Breaking the Chain

by C. D. Ledbetter

  Mary snapped the last suitcase shut and glanced around the room. "You know, you'd think we'd be thrilled to have a few days alone at a luxury beach house, but all I can think about is going home."

  "I know. As beautiful as the private beach is, I don't want to spend one more minute than we have to here. Like you, I'll be glad to get back to the plantation."

  "Do you think it's because this is Elizavon's house?"

  He scratched his chin. "Probably. You're not the only one who wants to finish these inventories and be done with her. I can't wait to be through."

  Jack waited in the car while she made one last circuit around the house, making sure they hadn't left anything. "Well, that's it, then," she announced, buckling her seatbelt. "I feel like I'm saying good bye," she whispered in a solemn tone. "I know it's silly, but I feel like we've finally turned the corner and can move on."

  As Jack started the rental car, he couldn't help wondering what they might be moving on to. They still had Sadie's brown man to face, and only God knew what that meant. Hopefully it would all end soon and they could get on with the rest of their lives. If not, well, the alternative just didn't bear thinking about. At least not yet.

  40

  Mary woke in the wee hours of Sunday morning with a vague feeling of apprehension, unsure of what had roused her from a sound sleep. Was someone in the house? A prowler? Her first instinct was to wake Jack, but she stilled her hand before it touched him. What if it was Justine or Sadie getting up to get a drink of water? She'd feel pretty silly waking him up for nothing. Better to wait and see if she could identify the noise first.

  The hall clock bonged twice as she lay in the bed, listening for any unusual sounds, but all she heard were the creaks and groans of an aging house. All perfectly normal, considering the age of the plantation. Exhaling softly, she waited a few more minutes; when nothing untoward happened, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  The covers rustled as she pulled them up to her chin, and once she'd snuggled back into a comfortable spot on the feather mattress, she closed her eyes and began counting backwards. Unfortunately she was too wide-awake for that ploy to work, so she slid out of bed, slipped into a robe, and tiptoed downstairs.

  The kitchen was bathed in the pale glow of moonlight. Rather than turn on the light and risk waking someone, she opened the curtains as wide as she could. The only sound was the soft swishing of her slippers as she padded over to the refrigerator, grabbed a carton of milk, and poured some into a large coffee cup. It didn't take long for the microwave to heat the milk, and she carried the cup over to the small table tucked under the window.

  A full moon hovered in the sky, its pale light illuminating the tops of the huge oak trees that circled the backyard like a ring of guardians, protecting all who lived inside. At one end of the yard, she could see three deer standing in Mrs. Milliron's vegetable garden. So that was why it hadn't produced much in the way of corn! Crafty little buggers. She made a mental note to mention to Mrs. Milliron that they'd need to find a way to keep the deer out if she planned on salvaging any of the corn.

  The family of deer suddenly raised their heads, then bounded toward the safety of the trees. Something must have startled them, but what? Another animal? Setting down her cup, Mary leaned closer to the glass, suddenly glad she hadn't switched on the overhead light.

  Her blood chilled as the outlines of what looked like two men cautiously emerged from Jack's workshop. Her first thought was that some of the local folks had been fooling around in the tunnel while they were gone. She pulled the curtain partially shut to keep her presence hidden, and waited to see what they would do. Relief flooded through her when they darted into the trees and didn't return.

  So much for keeping the tunnel a secret. It was probably a couple of local kids carrying out a dare. Lord knows there'd been enough of them trying to sneak into the one she'd found last year. Fortunately, they'd caught the idiots before anyone had been hurt. The sooner those bulldozers filled in this new tunnel, the better. Until then, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to change the locks on the workshop door, maybe even nail the windows shut. Better safe than sorry.

  Gazing out the window, she sipped her milk and watched to see if the deer would return. As she waited, her breathing settled into a normal rhythm, and she could feel the tension draining from her body. Must be the warm milk kicking in. Reluctant to leave the peaceful kitchen, she stayed where she was, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. Unexpectedly, images of her Aunt Elizavon flashed across her mind. She "saw" Elizavon creep down the stairs and enter the library, journal in hand. The old woman sneaked toward the bookcases...

