27
AFTER A CAUTIOUS early morning drive—emergency break in hand—with Emily following, Winna dropped her car off for repair. With Isabelle strapped in her car seat behind them, they headed down North Avenue toward First Street intent on a look at Adolph Whitaker’s boyhood home.
What a pretty woman, Winna thought, looking at Emily in a rayon print skirt and a bright red sleeveless blouse tied in a knot at the waist. A row of silver bracelets jangled on her arm as she turned the wheel.
“When will your car be ready?” Emily asked, tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind one ear.
“He thought this afternoon—said he’d leave a message on my answering machine.” Winna laughed. “You know, maybe I should look into getting one of those mobile phones.”
“You can’t have one until I get one. But you can afford a new car, Mom,” she scolded. “How old is that car anyway?”
“Only six years—I love ‘that car.’”
“What on earth for?” She gave her the look. “Why don’t you let Hugh help you find a new car. After last night—”
“It was only the brakes.”
Emily heaved a sigh of defeat and rolled her eyes.
North Avenue evoked memories for Winna: Johnny’s red hot convertible, nights parked under the flashing neon lights at the Top Hat Drive In, Johnny’s face cast in alternating blue and pink light as uniformed car-hops slid trays of burgers, fries, and frosty mugs of root beer through the window.
She looked at Emily, fresh and cool at the wheel of her air-conditioned car. She wanted to tell her about those days, how different things were. But would she be interested? She doubted it.
Emily suggested they stop for coffee and pulled into the parking lot of a diner. They got out, retrieved the baby from her car seat, and went inside. Almost immediately after they sat down in an empty booth, Isabelle began to fuss and Emily opened her blouse to nurse. They ordered coffee.
“Well, Mom?” Emily said, giving her mother a sideways glance. “You haven’t said a word about your dinner with John.”
“I haven’t?”
“No.”
“Then I must have a reason.” She patted her daughter’s hand to soften the blow. “Did Chloe tell you she planned to crash our party?”
“Chloe told me nothing—just wanted to know where you were.”
“Then you don’t know,” she said. “They got married yesterday by a justice of the peace.”
“No kidding. You two are so different—polar opposites. She’s so off the cuff, so New Age, and you’re so traditional. I have to say that you are much more tolerant of her weird beliefs than she is of your weird beliefs.”
“I am? What do you mean?”
“Well, you politely listen to stuff about Juno, but she can’t stand to hear a word about Jesus.”
“Juno and Jesus—do I go around talking about Jesus?”
“No, but—”
“Look, honey, I’m not that tolerant.”
“I think you’re both nuts,” Emily said with a smile.
“Just wait till you are old and life has done a number on you. You’ll want a place of peace, a belief in something larger than you and your little life.”
Emily shrugged, removed the sleeping baby from her breast, and rebuttoned her blouse. With Isabelle settled on the booth beside her, Emily’s expression darkened.
“You know, it’s just sinking in.” Emily slapped the flat of her hand against her forehead just like Walt used to do. “I don’t believe it!”
“What don’t you believe?”
“Am I crazy or paranoid? Is it a coincidence that Chloe got married just days after your lawyer finalized the paper work on her inheritance and everything is settled except the sale of the house?”
“Shame on you,” Winna said.
“I mean it. I don’t like this. Todd is in line to inherit millions if anything happens to you—like driving off a mountain because your brakes don’t work.”
“So are you. I can’t believe you think I need to worry about this,” she said, surprised that she felt hurt.
“Mom,” Emily said, looking concerned, “please. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. But ever since you found those letters—and told me the story about Whitaker’s death on a train—I’ve had death on my mind.”
“Well, darling girl, just get it off your mind—at least where it concerns me.”
EMILY’S MINI-VAN headed west on North Avenue and turned left on First Street. First Street was exactly that: the first street running north and south on the west end of town. In her youth, nothing much lay beyond First Street except for a flat alkali encrusted wasteland and the road traveling west to the river and the Utah border. Now the city had spread beyond First Street to include industrial development and a new shopping district.
“What’s the number of the house?” Emily asked.
Winna reached for her glasses and the notebook in her lap. “357.”
They passed a gas station and a string of small stores and businesses. “Here’s 353—and 355—and 359,” Winna said, scanning the left side of the street as they passed. “Where’s 357?”
“It’s gone,” Emily said, slowing to a crawl. “It must have been where that construction site we passed was.”
As Winna’s heart sank, Emily drove to the end of the block and doubled back. She pulled to a stop in front of a vacant lot where shirtless construction workers lolled in the shade of a dump truck. The frame for a new building sat in the burning sun.
“Look at the sign, Mom.”
Opening Soon!
Spudnuts
Coffee & Donuts
Western Slope Construction Company
Emily looked confused. “That’s John Hodell’s company, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Winna said, disappointed that the missing house would never add to her growing picture of Adolph Whitaker’s life. “John is partners with my friend Kate’s husband, Jim Cross.”
Emily stared past her mother as the dump truck, loaded with debris, slowly lumbered off the lot onto First Street. “Doesn’t Todd work for them?”
