"Thanks. I was working on the inventory." The brandy burned going down, but as soon as it hit her stomach, warmth flooded her body. Between the fire and the brandy, her body temperature slowly climbed back to normal, and her skin tingled as circulation returned to her arms and legs.
No one spoke for several minutes, causing Mary to wonder what the two women were waiting for. What did they expect from her?
"Sadie told me you and Jack experienced something last night," Justine offered quietly. "It might help to tell us, but it's your choice."
Ah, so that's what they wanted--to know what happened. She wondered if she should tell them. From Justine's remark, it was obvious Sadie had already said something about the Voodoo ceremony.
She'd be gone soon; what harm would it do? They couldn't make any trouble for her. And they certainly weren't going to run to the Martines with anything she said. Mary thought about it for a few more minutes and decided to tell them.
"First, I need to tell you that I'm not sure if I believe everything that's happened. I keep thinking I'm having some kind of weird dream."
"You seen the past," Sadie announced.
Mary paced back and forth, ignoring the interruption. "You know, I wasn't even supposed to have this assignment. I only got it because I traded jobs with a friend...
"...and that's when Jack left." Having finished her story, Mary stared moodily into the glowing fire.
For several minutes the only sound in the room was the crackling of logs as they burst into flames. Finally, Justine walked over and patted her shoulder. "Sounds like you're tied to this house in some way. From everything you've said, you must have lived here about the time those Union soldiers came down the river."
She shook her head. "No, it wasn't me that lived here. I'm sure of that. I don't think that's what this is all about. Somebody's trying to let me see everything that happened in this house. It's like they're giving me all the background details. Somehow I get the feeling that whoever it is wants me to do something, but I'm not sure what," Mary said. "The problem is, I have no way of knowing if what I saw was real. I can't tell if it was a figment of my imagination, or a hallucination brought on by the excitement of the ceremony. There's no way to prove it one way or the other."
Sadie walked to the window and closed the heavy drapes. "What you seen was real. Visions don't lie."
Mary shook her head. "I'm still not sure I believe everything that's happened."
Sadie scowled, her black eyes glittering. "What was, was, and what's to be, will be. I done seen it." She sniffed and walked out of the room.
Justine peered at Mary over brandy-laced coffee. "For what it's worth, I think you have seen the past. Nothing like that's ever happened to me, and I've been here over twenty years." She stared at the worried frown on Mary's face. "However, if I were you, I wouldn't worry too much about it. These things have a way of working themselves out." She rose from her chair and moved toward the door. "Well, it's late and I have lunch to see to."
Mary tilted her head back, stretching stiff neck muscles. "Good idea. I need to go back to work myself. I still have a lot of paperwork to finish up."
Justine paused in the hallway. "I don't want to seem rude, but would you mind telling me how much longer you think you'll be here?"
"I'm not sure," Mary answered. "I still have to type up some of the inventory sheets and add the value to each item. That will take the rest of today. Tomorrow I'll double-check everything, and probably leave right after that."
Justine patted her arm. "Please don't leave early on my account. You're more than welcome to stay. It's just that it's cold upstairs. If you were going to stay longer, I'd move you downstairs, to a warmer bedroom."
Mary smiled. "Don't worry about it, Justine. I'll be fine. Thanks for the offer." She stifled a yawn. "I'm really tired. I'd better get moving or I'll never finish that inventory list."
"Lunch will be ready in about an hour or so."
"Thanks. Just give me a call and I'll come downstairs."
Weary and tired, Mary opened the door to her bedroom and immediately shivered. When she flipped the switch on the ancient electric heater, it roared to life, but didn't dispel the chill. A few minutes later, an odd noise caught her attention. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement and spun around, but the room was empty. She rushed into the hallway. It, too, was deserted.
She saw movement again, this time right in front of her. Tiny specks of light danced and shimmered, then joined together to form a woman's hazy image.
