Getaway

by Fern Michaels

“Two weeks? Robert and I discussed it, and at first we thought we wanted to get hitched next week. But then we changed our minds and decided on two weeks. Is that enough time for you, Miss Planner of Weddings?” Bernice asked.

  “I’ll arrange for you and Robert to get your marriage license tomorrow. Once that’s finished, why don’t you set the date then? Just in case there’s an issue, you know, red tape and all,” Toots added.

  “All right, I guess I can live with that. But I am not fielding any more telephone calls for you.” Bernice shook her head and headed downstairs.

  Toots took her cell phone from her pocket. She’d missed several calls from Abby. Before she had time to rethink her decision, she dialed Abby’s cell.

  “Mom,” Abby said. “What is going on now? You scared the daylights out of me. Why the need to toss us out?” Abby did not sound like a happy camper.

  “Dear, I didn’t mean to scare you or the twins. There is a . . . situation that requires my and Sophie’s undivided attention. It’s one of those psychic things, just a little closer to home.” This explanation didn’t make one bit of sense to her, and she knew damn well that Abby wouldn’t fall for it, either, especially given the cockamamie story about carbon monoxide at Sophie and Goebel’s house that Abby had been told.

  “As long as you and Sophie aren’t being hurt in any way, I’ll accept your explanation. For now. I just wish you would trust me enough to confide in me.”

  “Oh, Abby, I trust you more than anyone in the world. You need to trust me when I say this isn’t something you need to involve yourself in. The outcome could be very . . . let’s just say you’re better off not knowing right now. When and if the time is right, and you need to know, or there is no reason for you not to know, you have my word I’ll fill you in on everything. Can you live with that for now?”

  Toots took a peep at Ida. She’s sleeping like the dead, Toots thought. Uh-oh, bad choice of words.

  “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” Abby relented. “Just be careful, okay? I know you and Sophie.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Toots asked, wanting to keep the conversation going just to hear her daughter’s voice. She’d felt incredibly guilty for tossing her and the twins out earlier.

  “I know how the two of you are when you’re concocting one of your schemes.”

  Toots heard a rustling noise coming from her room. She sneaked a look inside. Ida was thrashing about. Sophie had told her to watch for signs of odd movements. “I need to go, Abby. I’ll call you later. I promise there isn’t anything for you to concern yourself with. Kiss the babies for me.” Toots ended the call before Abby had a chance to respond. She hated doing this to her daughter but made a mental promise to make it up to her.

  Inside her room, she dialed Sophie’s cell phone. “Ida is moving around like she’s trying to fly.”

  “Shit,” Sophie said. “Is she talking weird, saying anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No. I can’t believe she’s even capable of moving after I gave her all those antihistamines.”

  “How many did you give her?” Sophie asked.

  “Two, just like you said. Phil might stop by later if he gets back from New York. I’ll have him check her over.”

  “Don’t do that, Toots. She’s okay. Remember, I was a nurse. It’s not going to cause her any trouble. She might have a bit of a dry mouth when she wakes up, but that’s about it. I don’t want Phil to ask questions. We don’t need anyone asking questions.”

  Toots should have been offended, but she wasn’t. Phil didn’t need to know about this, and besides, he had enough on his plate preparing for his book-launch party. “I won’t breathe a word.”

  “I’ll keep my cell phone on all night. I’m not sure if I’m going with Goebel to meet with that Dabney great-great-nephew, but if I do, I’ll let you know. Any more changes with Ida, let me know.”

  “So you just want me to sit in my bedroom and watch her sleep? What should I tell Phil if he asks why?”

  “You’ll think of something, Tootsie, you always do. I’m in the attic right now, I have to go.”

  Okay, Toots thought. She didn’t want to know why Sophie was in the attic, though she assumed that it probably had something to do with Ida’s dilemma.

  Resigning herself to spending the evening watching Ida, Toots pulled a chair up next to the bed. Something told her it was going to be a very long night.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey,” Goebel called out from the entrance to the attic. “You want me to get a flashlight?”

