by Nicole Young
It wasn’t long before Thanksgiving arrived, with skies overcast and a stiff west wind. My attitude was as glum as the weather. I tried not to think of last Thanksgiving, and Brad, and his generous invitation to share the holiday with him when I was still new to Rawlings.
This year I was a thousand miles from Brad. It didn’t matter that later today there’d be guests. None of them were Brad. A forlorn sigh escaped my chest. My arms ached from missing him.
The silky floral comforter on my borrowed four-poster brushed against my wrists as I lay on the bed, flipping through the binder of mementos I’d put together to keep my time in Del Gloria from fading into the mist like Brigadoon. Outside, rain began to fall.
I paused at an article I’d cut out. “Ladder Stolen from Rooftop Heroine,” the headline read. The photo showed a vague shape climbing to the ground surrounded by rescue workers. How Denton had kept Tish Amble’s face from the front page, I’d never know. But he’d also managed to put in a pitch for the college’s Revamp Program and plug the dedicated students who were part of the life-changing course of study, making me appear more like a champion for saving some drywall than a nut for being up on a roof in a lightning storm. The stolen ladder had been found several days later beside the railroad tracks, the theft chalked up to practical jokers.
I rubbed a finger against the newsprint. Things hadn’t been so bad here. I had a crowd of friends for the first time in my life. And my studies had improved my mind and my outlook on life. I was even getting into the whole Christian swing of things, and felt better about myself now than ever before. But with only a few weeks until the end of the semester, I was faced with a gut-wrenching decision. Would I stay or would I go?
I looked around my little piece of heaven. The beautifully furnished room with its view of the Pacific had begun to feel like home. I had barely a care here at Cliffhouse. With Denton footing my bills, no job was required. Three squares a day and even housekeeping services were provided, freeing me to focus on my classes and the Rios Buena Suerta project. It was better than being a kid again-and I didn’t even have a curfew.
I turned the page to a collage of the earlier photographs. Koby, Celia, Portia, and I. We looked like the Four Musketeers, showing off for the camera at each victory.
I leaned on one elbow. How could I even contemplate leaving my team? We were making good progress. Five more families had a place to call home. Besides, Brad hadn’t even contacted me. He must have a very good reason for wanting me to stay in Del Gloria. And if I showed up unannounced back in Michigan, he might be less than thrilled to see me.
Over the past months, the ache that shot up my arm at any thought of Brad had become little more than a twinge. I squeezed a hand to the scar. My injury was barely visible, the hurt a mere memory.
My eyes wandered to a rain-splattered window. Isn’t that what I wanted? Isn’t that what I’d hoped for-to forget?
But why? The question nagged at me. Why would I want to forget? I closed my eyes, concentrating on my last moments in Port Silvan. Candice LeJeune lifted her pistol-but no, before that… what had she said before that? She’d said, “Remember, I’ll always love you.” Then there’d been the blast of the gun and then… the flash of white dropped over the past.
I sighed and closed my scrapbook. It seemed useless to even try remembering.
My fingers beat a rhythm on the cover. Think… what had happened just before? Candice came into the room and grabbed Frank Majestic from behind, gun to his head. Then Brad came in the room.
I grabbed my temples, massaging them against the building pressure. Why couldn’t the synapses in my mind link up so I could remember whatever it was I was trying so hard to forget?
Brad. He was in the room when the gun went off. He came in right after Candice did. So why couldn’t I remember anything about Brad afterward? He must have helped me after I’d been shot. He wouldn’t have just left me there, bleeding, all alone. I knocked my knuckles against my skull. Think, think… but nothing came to me beyond the glaring whiteness.
I glanced at the bedside clock. Already 9:30. I’d slept in and lounged long enough. I dressed and wandered downstairs, making myself available in case Ms. Rigg broke down and wanted help for once.
She didn’t.
I snuggled on a chair in the parlor, catching up on my reading as I waited for our dinner guests to arrive. Around me, the gilded walls became stone, and I was in the deepest, darkest dungeon beside Edmond Dantès. With the help of his prison mate, he planned his escape. Soon he would be back in France, back to his old life, which he would reclaim at the expense of his enemies. Best of all, he would have a great treasure at his disposal with which to exact his revenge.
