by Ann Self
Ashley’s back was to her, but as she twisted around to scowl at Jane, her mouth was set in a grim line. Lucinda was visibly outraged with splotches of red discoloring her perfect complexion. She smashed the table once with her fist, making everyone’s silverware jump and tinkle as she argued heatedly with Elliot—probably over his unfulfilled promise to keep Jane from the party. Cecily’s face looked shocked and dismayed. Gladys began sharply snapping orders to Lucinda, but Jane had no idea what she was saying.
Elliot Whitbeck did a slow boil. On top of everything else, he had to endure Lucinda whining and yapping his ear off. He was going to murder Travis when he got hold of him. Jane was supposed to be cooling her heels at Charmante’s stall waiting for him to show up; which of course he never intended to do. Then, when she got restless, Elliot had been adamant when he told Travis to keep her away—to do whatever he had to. He’d have to take care of Travis later, but he had a strong feeling the damn bodyguard might be thwarting his plans. Why hadn’t he been called away? Elliot felt a flush spread over his face as he realized his phone call to the State Police had prompted no action. They had politely ignored him and Westy was still present, filling his face at a table of Jane’s friends. Even the uninvited what’s-her-name blonde was crashing his party and eating his food. Next party, he vowed, would have gold-plated invitations and a bouncer at the door.
Jane tried to deal with the crowd closing in on her. At a table a little to the Whitbeck’s left, between passing bodies, she could see Brian, Evan and Olivia. Brian was speaking with his father and other businessmen at their table, but every so often his eyes would slant in her direction. There was no sign of Allison Paget, and Jane guessed that she had said “no thanks” to another invite to Springhill.
Eventually Olivia wormed her way through the knees of the crowd and popped up in front of Jane. She kneeled down to give Brian’s daughter a big hug and a kiss. Olivia whispered, “I love you Jane,” and Jane said: “Love you too!” Scalding tears burned behind her eyes as she regained her feet.
Olivia carved a path through the bodies and raced back to her father’s table, giving him a bear hug and whispering something in his ear. Brian listened intently, then glanced sharply up at Jane, just as her view of him was completely blocked by people impatiently crowded in on her.
She began to feel extremely light-headed—a veil of black curtain forming just behind her eyes. She needed to sit down. She needed to eat. Jane tried to see the table where Madeline, Sam, and Westerlund were seated, happily putting away food and drink and busily engaged in conversation. The thought of trying to get through a wall of faces—to make it to that table—made her feel claustrophobic, and she knew she was close to fainting. One of the people crowding in on her was suddenly Lucinda, using her crutches to plow people out of the way. Jane struggled to keep Lucinda’s face in focus. Just behind Lucinda, Ashley stood with her arms folded resolutely. Lucinda’s back-up—friends again, united for a common cause.
“My father wants you to get Charmante and groom him and turn him out in the arena so everyone can see him. And he wants you to make sure you have the flower tubs removed first!”
Jane raised her eyebrows at Lucinda, trying to keep Lucinda’s face from sliding apart into fuzzy doubles. Dots of light sparkled around her vision. “Oh really—does he?” Jane asked snidely.
Lucinda was oblivious to the other faces in the crowd staring at her. “Yes, and he wants it done ASAP!”
Ashley nodded affirmation, her arms still tightly crossed and her lower jaw gritted like a bulldog.
“Well,” Jane said calmly, “he’s forgotten I’m no longer on the payroll. I guess he’ll have to do it himself. Excuse me please.” Jane managed to slip through the crowd and out one of the doors, fleeing down darkened empty corridors. She did not want to faint in front of the Whitbecks—or in front of the Canadays for that matter.
Brian listened to Olivia whispering in his ear.
“Daddy, Jane said she loves me!” He snapped his eyes up to fastened them on Jane, but people were crowding in on her mercilessly, and he had to struggle to see her. She’s turned as white as her shirt, he thought to himself, and decided she’d be lucky not to faint. He observed Lucinda plowing through the crowd to start ranting at her, and then watched in alarm as Jane fled out a door.
