"But...but I have so many questions I want to ask," the woman pleaded. "Who's this brown man she's talking about? Is it someone you know, or is it someone she's related to?"
"Sadie's an old woman, and sometimes gets confused about what she sees. I wouldn't put too much faith in what she told you. Not everything she says comes true. If I were you, I'd forget about it." Justine brushed imaginary crumbs from her skirt as she spoke. "She's in her eighties. If she doesn't want to talk any more about her vision, it's her prerogative."
"But, what about my questions?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to forget them," Justine replied. "I think I'll have an early night. If I don't see you in the morning before you leave, have a safe trip home." The swish of her sandals as the leather soles made contact with the floor echoed loudly in the empty hallway, then ceased when she paused outside Sadie's door.
"Go away," a raspy voice called. "I ain't answering no more questions."
"It's Justine."
"Oh. Come in."
Sadie lay in bed, an open Bible propped on her chest. Justine perched on the edge of the covers and moved the Bible to the nightstand beside her. "You okay?"
Sadie nodded.
"That was some display you put on at dinner. Was it to frighten the guests, or did you really have a vision?" Justine asked.
Sadie's smile faded and her dark eyes narrowed in anger. "Wasn't no playacting. Visions keep getting worse and worse. Brown man's getting closer. This time I seen into his head." Her voice lowered to a mere whisper. "He means to kill us all. Makes me sick just thinking about it."
Justine swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd never seen Sadie this frightened. "What can I do to help?"
Sadie's glance darted over to the open Bible. "Pray. Pray like you never prayed before."
14
Terrified, Mary jerked the curtains apart with her left hand, and swung the sewing scissors in a downward arc with her right, intending to impale the body of her tormentor. Her eyes took in the emptiness of the window long before her brain registered the fact that no one was climbing into her room.
Just as she relaxed, a new motion triggered a reflexive gasp--until she realized it was nothing but a small, furry field mouse. The creature jumped onto the back of the other curtain, causing it to flutter.
Stunned by what she'd seen, or rather, hadn't seen, Mary stared at the window. Her heart thudded in her chest, and the sound of her labored breathing boomed in her ears. She backed up until she found a wall to lean against. She was safe--there wasn't a murderer coming to get her. It was a mouse, not a man! She'd nearly scared herself to death, and it was all because of some stupid, rotten, little field mouse.
The irony of the situation struck her and hysterical laughter erupted from deep within, causing her eyes to water and rivers of tears to flow unchecked down her cheeks. When her emotions had run their course, she wiped the tears with the sleeve of her jacket and patted her chest to stabilize her breathing.
Lifting the curtain with one hand, she removed the scissors from the sill and tucked them into her pocket. Leaning closer, she noticed a tiny nest the field mouse had built between the window and the screen. A scratching noise above her alerted her to another mouse that crawled through a gap in the wood of the upper window. That must be how they got in and out.
Satisfied that she'd solved the mystery of her terror, she returned to bed and switched off the light, keeping the scissors close at hand in case the mice returned. She ought to have known better than to let her overactive imagination go unchecked. Would she never learn to control her own thoughts?
Sleep remained elusive as her mind struggled to make sense of recent events. Who was the "brown man" Sadie kept seeing? Why would he want to hurt any of them? And, most importantly, how would she know the "brown man" when she saw him?
A soft knock on the door, followed by the sound of a woman's voice, woke her from a sound sleep. She sat up, struggled to make sense of the jumble of words.
The knock sounded again. "You okay in there?" asked a woman's voice.
"I'm fine," Mary called. "Just a minute, I'll be right there." She climbed out of bed and threw on her robe. Removing the chair from underneath the doorknob, she unlocked the door and opened it wide enough to peer into the hall.
An older, chubby-faced woman with an anxious look on her face stood in front of the door, dressed in a short sleeved shirt and matching pants. "You feel all right?" she asked. "It's past twelve, and there wasn't a peep coming out of your room, so I thought I'd better check on you."