The doorbell rang, tearing me from Edmond’s discovery on the Isle of Monte Cristo. Book aside, I opened the door to greet six members of the Revamp Program. Only Celia had nearby family to visit with over the Thanksgiving holiday. The rest took advantage of the professor’s invitation to a traditional feast served in the formal dining room at Cliffhouse.
We enjoyed hors d’oeuvres and rousing conversation, followed by the unexpected arrival of Ms. Rigg’s daughter Jane.
The room quieted as the pseudo-sophisticate entered, laying on her Hollywood poise and charm.
“Hello, all. What a perfectly miserable day to give thanks.” Her svelte figure, draped in a loose white satin pantsuit, captured every eye.
“Jane. What a surprise,” Denton said. He turned his back to the party crasher, focusing his attention on Maize Martin, who commenced babbling at her usual rate of five hundred words a minute.
“Denton, dear brother. Where else would I be but home for the holiday?” She touched his shoulder.
He flinched away.
The elder Ms. Rigg scooped up an empty bowl of dip and slinked out of the room.
Beside me near the buffet, Portia raised an eyebrow. “What’s that woman doing here? Is that really his sister?” she asked under her breath.
I dabbed a carrot in ranch dip and crunched. “Mm mm mm,” I said to the tune of “I don’t know.” I waited until I was done chewing. “Her mom’s the housekeeper. I guess she grew up with the Braddocks. Apparently she’s like family to the professor.”
“Maybe the black sheep of the family,” Portia said.
I chewed and watched Jane work the room. She started with Simon, practically purring as she laughed at something he said. Having conquered her first victim, she meandered seductively toward Koby.
Portia tensed. “She’s such a parasite.” She glared knives in Jane’s direction.
“Simon doesn’t look too upset about it.” I couldn’t help but grin at the way his eyes followed her shape.
“She is twisted and evil. You can almost see it in her eyes.” Portia’s venom grew.
I touched her arm. “Stay calm. She’s just making the rounds. She’s not hurting anybody.”
Portia gestured toward Denton, who kept his back directed at Jane as if calculating her every movement. “I’m not so sure. The doc seems pretty upset. That woman shouldn’t be here. And she knows it.” Portia took a sip of punch.
I shrugged. “Last time I had a run-in with Jane, Uncle Denton made her seem harmless.”
“Harmless as a jellyfish. Just don’t get wrapped in her tentacles.”
“Uh oh,” I whispered. “Human jellyfish headed our way.”
Jane sauntered toward the food, plucked a square of orange cheese from a platter, and plopped it in her mouth.
“Hello, Alisha. And you are…?” She nodded her head in Portia’s direction, waiting for an introduction.
“Miss Romero. How do you do?” Portia’s voice was cool.
“I’m good. Thanks for asking.” Jane turned toward me. “So. How are you surviving Del Gloria?”
I refused to read a deeper meaning into her words. “Great. Loving it.”
“Not antsy to be getting home to… where is it… Galveston, right?”
I slanted my head. What was she up to
?
“Yes, Galveston,” I said. “And no, I’m not antsy to get back there.”
“Can’t say I blame you. What is it? Hurricane season right now?”
I nodded, no clue about the weather in Galveston.
“Of course,” she went on, “I hear Michigan just had its first big blizzard of the year. I guess things could always be worse.”
Her tongue slithered behind her lips, I was sure of it. Next to me, Portia’s fingers twiddled against her pant leg, as if fighting the urge to punch Jane in the mouth. In the background, Denton peered over his shoulder, checking on the rogue actress. If he had a move up his sleeve, I wished he’d make it and spare me the woman’s line of questioning.
“So, Alisha”-Jane’s eyes scooped me back into her net-“what do you think of that whole drug drama going on in northern Michigan? Have you been keeping up?”
I gave her a blank look and shook my head, praying she couldn’t see the beads of sweat breaking out on my temples.