Brian jumped to his feet, on the verge of following her, but agonized over leaving Olivia. Even with his father present he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off his daughter in that barn of hideous “accidents”. He spotted Westerlund and Madeline—who were also standing and looking around wildly for Jane—and sharply motioned to them while jabbing a finger towards the door. They struggled to get through the swarms of people trying to hand them business cards.
Jane had to stop once or twice as she ran, to lean on her knees, fighting the black curtain of unconsciousness that threatened to overwhelm her.
Come on Husted, you can’t faint now...
Only anger and anxiety propelled her back to Sam’s office.
Reggie still sat there in a pool of light from the computer and desk lamp. She rushed in and flopped in Old Ugly, planning to put her head down on her knees to forestall fainting, and—much to her embarrassment—burst into tears instead of blacking out. Reggie looked at her astonished, the monitor colors reflecting off his reading glasses and white hair. “What now? Are you all right?”
“I...I’m okay, I think.” she answered, sniveling and feeling small in the overstuffed pile of tattered plaid.
“Too much success?” he asked, taking off his glasses and fetching her a box of tissues. Jane laughed, hiccupped, and grabbed a handful of tissues to blow her nose. “Too many people, too much success and too little food!” She took another handful of tissues and blotted away the moisture on her face. “Or maybe I’m just a wreck because I don’t know who’s trying to kill me. Not many people have to go around every day wondering who’s trying to kill them.”
“You’ll be out of here tomorrow. They aren’t likely to get another chance,” Reggie said as he put the tissue box back and rummaged around in a cabinet under the coffee pot.
“Yes, but...It’s just the fact that someone actually would kill me if they did have the chance, and probably someone I know quite well.”
“Running alone through the barn is probably not the smartest thing to do. That detective is going to kill you himself,” Reggie commented as he handed Jane a paper cup. “Here drink this, it’ll stop your shaking and calm your nerves and get the blood back in your head.”
“What is it?” She looked suspiciously into the trembling cup.
“Brandy. Not poison. Drink it down.” She took a tentative sip and grimaced, but the liquid burned a warm bracing path to her stomach and made her feel better. She took another sip and felt more substantial and less like a wet noodle.
“Finish it up.”
“I will, don’t worry. It’s better than a cup of coffee.”
“Ha!” Reggie snorted. Then he asked: “You didn’t manage to get any of that fancy food Elliot’s blowing his money on?”
“No. I was so surrounded by people—I couldn’t even eat. And Lucinda! Stomping after me on those stupid crutches, trying to order me around...”
Reggie shook his head. “No wonder you’re coming unhinged. All that work and no food since this afternoon—not to mention trying to evade wonder-hag.”
She laughed in her cup, feeling the blood finding its way back to her brain. “Lucinda just doesn’t know when to give up. No news from Dylan yet?”
“No, but I’m sure he’s fine by now,” he answered, again seating himself at the computer.
“You think it was a bad sandwich?”
“Most likely.”
Jane sat quietly sipping brandy, letting her nerves untangle and the blackness recede from her eyes, as Reggie touched a key here and there on the computer. He professed to hate the thing but she could tell he was almost hooked. The hurricane updates especially intrigued the old man.
There was a commotion in the corridor and Westerlund and Madeline burst into the office. “She’s here!” Madeline gasped.
Westerlund raced to stand over her, looking like thunder.
“I’m sorry,” Jane explained lamely, “I just had to get out of there.”
“And someone could have just taken the opportunity to help you out of your life!” he yelled, exasperated.
“I’m really sorry, but if I stayed much longer I would’ve taken a nose dive into the fancy red carpet and fainted dead-away. Lucinda was getting on my case and I couldn’t stay alert enough to deal with her. The family would’ve loved to seen me splayed out cold on the floor, and dragged away like Travis.
“You...” Westy sputtered, wagging his finger.
“Besides,” Jane interrupted his ranting, “whoever the psycho is, I’m sure he’s filling his face at the party. He couldn’t have expected me to leave...and believe me I ran full speed most of the way here. But—I promise—I’ll try to be more cooperative.”