  “No,” Sophie said. “I already have one. Don’t come in here, stay back. The smell is sickening. It could be a dead rat. Just stay put.” Sophie spied the old trunks she wanted to look through, still stacked in the corner where she had last seen them. She instantly changed her mind. “You better come inside. I might need some help with these trunks.”

  Goebel stooped as he made his way across the attic. “It smells awful in here. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear there was a dead body in here. It certainly smells like rotting flesh.”

  Sophie turned around so fast she had to grab one of the low-hanging beams to steady herself. She’d also thought the odor was the smell of death, but hadn’t wanted to put words to her thoughts. She remembered working in the hospital morgue all those years ago, when she’d been in nursing school. Once you smelled a decomposing body, the odor stayed with you forever.

  “I want to look in these trunks. Help me move them to the hallway. And be careful where you step. When I came up here a few days ago, there was not enough light and I stepped on a floorboard that cracked under my feet. See where someone started a remodeling project up here and never finished it? I want to see what, if anything, might relate to what’s going on in this house.”

  For the next fifteen minutes they dragged the dusty trunks across the attic floor and out into the hallway, pushing them against the wall. “Do you want to go through these now?” Goebel asked, wiping a stray cobweb from his face.

  “Yes. I need to,” she said.

  “You want me to stick around and help? Remember, we’re meeting Dabney at seven.”

  Sophie glanced at the time on her cell phone. “There’s enough time to look through a couple of them.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Sophie swiped her hands over the top of one of the trunks, trying to remove who knew how many years of accumulated dust and what looked like mouse droppings. “Let’s get an exterminator up here, and soon,” she said. “God only knows what else we might find.”

  Luckily, the trunks weren’t locked. Sophie took that as a good sign. Brushing her hands across her slacks to remove some of the dust, she hooked her fingers under the edge of the trunk and lifted. Hundreds of tiny dead spiders clung to the faded pinkish silk that lined the trunk’s lid. “This is disgusting,” she complained, but didn’t let a few dead spiders alter her plan. She had to do this, no matter how gross she thought it was. To date, nothing could ever compare to what she’d done for Ida and Mavis in that embalming room in California. No, this was a piece of cake compared to slicing off a dead man’s penis. She’d promised them she would never tell a soul, and to this date, she hadn’t. Clearing her mind of the image, she focused on the contents inside the trunk.

  “You want me to get some cleaning rags?” Goebel asked. “Wipe the stuff down?”

  “Sure, that’s a good idea,” she answered. Actually, she didn’t care one way or another.

  Knowing she had to get down to business, Sophie removed a stack of old newspaper clippings. Hardened with age, the print was barely visible, but she was able to make out a date:

  Saturday, August 13, 1983.

  Okay, this meant nothing to her until she skimmed to the bottom of the page. A wedding announcement. Theodore Dabney and Nancy McCartney were married on that date. This had to be the great-great-nephew they were having dinner with. Why would they keep something this significant in an old, dusty trunk? Why hadn’t they
taken this whenever they’d sold the place? Lots of questions, and hopefully, she would soon have the answers. She placed the stack of papers on the floor. Leaning over and peering down into the trunk, Sophie spied a small black box. She wiped away the dust, and a smattering of something she didn’t want to put a name to, and opened it. Inside was a tiny cuff-like bracelet, no more than two inches in circumference. To Sophie the bracelet looked like sterling silver. An elaborate bit of scrollwork surrounded the outer part of the bracelet. She shined her flashlight on it and saw what appeared to be writing. “Goebel, run downstairs and get the silver polish.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  She nodded. This must be a baby bracelet. Given its size, it couldn’t be anything else. Straining to read the name engraved on the inside, she thought the first letter was an M. She rubbed the inside of the bracelet with her sleeve but still couldn’t make out the rest of the letters. Goebel’s pounding footsteps told her she was only seconds away from finding out exactly what the name was.