Panic filled her throat, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. She swung at the image with shaking hands, and watched as it blurred, then dissipated.
It took a few minutes to calm her racing pulse and bring her pounding heart under control. Mary forced weak legs to carry her forward, then collapsed on the bed.
She reminded herself that ghosts weren't real. She was simply overwrought from the day's events. The sooner she finished this job and returned to Boston, the better off she'd be.
It took some doing, but she forced her attention back to the inventory and finished the last entry just as Justine announced lunch from the foot of the stairs. Even though she felt foolish doing so, she still peeked into the hall to make sure her ghostly visitor hadn't returned before she headed for the kitchen.
"It's certainly going to be dull around here after you leave," Justine announced as she sat down. "You've brought more excitement than we've had in years. Are you sure you can't stay a few days longer?"
Mary shook her head. "No, sorry. I told Mr. and Mrs. Martine I'd drop off the inventory tomorrow."
"Those two will probably sell off everything fast as they can," Justine grumbled.
Sadie slammed her fork on the table. "Spirits been disturbed." She squinted her eyes and pointed a bony finger at Mary. "You. You done it."
Mary's heart pounded and she swallowed the huge lump in her throat. She wasn't about to admit that she'd seen something earlier in the hallway.
Sadie's eyes narrowed. "I knew you da one. Watch out. When spirits disturbed, something bad gonna happen."
"Now, Sadie, don't get into a tizzy," Justine scolded. "We've been over this a dozen times. Mr. Ventereux didn't have any children, so his distant cousins inherited this house. If Mr. and Mrs. Martine want to sell everything, there's nothing we can do. Besides, we'll be gone in a few week's time, and you won't have to worry about them any more. We'll have our own house to worry about."
Sadie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her body shook, then stilled, and her eyes opened wide. She sat like a statue, staring at nothing for several minutes, then her arms flailed wildly.
Mary pointed to Sadie, open-mouthed.
Justine held a finger against her lips. "Shhhhhhh. Don't be afraid, and for goodness sakes, don't say anything. She's having a vision. It'll be over soon."
Mary's heart pounded as she watched Sadie's frail body shake and shudder.
The vision ended as rapidly as it had begun. One minute Sadie was shaking like a leaf; the next, she was as still as death. After the shuddering ceased, Sadie closed her eyes and slumped in her chair.
The only sound in the room was the clock ticking on the wall. A few minutes later Sadie regained her composure, stood up, and slammed both hands on the table. "Them Martines gonna be sorry," she croaked in her gravelly voice. Bony fingers pointed to Mary. "Your paths will cross. I done seen it."
Mary shook her head, relieved that the vision was over. "I don't think so, Sadie. I'm not planning on coming back to this area after tomorrow."
The old woman grinned and Mary had the uncomfortable feeling her words had fallen on deaf ears. She shuffled down the hall and returned while Mary and Justine cleared the table. "Things gonna happen," she whispered in Mary's ear. "Visions don't lie."
Mary nearly scrubbed the pattern off a dinner plate as Sadie slipped out of the room. When Justine returned, she voiced her fears. "Justine, could you please tell me if you believe Sad
ie when she tells you something's going to happen? Do her predictions often come true?"
Justine shook her head, sighing. "Sadie's right sometimes, but she's old and thinks she sees more than she really does. Just nod and agree with her. That's what I do."
"But why is some of what she says true? I mean, does she have 'second sight', or what?"
Justine wiped her hands on a towel. "She had it at one time, but now I'm not so sure. Besides, if you make enough predictions, some of them are bound to come true." She patted Mary's arm. "Nobody really knows what the future holds. I wouldn't worry about what she told you."
Mary wondered if the future held any happiness for her and Jack. Would she and Jack ever live together? She allowed herself the luxury of imagining a life with him. What glorious times they'd have! With their combined income, they could buy this house and turn it into a bed and breakfast. She even thought of a name for it--The Blue Moon Inn. People would come from all over to stay at their restored plantation. She'd get her sister, DeeDee, to design a rose garden that would be the envy of all her neighbors.