They drove home without speaking. Emily had the wisdom to keep her thoughts to herself. Winna knew what she was thinking because she was thinking it too. Trembling inside she began to wonder—it couldn’t be true, though, this was real life, not a TV drama. No one had tampered with her brakes.
28
BEFORE THEY REACHED the house on Seventh Street, Isabelle had dissolved into tears and Emily was agitated. Wondering how a strapped-in mother—or grandmother—is supposed to come to the aid of an infant she cannot reach, Winna said, “We didn’t have these contraptions when you were little—no seatbelts and no baby seat traps. How in hell are you supposed to get to a kid you can’t even see?”
“You are supposed to pay attention to your driving,” Emily groaned.
“Honey, if you pull over I’ll—”
Emily raised her voice a notch higher and stepped on the gas. “We’re almost there.” She raced down Seventh Street. After several blocks, she turned on Chipeta, pulled into the drive, and brought her van to a stop by the kitchen door. Winna got out and gathered the weeping Isabelle into her arms. She did her best to nuzzle her into a smile as Emily headed for the door.
“Wait, honey, I locked it,” Winna called.
Emily had already turned the knob. The door opened. “You must have forgotten,” she said.
“What the hell,” Emily cried, stepping into the kitchen. “My God, there’s glass all over the floor!” Someone had broken the window in the door, reached in, and turned the knob.
“Emily, get out of that house right now!” Winna yelled.
“No one’s here,” she called from somewhere beyond the kitchen. “It’s a huge mess.”
Wailing baby in arms, Winna stepped inside. Every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen had been emptied onto the floor. She could hear Emily calling to her from the front of the house.
“They’v
e searched everything—what a disaster.”
Winna headed for the living room arriving in time to see her daughter disappear into the library. The room was a shambles. In the parlor, the sofa was turned upside down with its dust cloth ripped away, drawers had been emptied, and the old rug was thrown back at the corners. It looked like a cyclone had blown through the room.
THE POLICE, JOHN, and Chloe arrived soon after Winna called them. A tour of the whole house revealed that only one room upstairs had been searched—Winna’s bedroom. Someone had tried to dig up the cellar floor. The police believed that Winna had not been gone long enough for all the damage to have taken place that morning. They surmised that the basement may have been dug up at any time. Winna hadn’t been down there since John looked at the furnace for her, even before she had seen the light in the attic.
At first inventory, a number of things were missing from the house: a small diamond and pearl sunburst, a diamond lavaliere, and a pair of zircon earrings, all from Juliana’s jewelry box. A small silk prayer rug was missing from the library, two large Chinese vases and several pieces of sculpture had been removed from the library and parlor. The police stayed for an hour, dusting for prints, making a list of the stolen property, asking questions.
“Mrs. Jessup?” The officer in charge wanted Winna’s attention. “According to my information, this is the second break-in this week.”
“Yes. Someone searched the attic—when was it? Friday night, I think,” Winna admitted, quite aware that she had not told Emily or Chloe about the first break-in. By the looks on their faces, Winna knew that she would soon face their questions.
The officer made notes on his clipboard, then looked up at Winna. “Mrs. Jessup, this house is a magnet for trouble. I’d suggest you install a security system or at the very least deadbolts on all the doors.”
As Chloe, Emily, and John wandered around aimlessly in the parlor looking stunned as they tried to restore order, Winna left for the kitchen to get the pitcher of iced tea waiting in the refrigerator. She returned with the tea tray and glasses and put them on the coffee table.
“Let’s turn the sofa over so we can sit down,” Winna said.
“So, Mom, when were you planning to tell me about the first break-in?” Emily asked, grabbing one leg of the sofa and lifting with John. Have you told John about your brake failure?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to worry him.”
“What brake failure?” John asked.
“Oh, I had trouble with my brakes on the way home from your house last night.”
Chloe was the first to sit down, her expression grim. “You didn’t tell me either, Winna.” Suddenly, she jumped up from her seat, excited. “I’ll bet they’re looking for the jewels.”
“Chloe, the jewels are a fiction—wish fulfillment for our romantic grandmother,” Winna said.
“Whether or not they are,” Emily said, “the burglar may think it’s a true story.”
“No one knows about Gramma’s story except the family and John,” Winna said, growing tired of all the guessing.
“I told Juno and she said the jewels exist—they are real, Winna.”
“What!” Emily shrieked, looking as if she could strangle her aunt.
“No.” Chloe said, swift in her attempt to erase a wrong impression. “I didn’t mean to imply that Juno told anyone or had anything to do with this. She wouldn’t do that—this,” she said, indicating the mess.
“I can’t believe you told her, Chloe. I know you trust her, but I can’t say I do,” Winna said.
“Believe it or not, Winna, when I talk to Juno it’s like talking to a priest.”
John looked at her through narrowing eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Just that Juno says the jewels aren’t in the house anymore.”
