The Sapphire Pendant (40 page)

“Why me?”

“Just do it,” she snapped.

Jessie began to lather the oil on his back and immediately felt him relax. She sighed relieved. “It’s working.”

Teresa shook her head and said in a quiet voice, “It’s not the oil. It’s you.”

* * *

Outside Syrah kicked around a soccer ball in the front yard while Teresa and Jessie took care of Kenneth. Her heart began to pound when she saw a gray Mercedes come up the drive. She watched a woman step out, dressed in khakis and a white blouse. She recognized her from the office. She walked up to her before the woman could come any closer to the house.
 

“Hi,” Syrah said suspicious.

The woman smiled. The expression was guarded, but sincere. “Hi, my name is Stephanie Radson. Is Jessie around?”

“No.”

She hesitated. “I see. Perhaps you could help me. I believe you found my bracelet at the office and I would like it back.”

Syrah clenched her teeth. Ever since she’d seen the ad in the paper she’d been worried. If only the woman had advertised sooner the reward would have been so sweet. But it was too late now. She couldn’t have it. If Aunt Jessie found out she would know for sure that it had been stolen. Then she might tell Uncle.
 

Syrah pulled her face into a worried frown and wrung her hands. “Do you really need it back? I gave it to Aunt Jessie because she was sad about...about her father. He made jewelry you know.” Her voice grew soft. “I said I bought it for her. It would make me look bad if you told her I found it.” She lowered her eyes. “I don’t have much money but—”

Stephanie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, forget it. I can buy another one.” She pointed at her, trying to sound stern. “But next time it’s better not to claim something that isn’t yours.”

Syrah fought a grin, keeping her gaze lowered. “I will.”

* * *

Stephanie returned from her errand with mixed feelings. She slammed her car door and walked up to her house, her heels pounding against the concrete drive. She was a softie and she knew it. When Syrah had looked up at her with those large, round, worried eyes, she knew she wouldn’t tell on her. Unfortunately, explaining that to Brooke would be a problem.

Brooke met Stephanie in the foyer, her hand griping the stair post. “Where’s the bracelet?” she asked.

Stephanie hung up her jacket. “I’ll get you another one.”

Brooke’s knuckles paled as she tightened her hold. “But you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s one of a kind you—” She moved her hand with impatience. “I’ll get it myself.”

Stephanie shut the closet and turned to her. “You can’t. I said Syrah could have it. She was so proud to give it to Jessie as a gift.”

Her voice fell flat. “Was she?”

“I’ll buy you another bracelet. Two if you want.”

Brooke forced a smile to ease her sister’s anxiety. She touched her cheek. “Fine. You did your best.”

Stephanie relaxed and headed for the stairs. “We can go shopping tomorrow. Donovan’s Antiques if you wish. It will be fun.”

“Yes.” Brook waited until Stephanie was gone then picked up the phone. Just as she thought, the kid was a shark like her father. She would have to handle things a different way. “I’ve found the bracelet,” she said once someone picked up. “And I want you to get it back. You’ll be going to the annual Preston barbecue.”

* * *

Syrah lay on her bed thinking about Stephanie’s surprise visit two days ago. She sat up when Jessie came into her room and handed her a large rectangular box.

She frowned at it. “What’s this for?”

Jessie folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “Michelle and I thought you’d like it.”

Syrah swallowed, wondering if they would still like her if they knew what she had done.

“Go on. Open it.”

She opened the box. “Pajamas!” She raced into her closet to try it on. She quickly dressed and came out to show Jessie, but Jessie had a strange look on her face. “What’s wrong?”
 

“What happened to your back?”

She felt her gut clench. “That boy hit me pretty hard.”

“Oh, I see,” Jessie said quickly, trying to dispel the panic in Syrah’s eyes. But Jessie had been in a lot of fights when she was a kid and had never ended up with marks like those. Jessie had seen Syrah’s reflection in the mirror and the marks stamped on the girl’s back. They looked eerily similar to the ones Kenneth had. Syrah was lying to protect someone. Who would she try to protect? Jessie felt sick as a horrible possibility froze in her mind of who that person was: her uncle.

