The Forever Stone

by Gloria Repp

  He chuckled. “You’re threatening me?”

  “I’m just asking you, for her sake. Her decoys are good enough that you could sell them for a hundred dollars and still make a profit.”

  “Peanuts,” he said. “Not worth driving around to all those little stores. And I don’t know what made you decide to figure all this out, but you’re too pretty to get involved with complicated business matters.” He gave her a look. “Don’t rock the boat, my silly little elf. I want you to forget all about it.”

  He pushed his chair back and glanced again at the blonde. “Finished with your coffee?”

  “Not quite.” She lifted her cup, pretending to savor the last few drops. She didn’t want to put it down. Didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to go out into the dark with him.

  His smile, the look in his eyes. She knew that look.

  This wasn’t turning out the way she had hoped. The way she had prayed.

  Slowly she lowered the cup to its saucer. Lord, protect me.

  Kent had taken his eyes off the blonde. He was watching her, and she couldn’t summon up the bold, confident manner that she needed.

  He stepped to her side of the table and bent low, murmuring in her ear, “C’mon, princess. Have you ever been up to Apple Pie Hill? You should see it by moonlight, with snow on the pines.”

  He put a hand under her elbow and levered her to her feet.

  She moved away from his touch, energized by fear. “I don’t want to see Apple Pie Hill right now. I want you to take me home. Or would you rather I made a scene and insisted on calling a taxi?”

  He produced a grin. “Hey, relax. I’ll take you home if that’s what you want. Apple Pie Hill can wait.”

  He drove back the way they’d come and was as pleasant as ever, telling her about the redwoods he’d seen in the Marin Headlands near San Francisco, but tension spiraled through his voice.

  She made herself small and kept still, looking out the window.

  Somber woods slid past, and the cold expanse seemed to shrink the space inside the car. What was she doing here, enclosed with this man?

  He began to drive more quickly. She knew what was building up inside him and tried to distract his attention. She told him about their research on Jersey glass and asked his advice; she told him about the pieces of Manor glass that might be antiques and asked whether he thought it was likely. Beneath her chatter, she prayed little wordless pleas for help.

  He answered briefly, whipping around the turns, and she slid from side to side, straining against the seat belt.

  Breathe, she told herself. Think.

  At last he turned into the driveway and careened up it. She inched her hand toward the seat clasp, released it as he began to slow. He braked, unsnapped his seat belt, and reached for her.

  But she was out of the car, stumbling across the snow, grabbing for her key. As usual, Mac waited on the railing.

  She slipped.

  He was beside her in an instant. “You want to go inside, sweetheart?” His voice thickened. “Sure thing. We’ll go inside.”

  She elbowed him, broke away from his grasp.

  Up the steps, to the door, no time for a key.

  But—Mac?

  She snatched up the cat, turned to face him, and the cat growled a deadly threat.

  Kent swore under his breath. “Shoot that beast! It’s a menace.”

  “Look who’s talking!” she said. “You’d better leave. Right away.”

  She took out her key.

  “Hey, you’re so beautiful, I lost my head. I just wanted a little kiss. You can’t hold that against a guy.”

  He stepped toward her while she was unlocking the door, and Mac growled again.

  He paused.

  She backed over the threshold, shut the door, and turned the deadbolt. She waited, leaning against it, until she heard him drive off.

  Then she began to shake. She made herself breathe slowly, deeply. “Lord, my Rock, my Deliverer. Thank you for mercies.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Went online to look up that C.S. Lewis quote.

  Wrote it out to stick on the mirror.

  Little bits of it have stuck in my mind.

  So, does it apply to this girl?

  ~Journal

  Madeleine took another deep breath and turned from the door. He was gone.

  Now, she had to check on the girl. Mac pranced down the hall ahead of her, nudged the door of the Blue Room open with his nose, and jumped lightly onto the sofa.

  “There you are.” The girl’s voice was raspy, and only the top of her head showed above the blanket. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Which of them was she was referring to? Not that it mattered.

