The Impersonator (12 page)

“When will that be?”

“Soon, I hope. I’d rather my cousins believed me, as do my grandmother, my uncle, and your mother. Anastasia’s case is quite different. She has no near relatives left who can identify her or ask her questions that only the real Anastasia could answer. They were all killed by the Reds. I can prove I’m Jessie because I know things only Jessie would know.”

“Like what?”

“Like your eighth birthday present was a pony you named Muffin. And that your Mother used to read to us from the Oz books at bedtime. Caroline’s favorite was
Ozma of Oz
. I forget your favorite, Valerie.”

The twins gaped like carp. “How did you know that?” Caroline gasped.

“Only one way,” I said. Buster was standing next to Star with one huge hand cupped to give Caroline a leg up. He hoisted her into the saddle as if she weighed no more than a kitten. “Now go on, have a good ride. I’m going for a walk.”

Still speechless, the girls took off at a sedate trot. I waited for them to get out of earshot before I turned to Buster with an encouraging smile. Time to find out what he knew.

“It’s good to see you again, Buster.”

“I knew you come back.” He gave a broad wink as he began collecting the currycombs and brushes.

I winked back. “You’re still working here,” I said.

“I come Sundays. And sometimes Anton sick.”

“I’m glad you’re still here.”

I followed him inside. It was a spacious building with eight stalls, five horses, a tack room, a tiny apartment for the groom, and a loft. He pointed to an empty stall.

“She gone.”

He meant Jessie’s horse. “Yes, I heard. I was very sad.”

“Old.”

“Yes. Did you bury her?”

“In the field. I love them.”

The horses. “Yes, I know. They love you.”

“They love me.” A calico barn cat wove in and out between his legs, purring contentedly. “I knew you come back.” He bent to stroke the cat, then looked up at me with a frown. “I kep’ the treasure safe.”

“You did?”

“You want to see? I kep’ it safe.”

He showed me to a small corner room furnished with an iron bed and washstand. The walls were not finished, just studs and outside clapboards, but Buster reached up to a spot just below the ceiling where a board had been nailed between two studs, creating a hidden pocket. Without a crowbar or anything but his bare hands, he wrenched the board away. Behind it was a box about the size of three books, coated with seven years of dirt.

The sudden motion also tore off a wasps’ nest that had been concealed in the compartment, releasing a swarm of furious insects bent on revenge. Buster snatched the box, and we made a dash for the stable door, swatting at our attackers as we ran. Outside at last, we lost them.

I collapsed on the grass, panting. “Did they get you?” I cried, taking stock of my own injuries. “They got my arm twice. And my ankle, right through my stocking.”

Buster crouched beside me, holding out the box for me to take. His hands revealed several stings.

“Stay here,” he said. “I know what to do.” And before I could caution him, he headed back to the stables.

Left alone, I opened the clasp on the box. It was full of agates—blue, green, red, pink, white—all collected, I presumed, by Jessie and Buster seven or eight years ago. There were also several large glass beads of a kind I had never seen. Clear with tiny, multicolored flowers inside, they seemed an artistic miracle. Beneath them all was a lock of auburn hair tied with a scrap of ribbon.

Just then, Buster emerged from the stables carrying a tin cup in one hand and a toothbrush and an orange box of baking soda in the other. “They all gone now. I know what to do.”

“The agates are so pretty,” I said, as he stirred some baking soda into the water with the end of his toothbrush until he had a thick paste. “And these colored beads are beautiful!”

“Bennis beads.”

“Bennis beads?”

“You said they are Bennis beads.”

“I don’t remember,” I said.

“I remember.”

The big man stopped stirring and sat beside me on the grass. Wordlessly, he set the tin cup between us and began smearing the paste on his hands. I did the same, dabbing it on my arm where one of the wretches had gotten me but good. To reach the sting on my ankle, I removed my shoe and rolled down my stocking. Buster’s eyes followed my every move, locking onto my bare foot and growing wider and wider as I applied the baking soda.

I guessed he didn’t see a lot of female bare feet. “One of ’em got me good here,” I said, but Buster remained awkwardly silent. I glanced up at his face. His mouth hung open, his eyes bulged. He looked at me like I had some awful disease.

