Jinxed

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Lucretia turned to Edward and smiled. “Darling, we're the ‘It’ couple of the weekend, aren't we? You don't think a forty-seven-year age difference is too much, do you?” she asked coquettishly.

  You must be crazy! he wanted to shout. Instead, he smiled and said, “I think it's just about right. A fifty-year age difference might be overdoing it, but forty-seven works perfectly for us.”

  “I agree,” Lucretia said, looking slightly troubled for the briefest moment. Then she blurted, “Let's call Phyllis from the car phone. I want to find out what else is going on down there.”

  “Maybe we should go back home,” Edward suggested eagerly, deciding that might be the lesser of two evils.

  “No! I promised we'd spend the night with my family at the winery. Besides, there's such a thing as overexposure. The news station is covering the wedding tomorrow. That's enough. Now pay the check, darling, and let's go.”

  Lucretia jumped down off the stool and turned to look at the roomful of bikers. They had all been watching the television and now turned their attention to her.

  “Way to go, Lucretia,” one of them yelled. “Want a ride on my bike?”

  “I'd love one,” she cried, clearly thrilled at the attention.

  The group broke into applause, and several bikers whistled loudly, deafening sounds that must have impaired the hearing of everyone in the joint.

  “Lucretia,” Edward protested.

  “Edward, just once around the block,” she said firmly.

  Two of the bikers escorted the couple outside.

  “My name is Dirt,” said the burly guy who had offered Lucretia-a ride. He wore a sleeveless leather vest, his enormous muscular arms were covered with tattoos, and he was wearing a bandana around his balding head. “Allow me.” Effortlessly he lifted up an adoring Lucretia and placed her on the back of his bike. He hopped on, kicked it to start, and off they went amid the sound of a revving motor.

  “And my name is Big Shot,” the overdeveloped creature next to Edward announced. “And we just want you to know that if we hear about any funny business having to do with your wedding to that little lady, we're going to come get you and make you pay.” He paused and smiled, revealing the most dentally challenged arrangement of teeth Edward had ever seen. “We don't like it when people take advantage of little old ladies. Understand?”

  Edward hoped Big Shot couldn't see or hear his knees knocking together. “I'll take special care of her,” he said earnestly. “Really special care.”

  Big Shot started to laugh, a sound not unlike a low menacing growl. “That's good. Cause we'll be watching.”

  And it was my idea to stop for lunch, Edward realized miserably as he noticed Big Shot's huge arms and legs. He, too, was clad in a sleeveless vest and denim shorts. It was hard to tell where one of his tattoos began and another ended.

  A moment later Lucretia and Dirt vroomed back into the parking lot. “Darling,” Lucretia cried. “These nice boys are coming to the wedding!”

  40

  Whitney was miserable. She was thirsty, and her whole body was sore from being tied up for hours now. Have I been left here to die? she wondered. When will someone find me?

  As she lay in the back of her Jeep, she tried to think of all the reasons someone would want her out of the way. If her captor wanted to kill her, he could have done it immediately. It was more likely that she was being kidnapped, but why? Was he going to ask for a ransom? Did he know that the family would soon be millionaires?

  Almost no one outside the immediate family knew about the money. Who could her captor be? Could it be the guy who was in the dining room last night? Whitney wondered. He could have overheard when we were talking. But if he overheard their conversation, he would have known that they weren't getting the money unless they went to the wedding. Whitney remembered that he went out for a walk after dinner and was gone for a while. Maybe he roamed around the property and found this old barn.

  Suddenly she could hear the sound of the door opening. Her heart started pounding. Was he going to kill her? She held her breath. Then, just as quickly as the door opened, it was shut.

  Oh my God! Whitney thought. Was it him? Was it someone else? Frantically, she twisted from side to side, trying to thump the side of the car's interior with her legs. She grunted, and the gag in her mouth felt as if it would choke her. It must have been someone else, she thought with a mixture of frustration and hope. But who? No one ever came out here. The old barn was at the far edge of the property.