“Some big drug lord got nabbed in a sting operation. Big shoot-out, bodies everywhere… It’s so LA. Who would think that kind of thing happens in those teeny little backwoods towns?”
My throat constricted. Was she talking about Frank Majestic and the morning at my log cabin?
Her hands swooped the air as she prattled on. “It’s all gone to trial now-thank heaven the fiend lived to face a jury. Too bad some of the others weren’t as lucky.”
I drew in a strangled breath. Why was she telling me this? What did this have to do with me?
I blinked and stared at the food. Movement in the corner of my eye. Denton grabbed Jane by the wrist and swooped her toward the kitchen. Her mock protest sounded more like laughter.
The only thing in focus was a ring of ice floating in frothy pink punch. Cold, hard ice.
I gasped. Had anyone winterized my cottage? If it was really as cold in Michigan as Jane said, there could be ice in the pipes right now. I should get on a plane and take care of the place myself instead of frittering away my life fixing up houses for other people while my own fell to ruin.
A hand touched my arm. Through tears swimming in my eyes, I saw Portia, her face squinched in concern.
“You okay?” Her raisin-colored satin blouse caught my tear as she leaned to hug me. “I don’t know what just happened,” she said, “but I’m guessing it has something to do with your landlord?”
I glanced at her with a sheepish look. “I guess you could say that.”
She kept her voice low as we gathered onlookers. “Don’t let her get to you. It’s a holiday. Relax and have some fun.”
I nodded and wiped my eyes. “I’ll try.”
Muscles popped from her neck. “And if that witch so much as looks at you the rest of the day-well, you’ll think you’re watching tryouts for Catfight, The Movie.” I smiled at the vision of Jane’s white slacks flapping in the wind as Portia swung her around by the hair. “Thanks. You’re a good friend.”
To pass the time before the big meal, we broke out a trivia game and set it up in the parlor. Dagger dazzled us with his sports aptitude, Gwen with her grasp of science, and Maize with her capacity for little-known Bible facts.
Koby read a psychology question that had us stumped.
“Where’s the professor?” he asked. “He’d know the name of the surgeon who performed the first lobotomy.” Just then Simon joined us, slicking back his dark hair with one hand. “Can you imagine letting some guy take out part of your brain?” He made a casual flop onto the settee.
I wondered where he’d been. I hadn’t even noticed he’d left the room.
With the crowd stumped, Koby put the card back in its box and went on to the next question.
A few minutes later, Ms. Rigg invited us to be seated for dinner. There was no sign of Jane, though a place had been set for her. I sat next to Denton, wondering what he’d done with the derelict diva. I watched his hands reach for his cloth napkin. No signs of gunpowder residue on the skin. A quick glance under the table revealed clean shoes. No grave digging before supper. Jane had obviously escaped murder.
“Shall we pray?” Denton bowed his head and the rest of us followed suit.
At his “amen,” the chatting and laughter resumed. Steaming veggies and sliced turkey made the rounds. Afterward, dessert found an eager lineup at the buffet. I chose a slice of blueberry pie. Portia went with pumpkin. Maize and Gwen turned their sundaes into works of art topped with a cherry. The guys gravitated toward the apple pie. I was already planning a covert mission to the kitchen for leftovers later that night.
I watched the happy group. Even with voices all around me, I could only think about Jane’s untimely revelation of the drug trials in Michigan and what that meant for me… and Brad.
Mindlessly, I chopped at my blueberry pie. The same old questions came to mind. Was I really safe in Del Gloria anymore? Were those around me safe? Who knew what someone like Jane would do with information on my background. She hardly seemed like the type to keep it to herself. In fact, the way she flaunted her secret, with Portia standing right there, I figured most of LA, Beverly Hills, and Hollywood already knew Patricia Louise Amble was hiding out somewhere on the coast. It wasn’t that the information would mean anything to most people, but in the right hands it could mean cash, drugs, or death. I wondered which payment plan Jane had chosen.
“Hey. You going to eat that pie or turn it to mush?” Portia nudged me out of my daze.
I put the fork to my lips, shocked by the sweetly sour blueberries laced with flaky chunks of crust.