Mary opened the door and rubbed weary eyes. "I'm sorry; I didn't get to sleep until after five."
"My name's Susan Durall," the woman announced, extending her hand. "I'm the housekeeper. I believe you met my husband last night."
"Mary Windom. It's a pleasure to meet you." She clasped the woman's hand for a brief moment.
"You hungry? I can make you some breakfast while you're getting dressed."
Mary's stomach rumbled, and they both laughed. "Well, I guess I am hungry," she said. "I'll grab a quick shower and meet you in the dining room in about twenty minutes." She paused, then asked, "By the way, where is the dining room? All I saw was the lobby when I arrived early this morning."
"First door on your left after you pass the counter." The woman turned, started down the hall. "I'll scramble you up some eggs and bacon--unless you'd rather have a sandwich."
"Whatever you're having is fine. I'm not picky," Mary said. "Thanks for offering." She watched the old woman disappear from sight. So much for her presumption that she and the old man were alone in the hotel.
She decided to take the thick packet from Mac with her. The dining room was empty, so she selected a large table near the kitchen. The clatter of pots and pans faded as she scanned a brief history of the hotel, a plat map, and a reduced set of blueprints. Engrossed in her reading, she started when a hand tapped her arm.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
"That's okay." She shoved the pages into a stack and moved them to one side. "I was reading the background information on this building and didn't hear you."
Mrs. Durall placed a bowl of thick soup surrounded by two sandwiches in front of her. "Mind if I join you?" she asked. "My husband's gone to town, and I hate eating by myself."
"Please, take a seat," Mary said. "I'd love some company." She watched as the plump woman removed another plate from the serving tray and selected a chair across from her.
"This is delicious," she announced after one taste of the soup. "I don't know when I've had split pea soup this good."
The woman beamed. "Thanks, it's my specialty." Her smile faded as she glanced around the empty dining room. "Only, these days there aren't enough customers to warrant making it," she sighed. "Nobody comes around anymore."
Mary seized the chance to pump her for information. "According my report, this hotel used to be a thriving business. What happened?"
Tears rolled down the old woman's cheek. "Everything was fine until Mrs. Cogrell died. She went to bed one night and never woke up. Ever since then, funny stuff's been happening, and it's scared off all our trade."
"The taxi driver mentioned that most folks think this hotel's haunted." She watched the woman for a response, then continued. "Do you think there's a ghost?"
"I'm not sure. There's been a lot of strange stuff going on, but Jeb keeps saying it's cause this building's over a hundred years old. I haven't seen anything, although..." her voice trailed off.
Mary leaned forward. "Although what?"
The woman shifted in her chair, glanced around the room, then scooted her chair closer. "I don't think Mrs. Cogrell died of natural causes, no matter what the police say. If you ask me, her nephew killed her so he could collect his inheritance." Her lips formed a smirk. "If he did kill her, it didn't do him no good, because he couldn't find her jewelry anywhere. He nearly had a stroke when they read the will and he found out that she gave all her jewelry to the museum in town. H
e ain't getting nothing from her," she concluded on a note of intense satisfaction.
"Won't he collect when the building's sold? I thought he was her only living relative."
The old woman stirred her tea. "I'm talking about the family jewelry. He wanted the diamond necklace that belonged to Mrs. Cogrell. When he couldn't find it, he had the nerve to accuse me and Jeb of stealing it. The police went through all our stuff, but it was never located." She slammed the long-handled spoon onto the table. "We didn't steal the necklace," she declared in an indignant tone. "If we'd wanted to steal something, we could've done it long before she died. Besides, what good would a diamond necklace do us if we went to jail for stealing it?"
"Did they ever figure out what happened to it?"