  The girl’s face appeared. She blinked, stretched, and sat up to put an arm around the cat. She looked more alert, and the flush was gone from her cheeks.

  “Hungry?” Madeleine asked.

  “Yes, a little. Do you have any ham?”

  “I think so. Would you like a sandwich?”

  The girl yawned, stroking Mac’s neck. “Yeah. Maybe a couple. And some cocoa.” After a pause, she added, “Please?”

  Madeleine smiled. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  Her phone rang while she was in the kitchen. It was Aunt Lin, full of news about how well everything was coming together for once. “And how’s our restoration project doing?” she asked.

  Madeleine told her about the idea of painting the dining room. “Wonderful,” her aunt said. “Let’s keep it simple. You can get more ivory paint from Timothy. And see what you think about a wallpaper border, up by the ceiling.” She yawned. “I hope you aren’t working too hard.”

  “No, but I found out that Kent’s been cheating Paula by running his own little profit-making venture.”

  Surely her aunt would be indignant.

  “What does Kent have to say about it?”

  “He thinks it is fine and claims that he’s entitled to his profit and at least she’s getting something.”

  Aunt Lin yawned again. “These family feuds! I’d keep out of it—you’ll save yourself a lot of grief. Have to run. Hope to get home by the weekend. Bye!”

  Madeleine hung up, frowning. How could her aunt be so unconcerned? Perhaps because she didn’t know the real Kent. Did anyone?

  Her phone rang again. Nathan. She leaned back against the counter.

  “Mollie! I couldn’t get away, and now it’s late, but I’ve been thinking about you. How’s the girl?”

  Should she tell him about her dinner-date with Kent? Not over the phone.

  “Mollie?”

  “She seems better. She even asked me for a ham sandwich—I’m making it now. The cut isn’t nearly as swollen, and she’s taken a real liking to the cat. We haven’t done much talking, though.”

  Why was she babbling like this?

  “Good. Did you ever find out her name?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll check back. You sound tired—get some sleep if you can.”

  Later, she would tell him. She put the sandwich and cocoa onto a tray, added cookies, and carried it down the hall with the cat twining around her ankles.

  The girl was still sitting in her cocoon of blankets, and Mac leaped up to join her.

  “Thanks.” The girl reached for a sandwich and pulled out a strip of ham. She dangled it over Mac’s nose, and he snapped it up. “Thought you’d like that,” she said. “You’re the biggest hunk of fur I’ve ever seen. Want some more?”

  She fed him most of the ham from her sandwich while she drank the cocoa. Then she leaned back against the sofa, her hair glinting on the blue velvet. “What kind of place is this anyway? Is it yours? How come this room is so full of stuff?”

  Question after question rolled out of her pert little mouth, and Madeleine could tell that she had already explored the Manor. After a while she said, “I’ve been wondering about you too. What’s your name?”

  The girl bristled. “You just want to know th
at so you can tell the cops.”

  “I’m not going to do that, but I can’t keep calling you, ‘Girl.’ ”

  A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Okay, my name is Tara.”

  “A beautiful name,” Madeleine said. “Well, Tara, don’t you think your parents are worried about you?”

  The young face turned to stone. “I have no parents.”

  “But you have a cat, don’t you?”

  Tara wrapped herself in the blankets and pulled Mac close. “No cat. Not anymore.” Her voice was dispassionate, almost cold. “He got . . . murdered.”

  Her gaze fastened on the carpet. What was she remembering?

  “Tara.” Madeleine lowered her voice to a whisper. “Tara?”

  But the girl didn’t answer, so she took the dishes back to the kitchen. When she returned, Tara was under the blanket, and only the tip of Mac’s ear was visible.

  “Good night, Tara.” Madeleine turned out the lamp and trudged toward her bedroom. She hadn’t been much help, had she?

  Sometime in the night, a storm pulled her out of a dream about Kent, and she didn’t mind. Lightning and thunder were better than listening to him say, “What did you decide, Madeleine? Will I have to punish you?”