Was that what Kenneth had meant when he’d said Syrah wasn’t safe with him? Had the tiger she suspected that lurked beneath his cool exterior lashed out in the privacy of his home? Had what had happened to him in the past effected his present actions? She knew abusers could be consummate actors and Kenneth was one of the best. Why else would he want to send Syrah back to an alcoholic father instead of keeping her?
He knew he was a danger to her and these bruises were proof
.
 

* * *

“Jessie, will you please calm down?” Michelle said.

She continued to pace the office and bite her nails. How could she be calm with such thoughts on her heart?

“You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“I’m not. I saw them with my own eyes. Kenneth has the same bruises too. Ask Teresa about them. She even had a vision.”

Teresa quietly organized a bouquet of sunflowers.

“Well, Teresa,” Michelle said. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

Jessie stopped pacing. “But you saw a vision. I know you did.”

“What did you see?” Michelle asked.

Teresa threw up her hands exasperated. “What does it matter? You’ve never believed my visions before. Why would you care now?”

Michelle and Jessie shared a look and sighed. Jessie finally said, “Okay, we’re sorry.”
 

“We might not understand them,” Michelle added. “But we respect your gifts. Please tell us what you saw.”

Teresa shut her eyes, her brows furrowed in pain. “I saw a man hitting a child. I didn’t see faces, but I know it was little boy and he was terrified.”
 

“It was Syrah,” Jessie said.

“Syrah is a girl.”

“She can look like a boy sometimes.”
 

Teresa shook her head. “It wasn’t her.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do! I know that Kenneth would never hurt a child and it’s bad form to accuse him of such a thing. I don’t believe it.”

“Can you believe that the upstanding Mr. Preston was capable of what he did to Kenneth?” Jessie asked.

“I can’t imagine anyone hurting a child,” Teresa said.

Jessie bit her lip. “Well, people do and no amount of denial will change that. Something terrible was going on in the Preston household and none of us suspected it. We cannot ignore the facts we have now. I think we should keep Syrah with us for a few days while I figure something out.”

Michelle rested her chin in her hand. “I still think you’re jumping to conclusions. Why haven’t you considered Eddie?”

Jessie leaned against the desk. “Because why would Kenneth send her back to the very man who abuses her?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know. Perhaps he’s never seen the bruises.”

She suddenly felt ill. Michelle was probably right. Kenneth had limited time with Syrah and she never wore halter tops or shorts nothing to reveal the scars…just like her Uncle. He didn’t know and she would have to be the one to tell him. “Oh, no.”

“First bring Syrah to the house,” Teresa said, sensing Jessie’s conflicting thoughts. “Then we’ll figure out what to do.”
 

Jessie waited until Kenneth left for work. She told Syrah they were going to have a sleepover at her house and Syrah convinced her to take Dion along. The doorbell rang while Jessie dumped their bags in the foyer. She opened the door and stared at the visitor: Mrs. Preston. She was a handsome woman. Her strong, sturdy frame gave her peach summer dress a sophisticated air, while her too small pointed high-heels hinted at her vanity. She had a face that had been beautiful in youth—round mink eyes with a gumdrop nose—but time had turned it harsh and lofty. A cloud of light brown curls surrounded her face.

“I had to see for myself,” she said in a rough, yet cultured tone. She lifted Jessie’s hand and studied the ring. “So it’s true. He got himself a little something to settle down with.” She released Jessie’s hand and continued her study. “You’re dark, but you’ll do. I’m surprised he’s marrying a’tal. He won’t make good a husband.”

Jessie felt her skin grow cold, thinking of the torture Mr. Preston had put his sons through. Wondering how this woman could have let it happen. It was at that moment that she understood the mask’s creator.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No.” She spit out the word determined not to reveal what she knew.

“Good.” Mrs. Preston nodded, satisfied. “This one doesn’t need children.”

Jessie took a step back from the scrutinizing gaze. “Would you like to come in?”

She sniffed. “And see all his trophies about the house like him a big, big man?” She shook her head. “I’d rather pray for his soul. I’ll pray for yours too.” She offered Jessie one last glance then turned and headed to her car.

Jessie watched her go. She’d never liked Mrs. Preston’s arrogant ways, but she knew her words had truth.
 

Syrah came around the corner.

She shut the door. “You just missed your grandmother.”