Susan toyed with the crumbs on her plate. "Nobody ever found it, or the ruby bracelet." She lowered her voice to a mere whisper. "That low-life nephew of hers tried to kick us out so he could tear this place apart looking for them, but the lawyer fixed him good. Seems Mrs. Cogrell's will said we can stay here until the building's sold, and there ain't nothing he can do about it, neither. We're supposed to get part of the proceeds from the sale as severance for working with her for over twenty years." Her lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. "I'll bet it galls that nephew of hers every time he thinks about us living in this hotel. Jeb and I were going to move out right after she died, but when that jerk showed his butt with his clothes on, we decided to stay here out of spite. Serves him right."
Mary shifted in her chair. "What do you think happened to the jewelry?"
Mrs. Durall's smile faded. "Mrs. Cogrell wasn't as senile as everybody thought. I'll bet she figured that no-good swine was planning to steal her jewelry, so she hid it somewhere in this hotel. It wasn't in her safety deposit box, so it has to be here. What else could have happened to it?" She sighed. "I guess it will never be found, now that the building's going to be sold."
"Couldn't she have sold it?" Mary asked.
"No. She would've sold her soul before she sold that jewelry. It had been in her family for over a hundred years. She was going to give it to her only daughter on her twenty-fifth birthday, but Julie and her husband were killed in a car accident when Julie was only twenty-two. After that, there wasn't anyone to leave it to except that worthless lout of a nephew. He made the mistake of telling Mrs. Cogrell he planned to sell the necklace, and that's when she decided to give everything to the museum." Mrs. Durall closed her eyes and tilted her head. "That necklace was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. You should've seen it, sparkling in the light like a thousand stars."
The image of a large diamond, surrounded by smaller ones to form the shape of a flower petal flashed into Mary's mind, and she nearly dropped her glass. "What did the necklace look like?"
"There was one big diamond in the center, and a bunch of smaller diamonds around it."
Mary grabbed her pen and scratched out a simple design. "Did it form a pattern like this?"
"Yes, except it was bigger. How did you know?" Mrs. Durall stared at the sketch, eyes widening.
Whoops. She'd done it now. How could she explain how she knew what the necklace looked like? "Most old fashioned jewelry was made this way," Mary lied. "It was a very popular design."
The woman shook her head, then began to stack dishes. "Well, unless a miracle happens, we'll never find it." She paused for a moment, lost in thought. "I sure wish we could, though, so we can make sure it goes to the museum and not into that worthless scum's pocket." She glanced at Mary. "You through?"
"Yes. Can I help?"
"Nah, you go ahead. I'm sure you got work to do. I'll see to these." She paused as Mary gathered her papers. "Dinner is at six, if that's okay with you."
"That's fine. I'll probably be working, so let me know when you're ready." She watched Mrs. Durall disappear into the kitchen, then tapped her pen against her lips. What had happened to Mrs. Cogrell's jewelry? Had she really hidden it in the hotel?
An image of gnarled, arthritic-ridden hands shoving the jewelry into a wall opening flashed through Mary's mind and she grimaced. Oh no, not again. How could she turn off the pictures that kept flashing in her brain? She would not get involved in this mystery, no matter how many images came to mind. She was here to evaluate the building, not find missing diamonds. She banished the image and forced herself to concentrate on the papers in front of her. The sooner she started the evaluation, the sooner she could return home to Jack.
Frustrated, she picked up her pages and carried them into the lobby. Forcing her mind to focus on the task at hand, she began a detailed description of every object in the room. As she stepped into the hallway, the image of an old woman closing the hidden panel plunged back into her thoughts. Image after image of the jewelry flashed through her mind, refusing to be shelved into some obscure corner of her subconscious.
Her temples throbbed, and she massaged them with weary fingers. Was this what Sadie meant by her gift becoming more powerful? Would it resurface every time she was assigned a job with some kind of mystery attached to it? Dear God, she certainly hoped not. How on earth would she cope? She could not--no, make that would not--get involved. She had her own worries to contend with, and certainly didn't need anybody else's. Especially right now.
