Other People's Baggage (13 page)

“Why, I told her. We've been best friends since childhood,” Kathy Lee said. She looked worried, her brow wrinkled and her smile long faded. “I don't understand what's going on.”

The crowd parted as Rita inched backward and I saw the Light of the Rock tent behind her. And the bright red ribbon fluttering slowly in the wind. The same ribbon I saw in the living room lobby yesterday morning. For the ribbon cutting. Takes a pretty important pair of scissors to cut such thick and special ribbon.

I quickly turned to Bobby and the sheriff. “The scissors, from Austin's chest.” I reached over and squeezed Bea's arm in apology. “Were they overly large, like you'd use for a ribbon cutting?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Bobby said. “About a foot long and solid brass.”

“Oh my Lord,” Gilda said. “I didn't even make the connection, I've been so caught up in the sinner versus saints war. We're missing a pair of scissors. Rita and I put out the supplies this morning. We had matched pairs, long and gold and sharp enough to slice a tin can, but one was gone from the box. I had to run grab my sewing shears instead.”

“Rita, you were in charge of the party supplies,” Jolene said. “I personally delivered the boxes to your office back in June. Both scissors were there, I saw them.”

Rita froze, stuck in place as everyone stared at her, waiting for an answer. And everyone included the Carters, the prosecutor, the sheriff, and the hundred or so people crowding around.

“It's…it's…” she stuttered. “It wasn't like that.” She looked over her shoulder toward the church tent, then her eyes darted over the people in the street. She was starting to panic, trapped like a witch in Salem while everyone held a burning torch.

“It wasn't like what?” Kathy Lee looked horrified. “Are you saying you killed my Daddy?”

“No, no…not really. It wasn't fair,” she said in a weak voice.

Bobby put his arm around Kathy Lee and her strong demeanor began to crumble. She leaned in to him with his hand firmly on her waist.

“Daddy treated you like family,” Kathy Lee said. “Like one of his daughters.”

“One of his daughters?” Rita choked out. “He offered me the same exact amount of money as everyone else in the square. Even that ditz who only owned that mystic beads shop for two years. Two years! I've been here my whole life. Given my life to this town. His town. And he's just going to shut me down? Shut us all down?”

She turned to Gilda for support, but she moved away to stand with Bea and her family.

“I tried to reason with Austin,” Rita said. “Show him the inn could be valuable to either project, but he refused. Said it was up to his family, not the townsfolk. He called me townsfolk! I've stuck by your bitchy, stuck up, nasty side for thirty-five years, Kathy Lee. Thirty-five years! And he called me townsfolk.” She practically spit out the last word, full of bitterness and resentment.

“So you figured the only way to keep the inn was for the Ballantyne to take it over,” I said.

“It's
my
inn!” she screamed, her fists balled at her sides. “No one's taking it over. Why can't you see that! I was the only one willing to fight for what's mine. And I got it!”

“I'm not so sure about that,” the sheriff said and reached behind him.

And with that, she ran.

Which was hard to do surrounded by a crowd with the sheriff and the prosecutor standing two feet away. But she tried. She pushed three people to the ground and shot through the opening behind her. Straight into the red ribbon in front of the Light of the Rock.

SWITCH BACK: TEN

  

Zibby and I spent the rest of the afternoon splitting our time between the Light of the Rock Revival and the Broken Spoke Casino Rally. They both turned out to be quite entertaining, considering the morning's events. Bobby stayed by Kathy Lee's side all day, helping her cope, and host, and I think she may have even smiled again.

Jolene practically glowed as she and A.J. worshipped and welcomed new flock into their fold. And Miss Bea's cheeks finally got their color back, in direct proportion with getting her family, and her town, back.

Gilda took over the Little Oak Inn temporarily while the law handled Rita Whitaker. Rita made a formal confession to the sheriff on the ride down to Dallas. Told him the entire tragedy and then never stopped talking. I guess once she got on her self-righteous soapbox, sharing her outrage at her situation and limited choices, she never stepped down.

It didn't take too much persuading to convince Mr. Ballantyne to return Little Oak to the Carter family. Especially since it was Zibby's idea. Probably take another year to make it through the legal system, but he gave his word to Miss Bea and it was settled.

With four hours to go before my return flight to Sea Pine Island, I took my final shower in the tiny bathroom with an invigorating mix of alternating hot and cold water and dressed in my wine-stained tee and paisley skirt. I'd laundered the entire outfit plus the I Heart Texas shirt in the sink the night before. I am nothing if not clean.