Portia angled next to me at the table. “You ready to talk about it?”
I shook my head, then went ahead and told her anyway. “You know, that landlord thing. I’m having trouble remembering all the details. When Jane mocked me like that, it made me wonder what really happened. Maybe something bad, something worse than I thought, and I forgot about it.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t seem to remember.”
“Like I said before, ‘The truth shall set you free.’ Why don’t you Google it? Or ask Koby for help? He’s an ex-hacker. He can find anything. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“No.” I clenched my jaw. “No. I’m just going to wait for my phone call. And when I get back home, I’ll know what’s going on. It’ll be fine. Nothing bad happened.”
The clanking of dishes, pleasant voices, and laughter swirled around us.
Portia rested her hand on mine. “I waited for that phone call once. You know what? It never came.”
I tried to pull away, but she gripped my fingers in hers.
“It was a good thing too, Alisha. Look at my life now. I’ve got an education, good friends, good food, and a roof over my head. And I don’t have to sleep with men to get it. If a special man comes along someday, great. If not, I’m happy. My life wouldn’t be this awesome if I’d gotten that phone call. The life at the other end of that phone line wasn’t anywhere as good as the life at this end.”
“That’s not going to happen to me.” My voice rose in defense. “The person at the other end of my phone line loves me. He wants me home with him. And that’s where I want to be.”
At the look on Portia’s face, I explained. “Don’t get me wrong. I love you guys. This has been a really good experience for me. I’m like a whole new person since I came to Del Gloria. But there’s someone waiting for me… that special someone. We were meant to be together. And nothing can stop us.” My words started to sound desperate and I petered off.
Portia stared at me, jaw set. “You better find out what’s going on back there. It doesn’t sound to me like you’re going to get that phone call. Why set yourself up for devastation? Find out what happened, face it, deal with it, and move on. Life flows in one direction, honey. Once you leave a place, there ain’t no going back.” Her face hardened into that of the Portia I’d first met.
“I’m sorry you never got your phone call, Portia.”
I stood, ready to excuse myself fro
m the gathering.
A scream from the kitchen.
“Professor! Professor, come quick.” Ms. Rigg appeared at the dining room arch. Wet hair from a bun gone asunder clung to her cheeks. Water dripped from her dress, puddling on the floor. “It’s Jane, sir. I think she’s dead!”
17
Denton sighed and pushed back his chair, as if refusing to get drawn into Ms. Rigg’s drama. He crossed the room, moving with the speed of a man who suspected he was already too late. We practically ran him over as we herded behind him on the way to the portico, morbidly curious, if not mournful of Jane’s demise.
Ms. Rigg pointed to the end of the driveway. “Look. She’s down there! That’s her purse-there on the edge of the cliff. I went to get it and I saw my Jane, dead on the sand below.” She gave a wail of horror.
Portia, Simon, Dagger, and I stepped into the weather, following Denton down the concrete slope. Behind us from the comfort of the covered porch came offers of help if we should need it.
I shielded my face from the relentless rain as we strode toward the red purse abandoned beneath the guardrail across the road.
I waited on the curb with the weeping Ms. Rigg, watching as Denton stepped over the metal and peered with caution over the rain-soaked rocks to the ground below.
A shake of his head. “Simon. Call 9-1-1.”
Simon nodded and hurried up the drive.
“Oh, Professor! Is she dead? Is she really dead?”
Ms. Rigg’s hysterical sobs broke through my coldhearted observation. I put an arm around her. “Come on, let’s get back indoors.”
“Oh, my Jane! My Jane!”
I shushed her with soothing tones as we made the climb to Cliffhouse. Portia stayed below with Denton and Dagger. Gwen, Maize, and Koby consoled us as we stepped into the house.
“Come on, let’s get you to the parlor,” I said and helped Ms. Rigg get situated on the settee. “Gwen, please grab a blanket from the linen closet upstairs. Maize, put on hot water for tea, if you would. And Koby,” I patted the spot next to Ms. Rigg, “would you sit with her while I try to find out what’s happened?”