15
The clap of thunder roared across the heavens as zigzag flashes of lightning illuminated the night sky. Moments later thick black clouds spit out raindrops, faster and faster, until it seemed as if the droplets of rain were being fired out of a machine gun toward earth. Jack hovered outside the French doors that connected the living room to the rose garden, shivering from the rivulets of water pouring down his neck, face and arms. Ignoring his discomfort, he cupped his hands against the thick glass, struggling against the elements to get a clear view of the situation unfolding on the other side of the doors.
Mary, Sadie, and Elizavon huddled together in front of the antique bookcase on the far wall. Across from them he could see the silver barrel of a revolver, pointed in their direction. Its owner remained couched in darkness, but the hand holding the weapon most certainly was male. His stomach twisted into a tight knot as he realized he already knew the identity of the man lingering in the shadows. It had to be Sadie's "brown man," the one Mary'd told him about.
What was going on, and why was he on the outside, looking in? He watched in silence as the tip of the revolver motioned toward the sofa and Mary shepherded the two old women to the center of the room, sitting down between them. Although the pitter-patter of raindrops blotted out any hope of hearing what was said, he could tell from Mary's erratic hand gestures and defensive posture that she was arguing with the brown man.
A gut wrenching, ice cold feeling of dread filled his body, and he knew he had to stop whatever was happening. He thrust out his right hand and clasped the curved door handle, jerking and tugging against the metal until it broke off in his hand. Tossing the worthless hunk to the ground, he slammed his shoulder into the glass, to no avail.
He had to get in! Frustrated, he glanced around the patio and spotted the wrought iron chairs stacked at one end of the garden. If he couldn't open the door, by God, then he'd go through it!
Holding the chair in front of him like a battering ram, he charged. As the legs made contact with the glass, the hard metal bit into his abdomen, knocking the breath from his body. Dazed and stunned, he stared at the door. Why hadn't the heavy metal broken the glass? Worse yet, why hadn't the noise attracted anybody's attention?
He had to get into the house! Sucking air into his bruised lungs, he forced wobbly legs to propel him forward as he pounded on all the windows and doors, trying to find a way in. Nothing worked. It was almost as if some unseen force wanted him kept outside.
Returning to the rose garden, he placed his face against the glass panes while his weary brain searched for a way to stop the brown man from hurting anyone.
The situation in the living room remained unchanged. Mary continued to argue and wave her hands back and fort
h. Shaking off the grasp of the two old women, she finally stood up and walked forward.
"No, Mary, no!" he cried. Screaming and pounding his fists against the door, Jack watched helplessly as one long finger pulled the trigger and flash of light exploded from the end of the silver barrel.
Mary's upper body jerked back from the bullet slamming into her body; a look of amazement crossed her face. She glanced down and her expression changed to horror as a thick red stain etched its way across the front of her dress. Her left hand swung up to press against her abdomen, but the pulsing river of red refused to stop and oozed out between her fingers.
"Noooooo..." Gasping for breath, Jack jerked upward, tangling legs and arms in the cotton sheet that was now drenched in sweat. The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in ears, and his chest heaved up and down as his breath came in painful gasps. The sound of fists pounding on his door brought him back to reality.
"Jack, you all right in there?" called a raspy voice.
"What? Just a minute." Untangling his legs from the sheet, he slid off the bed and shrugged into his robe. Shaky hands opened the door.
Sadie and Justine stood in the hallway, their faces etched in lines of worry. Justine carried an umbrella in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. Sadie stood behind her, a wooden hairbrush clasped tightly between the gnarled fingers of her right hand. Evidently they thought there'd been a prowler.
"You sure you all right, boy?" Sadie asked. "We heard you screaming downstairs, and ran up her to see what was going on." She eyed him warily. "You had that bad dream again, didn't you?"
Jack looked away, wondering if Sadie could read minds. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't you lie to me, boy. You had that dream about Mary again, didn't you?"
Justine tucked the scissors into the pocket of her robe and placed a warning hand on Sadie's arm. "Why don't we all go downstairs for a hot cup of cocoa," she suggested. "We're already up; we might as well get something hot to drink."
Breaking the Chain Page 7