  Her cell phone started ringing in her purse on the front seat. Whitney sighed. Whoever you are calling, why couldn't you have called a minute ago? Maybe the person who was here a minute ago would have heard the phone ring.

  I've got to stop struggling and preserve my energy, Whitney realized, so I can be ready if someone who can help me comes back. I'll have to use every ounce of strength I can muster to make my presence in this creaky old barn known.

  41

  Shovel in hand, Bella went around the back of the big barn and once again started to break ground. For the past week she'd been spending her lunch hours digging up the area behind the barn, hunting for her grandfather Ward's buried treasure. She didn't know exactly what it would turn out to be, but one thing she did know was that it belonged to her family, no matter who owned the property.

  Grandpa Ward had settled in Canada after he hightailed it out of California. Not long after he landed in British Columbia, he met and married Bella's grandmother. Never again did he set foot on U.S. soil. Bella's mother, Rose, was born several years later, and when she was a young girl, she'd sit on Ward's knee, listening to the same stories over and over. “I loved my winery,” he'd say. “If only Prohibition hadn't been passed . . .”

  “If it weren't for Prohibition, we'd never have met,” his wife reminded him more than once.

  “We would so have met,” he replied, waving away her argument, sometimes with a laugh. “You, my dear, were born under a lucky star. We were meant to be. My winery, that's what wasn't meant to be. If only Prohibition hadn't been passed . . .”

  If only, if only, if only. The family lived in Vancouver, and Ward had gotten a job on one of the fishing boats. “Someday I'll go back,” he said. But he'd died young, before Prohibition even ended.

  Bella's grandmother had never gone through all of Ward's old papers. And Bella's mother, Rose, cut from the same cloth, didn't look at them, either. When her mother died, Rose just stored the family archives in her attic. “Your grandfather was such a pack rat. There are too many boxes,” she'd tell Bella. “Because he had to leave California with nothing, from then on he decided to keep everything—and I mean everything.

  Someday I'll sort through his things.”

  “Someday” ended up being a month ago when Rose decided to join several of her friends in an extended living complex. Her husband was gone, and she was anxious for company. So Bella, who should have gotten a job as a closet organizer, had gone to Vancouver to help her mother clean out the house. Bella was brutal when it came to tossing things out. “Get rid of it,” Bella ordered her mother without a second thought every time Rose held up an object being considered for the trash bin.

  Rose could bring only a few pieces of furniture to her new home. After much debate it was finally settled that the cuckoo clock and her La-Z-Boy recliner would make the cut. Bella was never so happy as when she carried Rose's green shag rug out to the sidewalk, to be hauled off by the trashman. Other tired furniture followed.

  Finally they attacked the attic. Bella, being Bella, rolled up her sleeves and ripped open the cardboard boxes with gusto. Old magazines and newspapers filled many of the cartons.

  Rose shook her head. “Dad hated to throw away a magazine or a newspaper before he read it cover to cover.”

  Bella tossed one periodical after another into a garbage bag, sneezing several times from the decades-old dust.

  One box contained old photos, which meant a slight delay in productivity.

&nb
sp; “Will you look at him?” Rose marveled. “He was such a natty dresser.”

  The photo showed Ward dressed in a white linen suit, standing at a beachfront cafe, sipping a glass of wine, and tipping his straw hat to whoever was taking the picture.

  Bella glanced at the picture and smiled, but within two seconds she was ripping open another carton. This one was filled with letters and old yellowed documents. Bella pulled out a notebook and opened it to the first page. There were several scrawled notations and a headline, IMPRESSIONS. Quickly she turned the pages and found sentences and phrases scribbled willy-nilly.

  “Mom, listen to this!” Bella cried excitedly.