Long ago, Winna had learned to suspend her judgments when Chloe’s sentences began with ‘Juno says,’ but John looked at Chloe with growing alarm. “Who is Juno?” he asked.
“She’s Chloe’s astrologer.”
“She’s psychic too,” Chloe added. “She says Dad hid the jewels in Unaweep Canyon—that’s why he went there. She says the canyon is both a cursed and blessed place for our family—that we’ll find the answer to our spiritual longing there—and we’ll find the jewels.”
“Have you ever been to Unaweep Canyon?” Winna asked.
“No, but the Stream of Life is gathering there next month, and I’m going,” she said in a small voice, kicking off her sandals, tucking her bare feet underneath her.
“Wait till you see it. It’s huge. We may find something spiritual there, but we’ll never find something as small as jewelry.”
Chloe lifted her blonde mane off her neck and looked hard at Winna. “Juno says they belong to us and finding them will break the curse that’s been on this family.”
“I don’t think there’s a curse on the family,” Winna said. “What makes Juno think our family is cursed?” Winna’s anger was obvious. She wanted an answer.
“Anyone with any sensitivity or spiritual awareness would come to that conclusion. Look at how stunted they all were. Dad was a momma’s boy, his father was a wimp—his mother was a controlling witch. None of them knew how to love.”
“The family wasn’t any screwier than anyone else’s family,” Winna said as a powerful hot flash almost flattened her.
“Of course it was,” Chloe insisted.
“Chloe, I suppose you think the last of the screwy people died with your father’s generation,” Emily jabbed.
“Well, Winna is a bit of an eccentric,” Chloe said, trying to make light of it.
“Just Winna?”
Chloe looked like she knew she was in over her head. “We’re getting nowhere here. Juno says the curse goes way back to—” She threw up her hands, jumped up from the sofa, and began to pace.
“You don’t want to know the truth, Winna, so I’ll save it. Juno says we should look under an ancient juniper tree. The jewels were buried under a pile of seven stones—probably very near the place where Dad died. She said we would find them in the last light of the setting sun.”
“Facing west,” Emily said. “What a pretty story. So all we have to do is comb around every juniper in the last light of the setting sun—near the place where Poppa died?”
Looking self-conscious, Chloe said, “It would take time.” She paused, her face colored as she looked her niece in the eye. “I’m feeling very judged by all of you right now. Emily, a closed mind is a very dangerous thing in someone so young. You are just like your mother.”
“The trouble with your open mind, auntie dear, is that Juno insists on putting her thoughts there,” Emily said.
John had been quiet throughout the whole conversation. “Listen,” he said. “You all have enough problems without making new ones for yourselves. I’d suggest you put away the pistols.”
“Right,” Winna said. “Now, how about we all agree that it’s okay to disagree and still be friends.”
Everyone looked at her like she was a dreamer. Winna left the room.
AFTER CHLOE SAID she felt outnumbered and left, John repaired the broken window. He and Emily insisted that Winna should not stay in the house alone and Winna insisted she should.
“I won’t be driven out by some jerk,” she said.
John found an iron bolt in the basement and put it on her bedroom door. Everyone seemed satisfied with that. John left and Emily drove her mother to pick up the car. All the way there, Winna fumed about Chloe.
“It upset me that she told Juno about Juliana’s story,” Emily said.
“Me too, but I should have known because Chloe tells Juno everything. It was her remark about a curse on our family and my closed mind that really angered me. I’m sick of hearing her say that—she’s been telling me that since before she was old enough to know what a closed mind is. This business about a family curse—what rubbish. Why is she so eager to believe everything Juno tells her?”
<
br /> “I think that’s obvious,” Emily said.
“Not to me. Am I in some kind of denial? Younger generations always find the older odd. Chloe doesn’t know how odd she is—jewels hidden in the canyon.”
“Someday I hope to be able to take Chloe’s side,” Emily said, “but not today.” She pulled up in front of J & B Auto Repair.
Winna got out. “Thanks, honey, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Emily blew her a kiss. “See you Wednesday morning.”
Exhausted, worried, angry, and in a mood to strangle her sister, Winna walked to the auto shop office. After her conversation with Emily that morning and the second break-in at the house, she had questions for the mechanic who had fixed her car.
The young man at the desk greeted her, “Good afternoon, Miss.”
Winna bristled at being called “miss” and wished she had the courage to point at her gray hair and say, “Please call me Ma’am.” Instead, she said, “I’d like to speak to the mechanic who fixed my brakes this morning.”
“What’s your name?”
“Edwina Jessup—Mrs. Jessup.”
“No problemo, Miss.” He looked through some invoices, stepped to the door connected to the garage, and yelled, “Charlie. Front desk.”
Obviously finished for the day, Charlie, a man about Winna’s age, arrived in his greasy work clothes with a bottle of beer in hand. He was shown the invoice and asked if he remembered the car.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said. “There was a crack in the brake fluid reservoir and the fluid was gone. We replaced the reservoir.”
“What caused the crack in the reservoir? Does that happen very often?”
“No—almost never.”
The House on Seventh Street Page 18