Westy sighed, dropping the accusing finger.
“You could’ve just told us....”
“I couldn’t get anywhere near you, people swarmed me like I was a rock star.”
Westy studied the expression on her face and relented, resting his hands on his hips. “If I let anything happen to you I’m sure Madeline will dump me.”
Jane laughed. “I’ll be good, I promise. Besides, I’m not going back there. At this point, all I want is a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. Maybe a donut or two.”
Westy sniffed. “You guys are as bad as cops with your donuts.”
Madeline shook her head and heaved a weary sigh, letting her anger simmer away. “Here,” she said, “these are for you.” She handed Jane a stack of business cards. “When people realized you were gone they landed on me with their cards. I think every man in the place wanted to hire you and buy the horse.”
“Or visa-versa,” Westy joked.
“The cards were our first clue that you’d taken a powder.”
“That and Canaday waving at us like a wild man,” Westy laughed as he poked a button on his cell phone. “The man was pretty agitated when he saw you leave. He just about ordered us to run after you. I made Sam stay behind to keep an eye out for anyone else trying to make a quick exit.” He put the phone to his ear. “Hi—Sam, Westy here. Yep she’s in the office, tell Lars and Canaday she’s okay.” Westy was silent for a moment, and then said: “So no one at the Whitbeck table tried to sneak out..?”
Westerlund and Madeline brewed a pot of coffee in Jane’s little kitchen; about the only edible thing left in her apartment. Jane locked herself in her bathroom and soaked in a long, hot, bath. She had just enough strength left not to drown in it. Her stomach growled, after being denied lasagna and Bourbon Ham, but she was too tired to think about getting food. Her eyes lifted and she examined the ceiling uneasily. She listened for the sound of Madeline’s and Westy’s voices for reassurance.
While Jane lay soaking in the tub, Reggie was on his way to the lounge with a couple of stablehands to meet Sam and bring back food. The four of them cleverly confiscated a portion of the buffet, along with a few bottles of Elliot’s best stuff from the bar. In all the noise and confusion, no one noticed them sneaking behind the warming tables, piling lasagna and other delectable food into handy disposable tins and big plastic bags, and handing them out the side door to the guys waiting in the corridor. Sam also snagged a whole tin of crab salad and stuffed shrimp, and a complete cake in its holder. With all the food and drink stuffed in plastic bags, they looked like they were just taking out the trash and no one noticed except Brian. He missed nothing about what they were doing, watching them like a hawk. If it weren’t for his daughter’s presence, they would have acquired a silent, invisible tail.
Elliot and Lucinda were occupied furiously working the room to bring the attention back to the family, Charmante and the stable; and to lightly dismiss any contribution Jane made to the spectacular performance. Sam heard a comment on his way out about Lars and Charmante being responsible for the outstanding exhibit, that Jane was only a passenger following directions. Any rider could have done it according to them. Lars was quick to jump in and deny this and Brian also inserted himself into the conversation, saying it took a great deal of talent to give a performance of that caliber and they shouldn’t underestimate Jane’s contribution—leaving the family feeling like they had egg on their faces.
Brian caught Sam outside the skybox, before he could actually complete his escape, and grilled him about Jane’s whereabouts to make sure she was safe. After Sam informed Brian that Jane was in her apartment with Madeline and the detective, Brian let him go and returned to the skybox to keep an eye on Olivia.
Sam made a stop at his office for paper plates and cups and plastic cutlery, and then Sam, Reggie and the two stableboys brought everything up to Jane’s apartment. When Jane immerged from her bathroom in a sweatshirt, jeans, running shoes and damp hair wound in a knot, there was another party going on—cramped but very festive. Sam addressed Jane as he stuffed a shrimp in his mouth: “Boy, did I get the third degree from a Mr. Brian Canaday. Snagged me in the corridor before I could make my escape and demanded to know if you were all right!”
“What did you tell him?” She asked, eyeing the rib roast.
“Told him the truth,” Sam said as he moved to the tiny countertop completely taken up by the large roast. “Told him what Reggie told me—that you were soaking in the tub and being guarded by a State Police detective.”