  He’d spoken with Brenn’s voice.

  Don’t think about that. Was it going to rain more heavily? Better get up and shut the window. Where was Mac? Probably with Tara, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.

  Mac had slipped out of the blankets to curl at the end of the sofa, and Tara seemed to be sleeping soundly. Good for them. If only she could roll back into bed and sleep like that.

  Thunder exploded overhead as she returned to the hall. She’d go upstairs to the library and watch the storm and forget the dream.

  She dropped onto the window seat. Trees rolled to the horizon like a dark sea, and zigzags of fire snaked downward, sizzled, and disappeared. She gazed at the flat expanse and found herself longing for mountains.

  When she was a little girl, she’d told herself stories about the mountains around Roanoke. Those tree-covered humps belonged to invisible Rocklings, creatures who were both good and wise. They kept their pantries of food and drink inside the gumdrop-shaped hills. They built their castles in the taller mountains, great fortresses of rock where festivals took place.

  But here she had no kindly Rocklings, no stores of delicacies, no castles. Only sand and trees and one dilemma after another.

  She tucked her legs beneath her. Think it through. Kent’s decoy dealings were a scam, like the slippery shading of truth that Mother applied to her business ventures. Brenn had followed the same mindset, both in his practice and in his personal life.

  Don’t rock the boat, Kent said.

  Don’t you breathe a word, Brenn had said.

  She had recognized the look on Kent’s face. Something more than lust. Something ruthless, fanatic.

  If she did anything, Kent would know who had scuttled his glittering barge. And he would find her. Next time she wouldn’t have a cat for a shield.

  Brenn had found her. She’d gone to visit Arlene overnight—that was the story. But in the middle of supper, he’d arrived. “Dr. Burke, how nice to see you,” Arlene’s elderly mother had said. “Madeleine, dear, your husband wants you to come home.”

  She had paid for it that night, and she’d never left again. She had learned not to fight back, to take herself off to a safe distance and watch. That woman couldn’t be her. It had to be someone else.

  Remembering made the horror creep beneath her ribs.

  She shivered and crossed her arms around herself. If only Dad were here! But she knew what he’d say: “Look to your forever-God. He’s your High Tower.”

  She pictured a tower rising above the trees, a fortress built of sturdy Virginia rock. Inside, she’d find all she needed: strength, wisdom, love. And He would keep her safe.

  Why hadn’t He kept her safe from Brenn?

  You have a plan for Mollie, in all of this.

  Maybe she would never know the whole plan.

  “Lord, I am afraid.” She squared her shoulders. “But I am going to sink that boat.”

  Breathe deeply, as Nathan had taught her. Breathe again.

  “Lord, I’m praying Dad’s prayer, right now. Never let me forget that You are the One who makes me strong.”

  She got up from the window seat, stiff with cold, and found her way down the stairs to her room. In the bureau drawer, she felt for the sock with a bulge and drew out her paperweight. The pink flowers glistened inside, lovely as ever.

  She curled both hands around it, letting the ache flow through her, and after a minute, she set it on the bedside table. She would always grieve for him, but the pain had become a quiet stream, drawing her close to the God he’d loved.

  Next morning, her first thoughts went to her car. It was getting old, but she took good care of it. What on earth could be wrong? And who could she get to fix it? She’d ask Bria.

  She found that Tara was sitting up, scratching at her hair, and the girl agreed to join her in the kitchen for scrambled eggs and toast.

  They were finishing up when Bria arrived. She smiled at Tara. “Hi! I’m glad to see you’re up. Isn’t Mollie a good cook?”

  Tara eyed Madeleine. “That’s your name?”

  “That’s what my friends call me.” The sight of her car through the window jogged her memory. “Bria, is there anyone in town who works on cars?”

  Bria frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Tara asked.

  “Last night, it wouldn’t start.”

  Tara finished her cocoa. “I like to fix cars. Got your keys?”