  Footsteps in the hall snapped the vision, and Mary swore under her breath. Of all the times for somebody to be roaming through the house! Irritated, she grabbed the empty coffee cup, carried it over to the sink, and filled it with water.

  "There you are," Jack said, stepping into the kitchen. "I wondered where you were. You okay, babe? What are you doing up at this hour of the night?"

  Her irritation faded and she crossed the room in double time. "Guess what, Jack.? I saw her! I actually saw Aunt Elizavon carrying the journal! It's in the library, in the house in Boston. I know where it is!"

  "Whoa, slow down, baby. Are you sure you saw her, or was it just a trick of your imagination?"

  She tugged on his arm. "No, this time I actually saw her. She was creeping down the stairs, and had the journal pressed against her chest. She entered the library and walked toward the big bookcase behind her desk."

  "That's great, babe. I knew you could do it. Did you see where she hid it?"

  "No, unfortunately, the link snapped before I could see that part." She reached up and ran a hand through her hair. "I bet I can find it if we go back to the house. We'll have Dykes fly us back to Boston, make a quick search for the journal, then zip back here tomorrow. Mrs. Milliron can take care of any guests that arrive while we're gone. Piece of cake."

  He nudged her toward the stairs. "Tell you what. Why don't we go back to bed, and talk about travel plans when we get up," he said, stifling a yawn.

  Mary fell into step beside him. "I'm so glad I saw her, Jack. You have no idea how much of a relief it is to know that I can see what happened in the past, to know that I'm not losing the few marbles I started out with. I feel like the weight of the world's been lifted off my shoulders."

  "I thought you said you were glad you hadn't seen anything."

  "I know, but this is better--now I know I'm not losing my marbles, and that my past visions were real."

  "Yeah, well, if you don't keep quiet, you'll wake up the whole house and have Sadie's cane sitting on your shoulders," Jack whispered in her ear. "I'm really glad for you, baby, but you do know it's three o'clock in the morning, right? I'm sorry, but my mind doesn't function this early in the day. Time for us to go back to bed. Especially if we're going to fly back to Boston in a few hours."

  "Okay," she whispered. "But there's something else I need to tell you before we go back to bed. While I was sitting in the kitchen, I saw two kids sneak out of your workshop. At least I think it was kids. They were probably checking out the tunnel. No telling how many others have snuck in there while we've been gone. You might want to consider calling the bulldozer guys to see if they can come sooner."

  "Damn. I was hoping we could keep it quiet."

  "Sorry, babe. Looks like the word's already out."

  Jack shrugged out of his robe and climbed into bed. "Guess I'll call them after we get up and see if they can come earlier."

  Mary climbed into bed and pounded her pillow into a comfortable lump. "You know, there is an upside to all this."

  "Oh yeah? What?"

  "Between all the guests we have coming and the people filling in the tunnel, the brown man won't dare show his face. Too many witnesses."

  * * * *

  Dykes acted surprised when Jack told him they'd need to return to Boston immediately. "I thought you said you were done with the inventories
."

  "I know, but we came across a few items that have to be rechecked," Jack explained. "Unfortunately, that's what happens when you try to rush through an inventory--you always find one or two items you missed. Sorry. Shouldn't take long; a couple of hours at most. We'll fly to Boston today, then come back tomorrow. Normally we'd stay longer, but the dozer guys are coming on Tuesday to fill in the tunnel, and I need to be here."

  Dykes paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Wait a minute; you must have your days mixed up. You told me they weren't coming till Friday to fill in the tunnel. What about my friend, Sal? Today's Sunday--he's supposed to arrive this afternoon."

  "There's been a change of plans and the dozer guys are coming two days early. No problem, we'll just work around it. If your friend wants to stay on while they're here, fine. He just needs to keep away from the workshop till they're finished. If he checks in while we're gone, Mrs. Milliron can take care of him. She's more than capable of running the house."

  Dykes rose from his chair. "I'll need to borrow a car so I can get the flight plan filed and do my pre-flight checks before we leave."