The room roared with laughter and Jane rolled her eyes as she grabbed a paper plate, and someone handed her a cup of wine.
There was a tap on the door and they let in Lars, carrying his own bottle of wine. “Here’s where the real party is,” he joked, holding up the bottle. “Elliot gave me something for the road. He thought I was going back to the gatehouse,” he laughed, grabbing some food, pouring himself wine and setting between Reggie and Sam on the old sofa. Jane sniffed at his over-jolly demeanor and thought he really seemed like Santa now.
Lars drank his wine and then chuckled. “I just passed Travis staggering out of the barn on my way here. Looks like he fell off a cliff.”
“No,” Reggie joked, “he fell on Sam’s knuckles.”
Lars laughed. Then he raised his glass in a toast to Jane: “To a very talented girl who will find her place in this world.”
Everyone followed suit and toasted her with their own champagne, Scotch, beer, soda and coffee.
“Thank you, thank you.”
“So,” Sam asked Jane, “are you going to fit all these boxes in that Buick?”
“I’m packing some in my car,” Madeline answered him, as she sat cross-legged on Jane’s bed, devouring the stone-crab macaroni salad. “It’ll be a tight fit, but I think we can get them all.”
“When are you leaving?” Lars asked.
“We’ll be packing up the cars early tomorrow morning,” Jane answered, sitting next to Madeline. “Then I’ll be going to breakfast with Madeline in her car. She’ll drop me back here on her way to Boston so I can say good-bye to everyone—and after that I guess I’ll be hitting the road.”
“Just be sure you stay close to Sam and Reggie,” Westerlund admonished. “I called my mother and told her to start packing. It looks like I’ll be on the Cape tomorrow prying her out of that summer cottage, so I won’t be able to shadow you.”
“I’ll be sensible,” Jane promised.
“We’ll see that she is sensible,” Sam stated. “She won’t be out of our sight.”
“I’m taking Dylan’s empty bunk in the next room,” Sam said, “and these two guys will be in there too.” He pointed to the stableboys and fellow food-thieves sitting on the floor devouring lasagna. “So the girls will be well-guarded.” The guys grunted and waved their forks in agreement.
The party lasted well into the morning hours, long after the main party in the skybox went dark, although Lars left early to tur
n in. Westerlund decided it was just too dangerous for him to leave Jane and Madeline alone at night, and he slept in an old chair in the corner under a quilt. Not one of the party members ever noticed the small black hole in the ceiling that was no longer blocked with a tiny piece of rag.
Monday morning, Jane and Madeline awoke early to a threatening sky, relentless wind and a fine pelting rain. The night passed uneventfully. Reggie had nailed up the partition and fastened two bolts onto the small door, so there were no break-ins. Westerlund was snoring in his chair.
Sam rapped on the door at five-thirty to tell the girls not to dilly-dally on the soon-to-be-empty second floor, and was met by Westerlund staggering out with a stiff back and a crimped neck. Sam couldn’t help but laugh as the Detective tried to collect himself to get to his car.
Jane had slept in her sweatpants and sweatshirt and Madeline in her clothes on the unopened couch. After quickly brushing their teeth and washing up, the women parked their two cars near the west wing door and, with Sam’s help, packed them to the roofs with boxes, bedding, lamps and Teddy bears. Jane’s new riding outfit was packed in the trunk of Madeline’s car. They tossed several plastic bags of trash in a dumpster, and then Jane re-parked her Buick against the south wing in the line of trailers, old cars, Sam’s Ford pickup and Reggie’s Chevy truck.
Jane dashed through the relentless rain to jump in Madeline’s Jag, and to the tune of seven chimes of the clock tower, the two women drove off the deserted, wind-whipped estate to have breakfast. Jane had no way of knowing that a lifetime would pass before the next seven chimes.
At fifteen minutes past eight, after a hearty breakfast, Madeline dropped Jane back at the barn with a stern warning to stay close to Sam and Reggie, and not to wait too long before leaving.