“You’re not Jessie. You’re not Jessie. Where is Jessie?”

“What do you mean, Buster? Of course I’m Jessie.”

“You’re not Jessie.” He scrambled backward like a crab, repeating the words over and over, louder each time. I nearly panicked, fearing he would leap up and run to the main house, shouting all the way that I was an imposter.

“Wait, Buster! Wait! Don’t go! Tell me why I’m not Jessie.”

He paused and squinted down at my foot. It was something to do with my bare ankle.

Finally he pointed and said, “Jessie has red on her foot there. You’re not Jessie.”

“Oh, that. The red place. It went away.”

“You’re not Jessie. I want Jessie to come home.”

Here it was my first full day, and I’d blown the con. Jessie had some sort of red mark on her foot. A birthmark probably. Oliver would never have known. Buster knew. He must have walked barefoot with Jessie along the shore, hunting these very agates. He knew about the birthmark.

And if he went up to the house now and blabbed, the whole swindle was over.

“Wait! Wait, Buster. Come sit here beside me and let me tell you the secret. You can keep a secret, right? You kept the treasure secret all those years.”

“Jessie’s treasure.” Glaring at me, he snatched the box out of my hands and clutched it to his chest, but at least he didn’t run off.

“Sit with me, and I’ll tell you the secret.”

Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground.

I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Buster. I’m not Jessie. I couldn’t fool you, could I? But I’m pretending to be Jessie, so I can find her. You could help me find Jessie, if you would. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He did not respond.

“I’m trying to figure out where Jessie went. You knew about her treasure. You might know where she went. Did she tell you where she was going? Did she give you her treasure to keep until she returned?”

Buster pulled up bits of grass and let the wind carry them away. He did not look at me.

“You love Jessie, right?”

His eyes filled with water, but still he said nothing.

“I love Jessie too. Maybe together we can find her.”

Just saying the words released a weight from my soul. After weeks of pretending that Jessie’s fate was none of my concern, I had admitted the truth. Maybe it was because we shared the pain of being orphaned at a young age; maybe it was the way I had immersed myself in her life. Whatever the reason, I despised the way Uncle Oliver waved his niece aside like an unpleasant smell. So she wasn’t sweet and demure; she was scrappy and tough. I liked her all the more for it. In vaudeville, they’d say she had heart. I wanted to know what had happened to Jessie.

“Buster, did Jessie tell you she was leaving?”

He shook his head mournfully.

“Tell me about Jessie. Did you hunt agates together?”

He squeezed the precious box against his chest and nodded. “We go in pirate caves.”

“You and Jessie loved horses.”

He nodded. “We go on long rides. Just me and Jessie. The twins are too little to come.”

“Long rides? Where?”

He waved his arm carelessly. “Long rides. Picnics. We hunt gold in the river. We visit the Indians. We build forts.”

“Indians? There are Indians living nearby?” He waved his arm again. “What kind of Indians?”

“Indians.”

“Did you and Jessie have Indian friends?”

He nodded.

I had wondered about Jessie running away. She was unhappy and alone. If she had run away, how did she go? She hadn’t taken her horse that day. Maybe she went on foot. If she had friends nearby, would she not have gone there first? Had the dead Indian girl come from that community? Had she been Jessie’s friend years ago? Did it matter?

“Could we go riding one day? Could you take me to the Indians?”

He nodded.

I stood. “Remember, Buster, this is our secret. Like the treasure box. Don’t tell anyone about our secret, or we won’t ever find Jessie. Promise?”

He squinted up at me and slowly handed me Jessie’s box of agates. I took it as a gesture of trust. I hoped I was right.

“Thank you, Buster. I’ll keep them safe in her room.” Then I winked, but Buster didn’t wink back.

18

I retraced my steps through the woods toward the house. Henry’s fancy Packard Phaeton was sitting in the driveway. As I walked by, its owner came out the front door and ambled down the steps. Bad timing. There was no skirting him now.

“Good morning, Henry,” I said pleasantly, holding Jessie’s box out of sight in the folds of my skirt.

“And a good morning to you, cousin,” he replied sarcastically, mocking me with the last word. “What, not riding with the twins? Let’s see, it couldn’t be because you can’t ride, could it?”