On long summer evenings, they'd serve tall glasses of iced tea on the veranda. Her guests could lounge on porch swings or take leisurely strolls through the garden. She and Jack would have a wonderful, happy life.
The sound of Justine banging pots interrupted her daydream. Startled, she lifted her gaze and saw the kitchen as it really was, old and worn. It would take a fortune to restore the house to its former glory, a fortune she didn't possess.
Sadie was right about one thing. No matter what happened, someone--or something--was trying to tie her to this house. Knowing that was easy. Figuring out what to do about it would be the hard part.
Chapter 7
Jack grabbed his bags from the plane's overhead storage compartment and nudged his way through the throng of passengers. With any luck he'd make it to the taxi stand before his fellow travelers found their luggage. A glance down at his watch caused him to sigh in disgust. They were five--no, make that six hours late--thanks to weather delays and overbooked flights. He had one hell of a headache and his ears still rang from the constant crying of the small child in the seat behind him. Cursing softly, he vowed that this was the last time he'd fly into JFK airport during the holidays.
He wondered if any of the nurses would let him sneak into his wife's room at the hospital. Probably not. He'd be better off calling the hospital and leaving the message that he'd been delayed and would be by sometime after breakfast.
How long would Audrey be in this time? They usually kept her for four or five days, then released her to a nurse's care at home. Poor kid; his heart grieved for her. She didn't deserve the sickness that ravaged her slender body. Until the past nine months, she'd always been the picture of health. Now, everything had changed, and not for the better.
He took several deep breaths and tried to channel his thoughts in another direction. He and Audrey had been friends as long as he could remember, keeping each other company since childhood. Somehow, over the years, their relationship had deepened into love, although neither of them realized it.
It had taken a nasty car accident to make them both see how much they meant to each other. That had been a shock--for both of them. Their relationship had always been platonic; suddenly it developed into something entirely opposite. In the weeks that followed, they could hardly keep their hands off each other. Their relationship reached new heights, and two months later he asked her to marry him. He'd wanted a short engagement, but somehow six months passed before all the arrangements were finalized.
While Audrey took care of last-minute wedding changes, he'd agreed to do a short inventory job for his boss. That was when he'd met Mary. In the span of five days, everything in his life turned upside down. He couldn't understand how he could he love one woman and be so attracted to another. Wracked by guilt, he'd put his feelings for Mary aside and returned home to Audrey.
She'd noticed something was wrong, but he simply told her it was pre-marital jitters. He even managed to convince himself that what he felt for Mary wasn't real, and that his love for Audrey hadn't changed. He and Audrey had been happy at first. Like most newlywed couples they spent most of their time together, oblivious to anyone but themselves. Even though his job caused him to travel frequently, he was always glad to return home to the arms of his loving wife.
However, after they'd been married nearly four years, something started to change. He and Audrey drifted apart, gradually spending less and less time together. Maybe it was because he traveled so much. Unfortunately there wasn't a single incident he could put his finger on and say "That's what caused our unhappiness." Whatever was happening between them wasn't that finite. He still loved her; that had never changed. And, he knew she still loved him. No, it was the nature of their relationship that was subtly altering.
They tried going to a marriage counselor, who suggested they spend more time together. However, in the midst of their problems, Audrey had become sick--very sick. It only took one doctor visit to topple their entire world. Tears misted his eyes as he remembered that terrible afternoon.
His breathing became labored and he slowly counted to thirty. Rehashing old history wouldn't help matters. Right now he needed to concentrate on getting Audrey well.
After dumping his bags on the front room floor, he dialed the hospital and left a message. Exhaustion finally caught up with him; his entire body felt like one gigantic ache. He downed a couple of aspirin, set the alarm, and collapsed into his favorite overstuffed recliner. A couple of hours of shut-eye would make him as good as new.
