something beautiful and strange.

Just then, a scream pierced the quiet. Loud enough to wake the entire house, it seemed to come from above me.

I froze, and for a moment there was an ominous silence. But then I heard more startling sounds: some kind of struggle just above my head, a crash like a piece of furniture being toppled over, and then glass shattering. And then a man’s raspy voice cried, “Help! Help! Help!” After a brief pause, he called out again. “Nico! Nico! Please… get up here.”

I heard footsteps, someone running down the hallway. There was more stomping above my head. Something heavy fell, then silence. I raced to Maddy’s room to check on her. Unbelievably, she slept on, so I returned to my room.

Had anyone else in the house heard? Maddy and I were the only ones with bedrooms on our wing. The wide playroom stood between us, and the walls of the house were thick and mostly soundproof. Even so, Linda and Amber, who slept on the floor below, must have heard the footsteps. I thought of Bianca on Mr. Rathburn’s side of the house and everyone else in the guesthouse, and wondered if the scream had woken any of them. I sat on the edge of my bed wondering what to do next when I heard voices coming from the end of the hall. One of them was Bianca’s; the other belonged to Mr. Rathburn. Apparently, Linda and Amber were there too.

“It’s nothing. One of the housekeepers had a nightmare,” he said. “You should go back to bed.”

Brenda,
I thought to myself. But I hadn’t dreamed whatever had transpired on the floor above. My nerves vibrated, and my hands trembled.

“I couldn’t possibly get back to sleep,” Bianca said. “Whoever it was, I’d fire them if I were you.”

“I’ll take care of everything,” Mr. Rathburn replied. “Linda, would you go out to the guesthouse? If they’re awake over there, let them know it was nothing. Amber, you can go back to bed. Nothing more to see here.” He laughed dryly. “Move along.”

Bianca’s voice rose again. I could hear her say something in protest, though I couldn’t make out the words.

“You’ll be fine,” I heard Mr. Rathburn tell her. “I promise, there won’t be any more excitement tonight.”

Then all was quiet, both down the hall and on the third floor. Though everyone had heard the scream, apparently only Mr. Rathburn and I had heard the scuffling and the struggle. Something told me that Mr. Rathburn would need my help after all. I changed into jeans and a T-shirt, pulled on shoes, and sat waiting until the knock on my door came at last.

“Jane?” It was Mr. Rathburn. I opened the door. He slipped in and closed it behind him. “You remember how you said you’d help me if I needed it?”

I nodded.

“We have to be quiet,” he said. “Do we have a first-aid kit?”

“There’s one in the downstairs bathroom, off the kitchen.”

“Can you go get it? And do we have any clean rags?” I nodded. “Good. Bring some to the third floor. Lots of them, as many as you can find. But be as quiet as you can.”

“Won’t I need a key?”

“Knock gently on the door at the top of the stairs. I’ll be listening for you.” I started toward the kitchen, but he called me back in an urgent whisper. “Jane! Are you afraid of blood?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” The question should have terrified me, but instead I felt strangely cool and competent — a feeling I’d had only one other time, when I got the call about my parents’ accident. That calm had accompanied me on the train back to Philadelphia, to the hospital morgue where I’d had to identify their bodies. It had enabled me to plan the funeral while my sister lay sobbing in bed and my brother was absent, off with his friends
for a two-day drinking binge. It had gotten me through the funeral and the reading of the will, and had only deserted me when I was back on campus, suddenly weak with sorrow and alone in a dorm full of people.

Acting quickly, I gathered up the supplies, careful to make as little sound as possible. When I couldn’t find any clean rags, I raided my bureau for freshly washed cotton T-shirts. I climbed the creaky stairs as quietly as I could. As soon as I knocked on the low black door at the top of the steps, it opened, and I entered a room illuminated only by the moonlight that spilled in around the drawn shades.