  “Here, I brought some extra rags, too,” he said as he handed her the container of silver polish and a rag. Sophie squeezed a small amount onto the rag, then rubbed it on the inside of the bracelet. Using the end of the rag to buff away the polish, Sophie drew in a deep breath when she read the name.

  Margaret Florence Dabney, 1923.

  “Look at this!” Sophie exclaimed. “This must’ve belonged to one of the Dabneys.”

  Goebel leaned down for a closer inspection. “It has to,” he said. “Maybe Ted can tell us who Margaret is.”

  She nodded, then finished cleaning the bracelet as best as she could. When she finished, she looked at her husband. “I’m going with you tonight. I think I’ve seen enough dust and mouse droppings for now.” Sophie stood up and brushed away the dust that had fallen on her slacks. “Let’s get showered. I can’t wait to find out . . .” She stopped when she remembered Toots’s phone call. Ida thrashing about was not a good thing. Not at all.

  She had a decision to make. Did she meet this Dabney fellow, or should she return to Ida’s bedside? Knowing the importance of both, it was a tough choice.

  She followed Goebel to the master suite, the bracelet safely tucked inside her pocket. Thankful their room hadn’t been mysteriously vandalized like the kitchen, Sophie brushed her slacks off again and sat down on the bed. “You okay?” Goebel asked her before heading to the shower. “You don’t mind if I go first? Or you can join me if you like,” he added with a wicked grin.

  She laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I’m good, you go ahead.”

  Since acknowledging her psychic abilities, Sophie had never felt so unsure of herself and her skills. She’d had misgivings here and there, but nothing like now. Being pulled in two directions by an unknown force was new to her. She needed to make a decision and be quick about it. This wasn’t a Hollywood starlet, or a frantic mother in search of her children. This went back almost a hundred years. Ida’s soul was virtually at stake, Sophie’s home was uninhabitable, at least for today, and she hadn’t a clue which way to turn. For the millionth time, she wished she had Madam Butterfly, her former spiritual mentor, to advise her. The book of Roman rituals she’d given her was completely useless to her now.

  Wanting to clear her mind, she lay down on her bed, feeling the need to close her eyes for a few minutes. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in what seemed like forever.

  Chapter Four

  She could not move, nor could she feel her legs when she tried to move them. Her arms were on fire, the pain so intense she feared she might die. Florence tried to move her head but couldn’t. Tears filled her dark blue eyes as she searched frantically from left to right. She wanted to scream, but when she tried, her words came out in a whisper.

  The baby! Dear God, what is happening to me? She tried to call for Ruth, but still could not speak loud enough to be heard. Where is Theodore? She tried to remember, though it was quite difficult. She did recall some of the evening’s festivities.

  The Hamiltons had stayed for dinner. She enjoyed the evening but wanted to rush through their after-dinner drinks in the parlor as she had news to share with her husband and couldn’t wait to have him to herself. But Theodore had been drinking heavily. He’d been boisterous, and cruel to Cook, and Florence had been terribly embarrassed by his behavior. Beyond that, her memories of the evening were vague.

  She tried to wipe the tears from her face, and when she did, another stabbing pain seared the length of her arm. And then there was nothing but darkness.

  Florence opened her eyes, uncertain how long she’d been lying at the bottom of the staircase. Again, she tried moving her legs. Nothing. They were useless to her now. Using her right arm, she struggled to drag herself to the kitchen. Cook would be cleaning up from tonight’s dinner.

  Piercing, knifelike pains coursed throughout her upper body, though she could feel nothing below her waist. Gasping for breath from the effort, she tried to turn her neck to calculate how far away the kitchen was. Her head throbbing, she used all of her strength to strain to see her location. Tears continued to fall down her face when she realized she’d only moved a few inches.

  Dear Lord, she prayed, please help me!

  “Ruth,” she called out again, her voice not more than a hoarse whisper. “Help me.”

  Suddenly, blackness engulfed her again. Relieved, she gave in to the shadowy tunnel beckoning her. She smiled when she realized that nothing hurt anymore. The feeling was back in her legs, and her arms no longer felt as though they were on fire. She was dreaming again. In her semiconscious state she knew this.