I placed the Texas tee on the bed next to the items from Jaya the Explorer's belongings. I carefully re-folded every item, neatly placing outfits in short stacks. Or at least how I'd coordinate them. Then using a box of Ziplocs I'd borrowed from Gilda, I packaged up all of her wet goods, then re-packed the entire suitcase, including the beautiful bottle of Kentucky whiskey. I must admit I was quite proud of myself for not breaking into the bottle over the last two days. Lastly, I stuck the I Heart Texas tee on top along with a quickly penned letter.

With two snaps to the suitcase latches, I left the Little Oak Inn and met Zibby on the sidewalk out front. I took a last look around town. It was quite a whirlwind weekend and I'd never eaten so much meat in all my life. I remembered the delightful barbeque sauce and thought I might just have to come back here and do it again someday.

 

Dear Jaya,

 

It seems the airline switched our suitcases and I must apologize for rifling through your belongings. Though I was tempted to adorn myself with your adventurer's garb, I refrained. Mostly because I couldn't possibly squeeze myself into your tiny wardrobe or your enviable miniature shoes. I did, though, indulge in your shower products, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and my suitcase-switched twin, I found myself with barely a thin bar of soap in a dusty wrapper, and a girl can only handle so much. Please accept this fashionable Texas tee as thank you for your unwitting hospitality. I hope you're off at a photo shoot in Zanzibar or on safari in Tanzania, while I'm headed to my quiet island home. Maybe our paths will cross one day.

 

Yours sincerely,

Elliott Lisbon

PART 3:

FOOL'S GOLD

A Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt Mystery Novella

(prequel to
Artifact
)

  

by

Gigi Pandian

FOOL'S GOLD: ONE

  

I stepped onto the stage of the theater. The spotlight blinded me, but after a few seconds my eyes began to adjust. The stage was nearly empty. To my left, a wooden wardrobe cabinet. To my right, a weathered whisky barrel that had seen better days. Rows of plush red seats stretched out in the dark theater, all of them vacant.

“You look awful, Jaya.” The voice filled the air, but I remained alone.

I whipped around, looking from the seats to the rafters to the wings, only to be confronted with emptiness. The backstage area had been empty as well, which is why I was now standing here in search of Sanjay.

A moment later, he appeared on the stage a few feet away from me. From where, exactly, I can't be sure. Sanjay is a magician. The Hindi Houdini. A bowler hat sat on his head, as usual, but today his outfit was a black t-shirt and jeans instead of the tuxedo he usually wore when performing.

“Nice to see you, too,” I said.

“I thought you were a good traveler.”

“You try being delayed at the Dallas airport for eight hours, then arriving in Edinburgh to find you ended up with someone else's suitcase.”

“That explains your ridiculous clothing,” Sanjay said. “I thought this magic cabinet had transported me back to 1980.”

“Very funny.” I smoothed out the florescent pink Edinburgh Fringe Festival t-shirt I was wearing, wondering whether I should have borrowed some of the vintage 1960s clothing I'd found in the suitcase that wasn't mine. It was definitely much more stylish. “At least the night clerk at the hotel was nice enough to open the hotel gift shop at 3 a.m. so I could grab a t-shirt and leggings. This t-shirt was the only thing that came remotely close to fitting. I left my clothes from the flight with the hotel's laundry service.”

“I'm surprised you didn't go shopping this morning.”

“I chose sleep.” I yawned.

“Now that I'm getting used to it,” Sanjay said, looking me up and down, “it's not so bad. I don't think I've ever seen you in pink before. Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen you in anything besides black or gray.”

“What about you? No tuxedo? I thought you liked to practice your show in full attire.”

“It's not even noon.”

“I know,” I said. “I should still be sleeping.”

Sanjay grinned. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sanjay!” A voice with a thick Scottish accent called out from under the stage. “What's the hold up?”

“My friend Jaya's here,” Sanjay called back.

A stagehand materialized on the stage next to Sanjay. As had been the case with Sanjay, I'm not sure from where he appeared.

Auburn curls stuck out around the edges of an orange ski cap. “So you're Jaya Jones,” the stagehand said. “Sanjay was all broken up that your flight didn't make it in time for you to have dinner with him last night. Can't say I blame him. I'm Ewan.”

Sanjay's face flushed as I shook Ewan's hand. I don't know why. Of course it was too bad I couldn't make it on time as planned and was instead relegated to a twenty-four-hour journey from San Francisco to Edinburgh due to bad-weather delays.