  Rose stopped and cocked her head as Bella read aloud Ward's diary. It was mostly about his winery—how he loved the smell of the vineyards, the feel of the grapes in his hands, the taste of the wine in his mouth. One page read simply, “Smell, swirl, sip, swish, swallow. What could be better?”

  Toward the back of the notebook the tone of the pages changed: Have to get out of town. No use. Can't keep the place up. Tried to get the church to buy my wine for sacramental purposes but no luck. It's the only wine that's legal now. I'll have to run. Just buried my treasures and hope one day to come back for them.

  Bella dropped the notebook when she read that last line.

  “What treasures?” Rose cried as Bella leaned down to pick up the notebook. A piece of paper had fallen out, and Bella scooped it up.

  “I don't know,” Bella said as she unfolded the stray paper. Then she gasped, “A map of fortune! This is a map of Grandpa's winery, and it's dated 1920. It gives the exact address, and there's an X marked where he says buried treasure! And listen to this . . .”

  “I'm still listening, dear.”

  “Grandpa wrote something on the bottom of the page:

  Because I was forced to get out of town fast—thanks to my awful debts—I couldn't take everything that was near and dear to me. So I buried my precious cache at the edge of the property, behind the old barn. I hope to go back one day and reclaim my treasures. But if someone is reading this after I die, and I never did get back, then you may as well go hunt for it yourself! The buried treasure is all yours.

  “This is amazing!” Bella exclaimed. “Didn't he tell you or Grandma about the treasure?”

  “He died unexpectedly. He was still a young man. He always said he wanted to go back to California one day when he had enough money.”

  Mother and daughter were uncharacteristically silent for a moment.

  “I wish I were well enough to do some digging,” Rose said half-jokingly.

  “I'm going,” Bella declared. “I have to go!”

  “But the treasure might be gone, and somebody else must own the winery now.”

  “So what! I'll figure something out. Whatever is still there belongs to you and me.”

  “And I suppose Walter,” Rose said, shaking her head.

  Bella had married Walter, an American, whom Rose had never particularly approved of. They lived in the state of Washington. Walter had just lost his job with an airline company. Bella had a lot of motivation to go to central California and hunt for the treasure that she hoped would be a bonanza.

  “He'll come with me,” Bella said.

  “What if he doesn't want to?”

  “He has no choice.”

  That was only four weeks ago. Now, after having managed to become employed at the winery, Bella was spending another lunch hour digging for who knows what. No one had seen her at the back edge of the property, and no one questioned the fact that she liked to take a walk during her free time. If they caught her digging, Bella had concocted a story about rearranging the dirt because according to legend it would bring good luck to the winery. She figured they were hippieish enough to go for that mumbo jumbo.

  Walter told her he couldn't help her dig because of his bad back. “It's tied up in knots like a pretzel,” he complained. So Bella made him get a job as a bartender that he'd keep until she found the treasure and they could return home. She said it made them look more respectable than if he sat in their rented room watching television all day. Begrudgingly, Walter agreed to the plan. But now he was actually enjoying his job at the pub.

  “Just don't get arrested,” he cautioned his wife.

  The land behind the barn sloped down to a creek that ran the length of the property. After nearly an hour of digging, Bella was still coming up with nothing but dirt, worms, and rocks. She dropped the shovel and wandered down to the creek where she cooled her hands in the clear, sparkling water.

  “That feels good,” she said aloud. Her hands were developing calluses, and they were tired and achy and smelled like sweet perfume. Bella couldn't stand the fragrance of all the scented candles and incense in the gift shop, but she had to grin and bear it. She needed a reason for being on the property every day.

  After a few moments Bella stood and started to walk back toward the main house. She started to turn back, realizing she had forgotten to put the shovel back in the barn. Oh, well, she thought. It doesn't really matter. I'll be back here tomorrow.

  She smiled. That shovel is so old anyway. I wonder if it belonged to Grandpa Ward—in which case it's now mine.