Syrah shrugged nonchalant. “I know.”

She didn’t find the girl’s indifference alarming—Mrs. Preston was far from the type of grandmother one could love. “Come. Let’s go.”

* * *

“At last we can get this garage cleared up,” Teresa said, trying to be happy about the new situation.
 

“Give me a couple of hours and you’ll get the surprise of your life,” Jessie said, glad to be put to work.
 

“Syrah and I are in the kitchen if you need us.”

Jessie looked down at Dion. He stared up at her with his friendly, crossed-eyed gaze. His tongue hung out as though he were smiling. “So, Dion, I guess it’s you and me.”
 

The dog wagged his tail, shaking his entire back end.

Jessie hummed to herself as she worked her mind clear as she lifted and carried things. Major cleaning always helped calm her. Michelle would be pleasantly surprised when she got home. She had been complaining about the garage for months. Jessie reached for a pair of shears on top of an overcrowded shelf. Suddenly, the shelf collapsed. Everything toppled to the ground.
 

Stunned, she stood still for a moment then a searing pain hit her. It felt like a javelin shot through her ankle. She dropped to the ground as blood rushed like a broken faucet from her wound. Her gaze fell on the ceramic pot that had struck her. It now lay in pieces near her feet. The amount of blood scared her and the world grew hazy. She called out her sister’s name.

Kenneth heard the scream as he drove up to the garage. It ripped through his ears like nails against a chalkboard. He leaped out of the car as Dion came running towards him, barking with blood on his paws. He rushed to the garage, his heart pounding as images of Syrah injured flashed through his mind. He halted like a unplugged robot when he found Jessie on the cement ground in a pool of blood. He fell to his knees beside her. Teresa and Syrah followed close behind him.

“Aunt Jessie!”

Teresa held Syrah from rushing to her. “My God, what happened?” she cried.

“Where are you hurt?” Kenneth asked, keeping his voice neutral so that Jessie wouldn’t panic, although his insides were twisting into knots.

“My ankle,” she said in a faint voice.

Teresa grabbed a hose, turned it on low pressure and began to clean the wound, but Jessie arched her back in pain, begging her to stop.

Kenneth surveyed the garage. “Do you have a towel or something to wrap her foot?”

“Only this?” Teresa held up a dirty towel then tossed it down. She grabbed Syrah’s hand. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”

He swore. “That’ll take too long.” He took a deep breath as if preparing to jump into a freezing lake then tore his shirt off and wrapped it around her ankle. The blood quickly seeped through. He ripped off his undershirt, ignoring the startled gasp behind him. He wrapped it even tighter around the ankle, hoping to stop the bleeding.

Jessie tried to push his hand away. “You’re hurting me!”

“I know, Jas, but I have to do this.”

She pounded his back; tears trailed down her face. “Let go, you’re hurting me.”

“Bear with me, Jas. Relax, breathe deep and bear with me.”

Jessie fell back and watched as the ceiling spun round and round.

The bleeding eventually stopped and Kenneth opened the bandage to see the wound. He sighed in relief. “The wound is small, but you’ll probably need stitches.”

He picked her up and headed for his car. Teresa retrieved Jessie’s handbag and a jacket.
 

“I’ll take care of everything,” Kenneth assured her, as he buckled Jessie in the backseat.
 

Teresa handed him a small travel pillow and throw blanket. “I know,” she said with serious eyes. “I trust you.”

Kenneth and Jessie made an interesting pair entering the emergency room: Kenneth shirtless with bloody jeans and Jessie dangling like a rag doll in his arms with bloody shirts tied around her ankle. It was more the appearance than the actual injury that had them serviced quickly, though they had to suffer through the routine questions. Kenneth was aware of how people stared at him. He felt exposed—naked—as curious eyes tried to understand the ugly marks that marred his body. He shifted uneasily in his chair as they sat in the waiting room, with Jessie’s foot elevated on a hard plastic chair.
 

“What happened to you, son?” an older man with bright silver red hair asked concern in his green eyes.

Kenneth cleared his throat. “Uh, a fight.”

“Over a woman, I bet.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “They aren’t worth it. They get in your blood and torment you. Nasty creatures these women can be sometimes. When I was—”