I'd only met Sanjay two months before, but he was one of those people who immediately felt like family. He was the best friend I'd made in San Francisco since moving there for my first university teaching job. I finished my PhD in history earlier in the year after completing the research for my dissertation at the British Library in London.

When Sanjay told me he was performing a magic show at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the largest performing arts festival in the world that takes place each August, I knew it was fate—or at least an excellent opportunity. A friend from when I lived in London was also going to be at the festival.

This was going to be a perfect vacation. Flight delays and switched luggage aside, I was ready to enjoy my first real vacation in ages. I'd spent the summer preparing for the four undergraduate history courses I'd be teaching that fall, and I desperately needed a break. I had two weeks before the semester started. I was going to spend this week in Edinburgh relaxing, doing a little sightseeing, and enjoying the festival.

I might have had an ulterior motive as well. I was getting over a break-up. I deserved this treat before diving into real life.

Sanjay narrowed his eyes at the stagehand and cleared his throat. “The show opens tonight,” he said, his face slowly returning to normal color. “I'm still working out the kinks of my biggest illusion, so I don't have time to take a break right now. We need to do a full run-through with light and sound as soon as the other member of the crew arrives.”

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

“You'd be up for helping?”

“Why not? I've got a little time.”

“There's one thing,” Sanjay said hesitantly. He pointed to a section of seats close to the stage. “Take a seat in the front on the left, and watch the stage carefully. That's my weak spot. I think I've got it fixed, but I haven't done an audience test yet. Ewan is helping from backstage—”

“Below-stage,” Ewan said, “if you want to be accurate.” He winked at me.

“The point being that you can't see the illusion from the proper vantage point,” Sanjay said.

“Fair enough,” Ewan said. “You sure you want her to help?”

“Why wouldn't I help?” I asked.

Ewan shrugged before walking off stage.

“What did he mean by that?” I asked Sanjay.

He gave a non-committal shrug suspiciously similar to Ewan's, and didn't meet my gaze when he spoke. “Who knows?”

“I'm ready whenever you are,” Ewan called out, his voice below us.

I jumped down from the stage and sat in the first row.

“Who,” Sanjay began in a booming theatrical voice, “would like to help me ensure the integrity of this illusion? If the lovely lady in the first row with shoulder-length black hair and dangerous heels would assist me?”

I rolled my eyes and hopped back on stage.

“Have we ever met before?” Sanjay asked.

“You can skip the banter,” I said. “There's nobody in the audience.”

Sanjay sighed. Even the sigh was an overdone theatrical sigh. “Don't you know anything about rehearsing?” he asked.

“Fine.” I said. “I don't know you, and am not your confederate.”

“Thank you. Now, please select one of the following implements to tie my wrists behind my back.”

He lifted a black cloth from the top of the whisky barrel, revealing two types of handcuffs and three kinds of rope. He moved the objects of restraint from the lid, handed them to me, and placed the lid of the barrel on the stage floor. While I inspected the rope and handcuffs, Sanjay took his bowler hat in his hands and rolled his neck back and forth before returning the hat to his head.

“I'll take these two,” I said, holding up the more menacing-looking pair of handcuffs and a piece of thick rope.

“Two,” Sanjay murmured. “Very nice.”

He turned away from me and placed his wrists together behind his back.

“Make them as tight as you'd like,” he said.

So I did.

I wouldn't have thought a person could fit into the barrel, especially a man who was five foot ten with his hands tied behind his back, but Sanjay eased inside with little effort.

“If you'll place the lid securely on the barrel before returning to your seat,” he said from within his confines.

As I secured the lid, I noticed the barrel rested on a footed stand that raised it several inches off the floor, so Sanjay wouldn't be able to go through a trap door in the stage.

For a few moments after I returned to my seat, nothing happened. Then the barrel began to rattle. Slowly, at first, for over a minute. As I began to wonder what on earth Sanjay was doing in there, the rattling grew more violent. Just as it was shaking so hard I was sure the lid would burst open, the movement ceased.

The stage was dead silent.

In the silence, a wisp of smoke escaped from the lid of the barrel, followed by a burst of yellow flames through a single hole cut out of the barrel. That couldn't be right.

“Sanjay?”

Silence.

“Sanjay, are you all right?”

More silence.

The flames grew brighter.

“Ewan!” I yelled. “Is this supposed to happen?”

“He's an expert,” he called back from below the stage. “I'm sure he'll escape in time.” He paused. “Uh…pretty sure.”

“You mean he's still in there?”

With my heart thudding in my chest, I jumped onto the stage and ran toward the flaming whisky barrel.