  It wouldn’t start for Tara, either, but she looked interested and popped open the hood. “It’s been running good before this?”

  “Yes. And I just had it tuned up for the winter.”

  “Okay. Get in and try it again.”

  Tara stared into the engine compartment, muttering to herself. She told Madeleine when to turn the key and crank the engine, and when to stop. Then she looked around the edge of the hood. “You got a screwdriver?”

  Madeleine showed her the tool kit in the trunk and Tara made a satisfied sound. She bent over the engine. “Let’s check this—crank it again. Aha! No spark!” A minute later, she said, “No wonder. Look.”

  In the midst of the hoses and belts that ran in and out of mysterious blackened objects was something cup-shaped.

  “Your distributor cap,” Tara said, twirling the screwdriver. “Your rotor’s gone, see?”

  Madeleine didn’t see, but she understood what the girl had said. “Gone? How could it be gone?”

  Tara pushed the hair out of her eyes. “They don’t just fall off by themselves, I can tell you that. You leave your car unlocked?”

  “Out here, I thought it would be all right.”

  “Uh-huh. Someone lifted your rotor.” Tara wiped her hands on her jeans. “When you got that tune-up, did they give you back the parts they changed?”

  “They always do. In the trunk, I think.”

  Tara dug through the spark plugs and belts, and Madeleine drummed her fingers on the hood. Someone stole it?

  “Your lucky day!” Tara held up a piece of dark brown plastic that was shaped like a stubby T. “This’ll take only a minute. There. Get in and crank it.”

  The engine fired with a throaty roar, but Madeleine wasn’t as glad as she thought she’d be. She turned it off and slowly got out of the car. Who would steal her rotor?

  “Thanks, Tara,” she said, and as they walked inside, she asked, “Where did you learn how to do that?”

  “My uncle,” she said. “Calls himself Marrick the Miracle Man. He can fix anything on wheels. That bumper of yours—he could take care of it too. I’m going to get me a shower and a nap.”

  While Tara slept, Madeleine talked to Bria about the dining room, and Bria said, “I’ll start cleaning those walls. When Tara wakes up, she can help me with the windows
.”

  “Now that I have a car that runs again, I can get some patching compound and paint,” Madeleine said.

  She went to her bedroom for her purse, and after a moment’s thought, picked up Paula’s two decoys. She’d show them to Dan’l: Exhibits A and B. Maybe Pineys had a backwoods system of justice and he could suggest what to do about Kent.

  Dan’l was sitting on his porch when she arrived, and she held out the decoys.

  “Could you give me your opinion?” she asked. “Don’t you think these both look like Paula Castell’s work? They even have the same eye groove.”

  He didn’t reach for them as she expected, but she kept talking. “See, this one that looks so old—it has PC burned into it.”

  She glanced toward the door. “Could I take another look at that decoy of yours?”

  “Uh, it’s all packed up,” the old man said. “I don’t bring it out no more.”

  Why the sudden change?

  His gaze slid away from hers.

  So he knew, or suspected, the scam. And Kent must have already talked to him.

  “But wouldn’t you agree that these two were probably made by the same person?”

  He stood to his feet. “I don’t agree to nothing at all. Stay out of trouble.”

  She put the decoys back into their box and smiled at him. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  The more she thought about it, the angrier she became, and as she turned onto Whitton Road, she was still seething. That big blond ox, that good-for-nothing womanizer, that snake. He must have threatened the old man.

  At the store, she started by asking Timothy about wallpaper borders and ended up telling him what had happened last night with Kent. As she spoke, he looked more and more concerned. “I had no idea it would turn out like that,” he said. “I hope I didn’t give you bad advice.”

  “Don’t you blame yourself,” she said. “You told me to pray about it, I did, and I went. Now I want to stop him.”

  The worry faded from Timothy’s eyes, and she told him about Dan’l’s reaction. “Kent has pressured that old man,” she exclaimed.

  “Probably didn’t take much. Dan’l never has exerted himself for other people. His motto is, Look after number one.”