  42

  Rex had run to his car as soon as the meditation class ended. Even though he had made the decision to stick around the winery and was now waiting for Eddie to get there with the “love of his life,” he still felt like a caged rat. He was nervous about his cohorts in New York. And all the stories about Eddie and Lucretia on the television were really making Rex anxious. If they start snooping into Eddie's past too much, Rex knew his name might pop up—and not in the most flattering way.

  Rex drove down to the little village, his sense of unease growing by the minute. He walked around, wandering in and out of the stores. That took about ten minutes. He thought about going into the pub and getting a drink, but he nixed that idea when he saw Regan Reilly get out of a car with some people and head inside Muldoon's. The sight of her made him more agitated. He thought about Whitney tied up in her Jeep. Don't worry, he told himself. I won't get caught. After Eddie is married, we'll call from a pay phone and let Whitney's family know where she is. Maybe they won't even have missed her for that long.

  Rex went into the deli on Main Street and ordered a turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread. “Make that two,” he said suddenly, deciding that he would go back to the barn and give Whitney something to eat and drink. He'd also give her a chance to go to the bathroom. The barn was big, and there was an ancient toilet in a little closet at one end of the large room. She'd just better not try anything.

  I'm not such a bad guy, he thought. I'm just trying to make my way in the cold, cruel world. He grinned as he took a couple of sodas and bottled water from the refrigerator case. It's just when people get in my way . . .

  “Would you like potato chips or pickles with your sandwiches?” the deli man asked sincerely.

  “Potato chips.”

  “Very good, sir. Potato chips it is.”

  “Could I have two separate bags please?”

  “My pleasure. I hope you're going to go out and enjoy this beautiful day.”

  “I plan to,” Rex answered in a manner that discouraged further pleasantries.

  The items were bagged, Rex paid, and out the door he went. This is a pretty little place, he thought, admiring the mountains that seemed to stand guard around the town. Very different from Manhattan. He got in his car and drove to a tiny park down the block. He ate in the car, with all the windows rolled down and the radio on. The sandwich tasted good, and the soft drink was cold and refreshing. When he finished the potato chips, he crumbled the bag and stuffed it into one of the grocery sacks.

  On his way back to Altered States, he decided that the safest thing would be to drive back to the main lodge and then walk to the barn. If he brought his car out to the barn and someone noticed, it would seem suspicious. It would also draw unwanted attention to the site. Definitely not what
he wanted.

  All was quiet in the parking lot. Rex took the bag with Whitney's sandwich and bottle of water, and quickly crossed the lot to the fields. As far as the eye could see there were rows and rows of tall oak trees. He quickened his pace and hurried as fast as he could without running, just in case someone came by. The barn sat at the base of the mountain and couldn't be seen from the main lodge.

  When Rex finally reached the barn, he heard a scraping sound around the back. His heart stopped. He waited. Not hearing anything more, he silently crept along the side of the barn. All he could hear was the running creek. Cautiously he stole a glance behind the barn. Piles of dirt had been dug up, and there was a woman kneeling by the water!

  Rex tried to maintain his cool as he hurried back toward the front of the barn and kept going. Who is she? he wondered frantically as he moved to the protection of a group of trees nearby. And just what is she doing back there?

  43

  On the way back to the winery, Regan's cell phone rang. It was Jack. Regan was amused that Nora and Luke stopped talking the minute they realized who was calling.

  “What's going on?” Jack asked.

  “A few developments. My parents are with me—they're going to spend the night at Altered States. Lucretia and her fiancé are coming up as well, which should be interesting.” Regan didn't add, “Wish you were here,” because her parents were hanging on every word.

  “They're coming up the day before the wedding?”

  “Apparently Lucretia's gotten a lot of unwanted attention from the television piece. She needs to relax.”

  “Maybe you'll get an invitation to the wedding,” Jack said. “Any word about Whitney?”

  “No. We just had lunch in town, and I'm about to see her mother. Maybe she called. I hope so.”