  "Mary's packing our bags now; we should be ready to leave in a few minutes. We'll drive down together, and Mary and I can wait in the coffee shop while you get all the paperwork taken care of."

  "I see. Well, in that case, I'd better pack my bags."

  Jack followed him out of the room. "Sorry to spring this on you so quick, Dykes. Believe me, if it wasn't important, I wouldn't be going. Mary and I are both anxious to get this inventory behind us."

  Dykes shrugged one thin shoulder. "No problem; I'm used to sudden whims. Remember, I worked for Mary's aunt. Just give me a few minutes to get my stuff packed and I'll be ready to go."

  "You know, you could leave most of your stuff here if you want to," Jack offered. "We're only going to be gone two days. Nobody'll bother it."

  "Nah, thanks anyway. I'd feel lost without my tools."

  Jack watched Dykes climb the stairs, puzzled by his reaction. The pilot's words had seemed amicable enough, but the way he'd folded his arms across his chest and clenched his jaw implied otherwise. If he didn't know better, he'd think Dykes didn't want to return to Boston.

  Jack thought about their exchange for a few more minutes, then decided that the pilot's recalcitrant attitude had been a figment of his imagination. Dykes was too easy-going to balk at a simple change in plans. He must have misread the man's body language. Satisfied with that explanation, Jack headed for the kitchen.

  Dykes stayed in his room until he heard Mary call for Jack to take their luggage downstairs. Of all the dirty, rotten luck, his had to be the worst. Opening his door slightly, he watched Mary go downstairs, and waited until he was sure she wasn't coming back up. The floorboards creaked and groaned as he tiptoed down the hall to the telephone. Lifting the receiver, he listened to make sure the line was clear, dialed a number, then waited for someone to pick up.

  "This is Dykes. Tell Sal there's been a change in plans." The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears when he heard Mary and Jack reenter the house. "Look, I gotta go. Tell Sal not to leave until he hears from me."

  41

  Jack picked up the carafe of coffee sitting on their restaurant table and gently shook it from side to side. "Want another cup before we go?" he asked innocently. "There's still some left."

  "Not funny, Jack. I know you're stalling," Mary pointed out as she rummaged through her purse for a couple of dollars to leave for the waitress' tip. "I wish you'd cut it out."

  "Who, me?" he asked in an incredulous voice. "I'm not stalling. Besides, you know Taft won't allow anyone into the house before nine. Even though Elizavon's dead, he's still following her 'house rules.' If I remember correctly, last week we had to wait ten or fifteen minutes before he let us in, and then he gave me dirty looks once we got inside. I do not wish to repeat that experience again." He glanced down at his watch, which showed eight o'clock. "Besides, he's probably still in bed, making the most of his leisure time now that he doesn't have to cater to your aunt's every whim." Jack cast a thoughtful look in Mary's direction. "You did call and tell him we were coming today, right?"

  Mary rolled her eyes upwards. "Nah, I thought we'd surprise him." Sarcasm dripped from her lips. "Come on, baby. I want to get over to the house. It'll take us at least thirty minutes to get there."

  "Which still leaves us fifteen to thirty minutes to cool our heels." Jack poured himself another cup of coffee. "I'd much rather sit here and wait than stand on Elizavon's front porch like some salesman, begging to be let in."

  Mary sighed dramatically, then leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. "I can't believe you're being so obstinate about this. Aren't you the least bit curious about finding the journal?"

  "Nope. I have complete faith in your abilities, baby. As far as I'm concerned, there's no way you're not going to find that journal, even if you have to tear up the entire library to do it." His grin disappeared as he watched a wide range of emotions cross her face. Reaching over, he covered her hand with his. "All kidding aside, I don't want to have to listen to Taft sighing behind me the entire time we're there. He's so dramatic, and every time he sighs, he creeps closer, like some ghoul out of a Grade B movie. It's...unnerving," he confessed.

  "Ahhhhhh. So that's why you're not in a hurry to go back to Aunt Elizavon's house. I figured there must've been a good reason." She reached out and patted his hand. "Don't worry, Jack. I happen to know he's not about to stab you in the back. You're safe with me."