  Now standing at the top of the stairs, whole and complete, she remembered why she had been in such a hurry for the evening to end.

  The baby!

  She had to tell Theodore about the baby, felt it urgent that she do so tonight before he retired for the evening, and before he passed out from the large quantity of liquor he had consumed.

  Then she was hit by a pain so sharp, surely she would die if it didn’t stop. She opened her eyes and saw she was still at the bottom of the staircase and had only moved a few inches! How could this be possible when only moments ago she felt perfectly normal?

  * * *

  “Sophie, wake up!” Goebel coaxed. “It’s your turn to take a shower.”

  She bolted upright so fast she bumped her head into Goebel’s. “Damn, that hurt,” she said as she rubbed her head. “You okay?”

  “I’ve had harder knocks than that one,” he said. “You fell asleep.”

  She recalled her vision or dream. “I saw the woman crumpled at the bottom of the stairs just now. Rather, I think I dreamed of her this time. Goebel.” She paused, trying to remember details from her dream. “I’ve been assuming that the woman in my visions, dreams, whatever we’re calling them now, died! But she did not die from falling, or being pushed, down the stairs. I’m sure this is what she’s been trying to tell me all along!”

  “Okay, if that’s what you believe, I’m with you. So, what do we do next?” he asked.

  Sophie got off the bed, preparing to take her shower. As she unbuttoned her slacks, she felt the small bracelet in her pocket. Taking it out, she looked at it again. “This is the key, the bracelet. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.” Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, Sophie hurried to the master bath, where she continued to talk to Goebel as he trailed behind her. “I’m not sure if I should leave Ida with Toots any longer than necessary.” She stepped into the shower while continuing their conversation. “Toots isn’t equipped to handle her if Ida totally flips out. I should go see her first, before dinner. There’s plenty of time.”

  “You don’t have to go, I told you that. I’m sure I can question Dabney without any trouble. I was a cop, remember?”

  Sophie turned the shower off. Goebel handed her two towels. She wrapped herself up with one, then twisted the other towel around her wet hair. “Yes, I remember our first stakeout in Chicago quite well.�
��

  Goebel chuckled. “That was the best stakeout I’d ever been a part of. Really wasn’t all that long ago.”

  Sophie went back to the master bedroom. She removed underclothes from her dresser, slipped them on, picked out a slinky black dress that clung to her curves, and added low-heeled black sandals. Back in the bathroom, she twisted her wet hair into a topknot. A few swipes of blusher, mascara, a smear of lipstick, and she was good to go.

  Goebel wore a pair of navy blue Dockers with a pale blue shirt. His thick, dark hair was combed back from his forehead. She inhaled his manly scent. He smelled divine. He was so handsome, Sophie couldn’t believe this was the same man that she’d met that first night at Toots’s place. Weight loss and marriage definitely agreed with him.

  “Why the big grin?” he asked her.

  “Just looking at you makes me smile, Mr. Blevins. That’s it, and nothing more. Now let’s get out of here before I rip your clothes off.” Sophie raced out of their bedroom and down the stairs as quickly as possible. She didn’t bother looking behind her to see if Goebel followed because she knew he would. She also didn’t stop to look at the disaster that awaited them in the kitchen. She’d call a cleaning crew first thing in the morning. For now, the flies could continue to enjoy their feast.

  Once they were out of the house, Sophie relaxed even more. Goebel drove Toots’s Lincoln, with her close behind in their SUV. No news from Toots since her last call, so hopefully she could get by with a few more hours before Ida flipped out again. She really needed her to be okay. Her need to speak to Dabney had quadrupled.

  Ten minutes later, they were pulling through the gates at Toots’s place. Sophie parked in the back, and Goebel drove the Lincoln around the side to the garage. They met up at the back door. Sophie stopped and took a smoke from her pocket. “I just now realized I haven’t smoked all afternoon. I can’t believe I haven’t suffered from withdrawal symptoms.” She lit up, took several drags, then smashed the butt in the coffee can on the side of the steps.