“I haven’t ridden in years, but I don’t believe one forgets such things. Sorry, Henry, I’m afraid it’s because I have no riding habit.”

“A good excuse, but it won’t last long. And neither will you. Enjoy playacting while you can. The trustees’ investigation will soon expose you for the fake you are, and as added insurance, I’ve launched my own inquiry into your background. I have friends in many places, high and low.”

I shrugged to show how little I cared. “Suit yourself. It doesn’t matter to me how you spend your money, as long as it
is
your money and not my father’s.”

That barb struck sharply. His handsome face reddened. “Carr Industries is mine! And Ross’s. It should have come to us to begin with. Our father didn’t deserve to be cast aside like he was. Uncle Lawrence was sure as hell no model of virtuous living. He just managed to conceal his indiscretions from his parents.” Then his features relaxed and he chuckled merrily, switching on the charming smile. “Look at us, scrapping like naughty children. And you’re certainly no child, are you?” He treated me to a once-over that I’m sure he thought was debonair. “Let’s be honest here. I know you’re not Jessie, and it’s only a matter of days until you’re exposed. You’ll be left with nothing but a long prison sentence when we charge you with fraud. Why not let me make your life easy? I’ll give you a handsome settlement to disappear.” When I made to walk past him, his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. “No, hear me out. This charade of yours is all about money. So I’ll give you money. Just name the amount. I’ll set up a bank account for you wherever you like, all legal, proper, and risk-free. You’ll be amply repaid for all the trouble you’ve gone to in impersonating my cousin. You can leave safely, and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

I jerked out of his grasp and nearly dropped the treasure box as I entered the house, taking the steps two at a time. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t follow me inside—but not so sure that I didn’t check over my shoulder. His offer rattled me more than I cared to admit. Had I been alone in this, I might have been tempted to consider it.

I carried Jessie’s box up to my room. I wiped off the dirt and set it on the dressing table. On an impulse, I rummaged through her jewelry drawer until I found a simple gold chain. A moment later, the beautiful Bennis beads were around my neck. The necklace would be my amulet. I wasn’t superstitious, but a good-luck charm couldn’t hurt. It was something of Jessie’s, something that would protect me. I felt absurdly pleased to have it on.

I glanced out the window before going back outdoors. Henry and the Packard had gone. I was relieved no one had witnessed our little contretemps. At least, I didn’t think so.

King caught sight of me and bounded up. “Hello, sweetheart.” I patted his head. “I’m going for a walk. Do you want to come?” His tail wagged furiously. “All right, let’s go!”

Just past the garden wall we plunged into the fantasy forest with its neat lines of lean, young trees planted six rows deep and offset like squares on a checkerboard. When we emerged from these sheltering boughs, the ocean panorama struck me full force.

The sea wind whipped my hair out of its pins and stung my eyes as I squinted up and down the desolate coastal highlands, then west to a fog bank far out to sea. A hundred feet in front of me, the land dropped out of sight as if cut by a giant knife and sliced into the sea. Every now and then as the ocean heaved, I could make out jagged black reefs lurking just beneath the foam. Offshore, massive boulders as tall as the cliff on which I stood jutted from the ocean floor like sentinels guarding the coast from marauders, preventing any ships from coming near this rough stretch of coastline. Eons ago, before the sea had torn them away, those boulders had been attached to the land under my feet. It made me wonder how long before storms and surf cut off the slice I was standing on.

The sound of waves against a pebbly beach pulled me toward the edge. King barked a warning that I could barely hear over the wind in my ears. Without getting too close—who knew if this was the morning for the edge to crumble away?—I looked down into turbulence, a sheer drop greater than the distance between the highest catwalk and the stage floor, to where a not-so-pacific ocean showed off its muscle.

To my right, a thicket of bent coastal pines hugged the edge of the cliff. A path into the middle of it suggested the way to the beach and a better view of the northern coastline. King and I followed the trail as it led to the edge of the cliff and from there, down to the beach and the sea caves I had heard about from Oliver. The caves Jessie and Buster had enjoyed exploring. I was about to descend when I felt eyes on my back.

I wheeled around.