  Jack drained his cup. "Very funny, Mary."

  She tucked the waitress' tip against the metal napkin holder and smiled sweetly at him.

  "Oooohhhh. Getting touchy, are we? What's the matter, Jack? Don't you like it when I tease you?" Her smile took the sting out of her words.

  "Touché. I deserved that one for stalling. Sorry."

  She linked her arm through his as they walked out of the restaurant. "Don't worry, baby. I'll protect you from the big, bad butler."

  "Ha ha. Just remember paybacks are a bitch," he whispered softly in her ear as they made their way to the car. "And I never forget."

  "Truce, truce," Mary laughed. "I take it all back. I apologize for teasing you about Taft."

  Jack closed the passenger door and walked around to the driver's seat. "Okay, truce it is," he agreed, chuckling at her easy capitulation. He stuck the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. "Now, what's the best way to get to Elizavon's from here? I hate driving in Boston; the streets are laid out all weird."

  * * * * *

  Dykes paced back and forth across his hotel room while he waited anxiously for the phone to ring. Where was Sal? Why hadn't he heard from him? He'd left three messages at Sal's office--two yesterday and one this morning. Why hadn't Sal returned any of his calls?

  He started nervously when he heard a loud knock at the door, then cursed himself for being so jumpy. It was probably a waiter, bringing breakfast. Walking over to the door, he cautiously wrapped his fingers around the doorknob. Instead of a waiter, two large men burst into the room, thrusting the door so hard that Dykes stumbled backwards and fell.

  "Who--who are you?" Dykes stammered.

  "Your worst nightmare, chump," the smaller of the two answered, grabbing Dykes by the hair and jerking his head upward. "Sal sent us to pay you a little visit."

  "But--but I've been trying to contact Sal since yesterday. Didn't he get my message?"

  "He got it all right," the larger man answered, closing his hairy fist and slamming it into Dykes' stomach. "This is from Sal. He don't like last minute changes. Seems you called too late--he'd already left. Sal's been sitting at that plantation, waiting for you. He hates waiting. In fact, the thought crossed his mind that you might be trying to double cross him. Guess what, chump? Sal ain't happy, and when he ain't happy, nobody's happy." He punched Dykes again, his grin spreading as the pilot doubled over, then fell to the floor.

  The first blow
sent agonizing pain through Dykes' entire body; the second drove all the air from his lungs. As he collapsed, the contents of his stomach spewed out in every direction. Gasping for breath, he held up a shaking hand in an effort to ward off more blows. "I swear on my mother's grave, I'm not trying to double cross Sal. I'm a pilot, for God's sake; the plantation owners made me fly them back to Boston yesterday. They only gave me about thirty minutes notice once they decided to go. I didn't know anything about it until they told me to pack my bags; I called Sal as soon as I found out. I was trying to stop him from coming."

  Dykes wrapped his left arm across his stomach and stumbled to his knees. "I can prove what I said is true." Shaky fingers pointed to a chair near the bed. "There's a copy of the flight plan in my bag over there. It shows that we flew to Boston yesterday, and have plans to fly back to Louisiana tonight. That's why I was calling Sal: to tell him what's going on. Not only did I have to fly to Boston, I also found out yesterday that the bulldozer guys are coming to fill in the tunnel two days early. They weren't supposed to come till Friday. We'll have to move up our timetable, and I wanted to let Sal know what was happening. It's the truth--I swear."

  Dykes felt hairy knuckles brush against the back of his neck as the larger man grabbed his shirt, dragged him to his feet, then shoved him against the wall. Something cold and hard pressed against his cheekbone, and he realized it was the barrel of a gun. As fear overcame him, Dykes felt a warm wetness run down his pants leg, and realized with dismay that he'd lost control of his bladder.

  "Look, Paulie," the larger thug exclaimed. "This creep's pissed down his own leg. Guess we scared him good, huh?" He moved a few inches to the left, still holding the gun in place. "You better hope none of that piss gets on my shoes," he warned. "Otherwise, you're a dead man."