If only he could do that for Audrey.
Chapter 8
Nicole Martine stared at Mary over the top of the report and drew her finely arched eyebrows together. "There has to be some mistake! The items in the house are worth more than thirty-five thousand dollars. The master bedroom furniture alone has to be worth at least ten thousand. Every single thing in that room is a valuable antique. I've looked up some of their descriptions in the catalogues, so I know their value," she complained. "Are you sure you know what you're supposed to be doing? Where's Mr. Windom? Why isn't he here?"
Mary shifted uncomfortably in her chair. This was going to be uglier than she'd anticipated. She searched for a way to diffuse the situation, but found none. Other than their age, she and Mrs. Martine had nothing in common. The situation might have been better if they'd met at the plantation, instead of Nicole's home. If they had, she could have used some of the furniture to substantiate the low appraisal value. The meeting location was unfortunate, but she could do nothing about it now. Her only option was to end the interview as soon as possible, then make a hasty retreat. She took a deep breath and made eye contact.
"I'm sorry you're not happy with the evaluation, Mrs. Martine, but it is an accurate appraisal of the plantation's contents. There were very few antiques, and the rest of the furniture was either badly damaged, or of poor quality. The prices listed in the antique catalogs are for items considered to be in mint condition. Both Mr. Windom and I agreed on the dollar amount of every object in the house. His report is included in the summary I've given you. The value of each item is well within current market prices." She removed a booklet from her briefcase and held it in front of her. "Here's the reference book we use as a basis for every appraisal. You're welcome to check any of the items against it."
Nicole took the book from her hand. "Don't worry, I plan to check every single item. As far as I'm concerned, this report is a waste of my money. In fact, I'm going to call your superiors and demand a refund."
Mary winced at the woman's biting tone. "I'm sorry you're upset with the evaluation, Mrs. Martine, but there's nothing I can do to change it. You could hire another firm to re-evaluate the contents, but I'm sure their findings would be very similar."
Nicole picked up the thick report and flipped through the pages. Occasionally she would run her finger down the right side of the page, pausing to read the dollar value of certain it
ems.
Mary could tell she was angry, because two bright splotches of red appeared on Nicole's ivory cheeks, and one of the muscles on the side of her face twitched. She wanted to do something to placate the angry woman, but nothing she could say would alter the facts. Aside from one or two valuable antiques, the plantation furniture was old and worn--and would not bring much if auctioned.
When Nicole finished reading, she placed the report back on the coffee table. Several agonizing minutes ticked by as the two women stared at each other.
Finally, Nicole reached over and idly tapped three of her ruby red fingernails on the table. Then, as if she'd made some sort of decision, she pointed a well-manicured finger toward the door. "I think it's time you left, Ms. Corbett. The maid will show you out. Goodbye."
Mary softly exhaled the breath she'd been holding, grabbed her briefcase, and walked to the door. "Goodbye, Mrs. Martine."
The reference book sailed through the air and bounced off the wall, inches from her head. Smothering her surprise, Mary made a hasty retreat to the safety of her car. Her hands trembled as she drove down the driveway, past the tall, wrought iron gates. Once the silhouette of the mansion disappeared from her rear-view mirror, she loosened her grip on the steering wheel and forced herself to calm down. It wasn't until she stopped to fill up the rental car that she remembered to call her boss and warn him about their unhappy customer.
"Don't worry, Mary. I can handle her," Mac responded. "You're one of our best curators and I trust your judgment. I'll call Frank at Brannon and pass on the information. Sorry you had a problem. If I'd known she was going to be a problem, we might have handled things differently."
Yeah, right. Like somebody else could have handled the situation any better? Though irritated by his comment, Mary forced herself to be polite. Mac wouldn't appreciate a sarcastic reply. "No problem, Mac. Except for the exit interview, things went pretty well. I'll fill you in on Monday."
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