Keeper of the Key

by Barbara Christopher

  He’d started up the hill with every intention of having his morning shower, but decided to skip it. He had work to do. Saws, knives and axes were his tools of trade, and they needed tending. If a man wanted to be good at his trade, he had to practice. To do that he needed supplies.

  Caleb lowered the sack to the ground. He caught a low-hanging branch and scanned the thick underbrush looking for a fallen tree, one suitable enough to make a small trinket box for Becci. A nice pine or a cedar would do the trick.

  Hopefully he would be able to find one that had been down long enough to be dry, but not so long that rot had set in. Pine trees lined the top of the next hill. Caleb hoisted the ax back to his shoulder and caught hold of the burlap sack. Maybe he would find something deeper in the woods.

  He froze when he reached the hill’s crest. Twenty feet in front of him were three lines of different shaped automobiles. They took off as if he’d scared them out of their nesting place. He dropped the sack beside him and slipped to the ground. As he watched, another colorful group came to a halt in front of him, stayed for a moment then moved away. While one set rested others passed in front of them. The lines came and went, stopped and started.

  Above them, a mysterious rectangle went from green to yellow and then to red. A loud noise erupted from one of the cars. One man waved his fist at another.

  Caleb backed away. His heart echoed in his head. These things looked dangerous rolling along in their little clusters—exciting and dangerous. Too dangerous for him to consider investigating alone. He would have to wait for Becci to escort him onto the funny roads in the powerful carriages.

  Ppppppa. Pppppaa. The sound of Luke’s voice startled Caleb, and his heart hammered in his chest. Had he stepped back in time?

  A breeze twisted the tall Johnson grass. Off in the distance he could just barely make out the roof of Berclair Manor. Before him cars stopped and started. Across the road one man held a sign to a tall, limbless, tree, while another man placed the end of something that looked like a gun against the sign, and the sound erupted again. It wasn’t Luke. Just a strange sound from an even stranger looking object.

  Realizing it wasn’t Luke left him feeling both disappointed and relieved. Heaven help him, he was torn between going back and staying. In the past, Luke needed him and loved him. And Rebecca, a friend, had trusted him with both hers and Luke’s future. They both would be happy to have him permanently in their lives.

  Here, there was Becci. Who . . . Who what? She didn’t trust him to be in her house alone. She definitely didn’t like him, nor did she need him. But he loved the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the softness of her skin, and the sweet scent of wildflowers she always wore. He loved everything about her, even her independent streak.

  No, she definitely didn’t need him. Unless you counted the fact that he knew where the gold was hidden. And he did know. He was sure of it now.

  Caleb turned to the left. If he planned on finishing the trinket box he was making, he needed to find a suitable wood for the tray. Maybe he would have better luck if he headed away from the automobiles, or cars, as Becci had called them.

  “Finally,” he whispered hours later. He rested his foot on a downed oak and stared at the pile of brush containing, not only oaks, but also pines, maples and various fruitwoods. Any of which would work for his project.

  Sweat trickled down Caleb’s cheek. The sun stood directly overhead. It had taken him half a day to find what he needed. Of course, he’d spent a good part of it watching the cars stop and go down the road.

  Caleb dropped his sack and picked out the right-sized tree. He raised the ax and slammed it down. Putting his foot on the log, he worked the blade out of the wood and again brought it down. He reached for the piece that cracked away and put it in his sack.

  He repeated the action, adding another hunk of wood to his trove. He reached down to move a chunk of bark away from the blade. That’s when he saw the swarm of angry yellow jackets inches from where he’d buried the ax into the log.

  One of the insects slammed into his hand, and he knocked it away. The flash of pain told him his reaction hadn’t been quick enough. He tried to jerk the ax free, but it wouldn’t budge. If the ax had been his, he could leave it behind, but it wasn’t his. He had only one choice. Hold the log steady with his foot and work the blade out. Hopefully he would loosen the ax before the swarm had a chance to inflict too much pain.

  “AUNT LILLY,” BECCI called as she opened the back door.

  “In the parlor, dear,” Lilly called back. “And before you ask, the answer is no, I haven’t seen Pepper all day. Frankly, I’m worried. He didn’t come when I called, and he’s always eager to come in after you leave for work. Caleb didn’t come in for his morning coffee, either. Even during the three days you two weren’t talking, he came in to have a cup of coffee with me.”

  Lilly sat in the rocker, her head tilted back. The early afternoon sun danced across Rebecca’s tattered journal, which rested on her lap. Pushing with one foot, Lilly kept the chair moving in a rhythmic sway.

  “Do . . . do you think he’s . . . gone?” Becci asked. She heard the quiver in her voice and knew her aunt had heard it, too. She’d practically run out the hospital door when her shift ended at one. She’d spent her entire morning worrying about Caleb.

  “Could be. He’s been mysteriously absent all day. He might have left, or he could be off exploring on his own. I promised him I’d take him shopping, but after yesterday, I doubt he’ll ever want to go. Maybe we should just give him the gold and let him leave.”

  Had her aunt found something in the journal? Becci rested her hand on the book to get her aunt’s attention. “What is it, Aunt Lilly?”

  Lilly brushed her hand over the journal again. “Caleb said he left the day Rebecca was murdered, June eighteenth, but he arrived here over six weeks earlier, May the second.”

  “So?”

  “If what Rebecca wrote in one of the earlier journals is true, the days Caleb spends here are counted in minutes in the past.” Lilly opened the book to the first bookmark and handed it to Becci.

  Obadiah and the stranger who came to see him fell through the portal today. They were only gone a few minutes, yet Obadiah claimed they’d stayed three days. Thankfully Obadiah had had the medallion in his pocket and was able to return. His friend, however, didn’t come back. I fear the stranger has taken the other medallion with him. When Saul and I questioned Obadiah further about his travels, we learned that he’d nearly frozen to death in those three days. It might be spring here but he’d landed in Raleigh in the dead of winter.

  “There’s a time difference,” Becci murmured. “It’s like a hole—time gets sluggish as you climb to the future, and when you return you land practically at the same moment you left.”

  “There’s more. Turn to the next page I have marked.”

  Becci glanced at Lilly then turned to the page and read.

  Obadiah tried to find his friend again today. It’s been nearly a month since he fell through the portal. Obadiah thought he knew what to expect, but this time he felt no pain and didn’t use the whiskey he’d taken with him. Obadiah said he spent a whole month looking for his friend, yet he returned the same day he’d left. Saul and Obadiah think the weather might change the time frame. They think it’s best not to travel during a storm.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Becci nodded. “Caleb can’t save Rebecca and Luke.”

  “He’s been here three weeks—twenty one days. He may have stayed here too long to catch the real murderer, too,” Lilly added.

  “What are we going to do?”

  Before Lilly could answer, someone tapped on the back door. Becci grasped Lilly’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. It had to be Caleb. She wasn’t expecting anyone else.

  Becci hurried to the back d
oor with Lilly close behind. She placed her hand over her heart to slow its rapid pounding which the thought of seeing Caleb had created. Her excitement plummeted when she saw Michael standing on the steps, his hands shoved in his pockets and a smile that looked more like a sneer curling his lips.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

  “Is that any way to treat a friend?”

  He entered uninvited and leaned down to kiss Becci. She turned away just as his mouth would have touched hers. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “We have a problem. Fix a pot of coffee, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  Not another problem!

  Becci headed for the kitchen, started the coffee and dropped into one of the chairs. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m afraid there has been a mistake on the date for your party. Instead of next Friday, it’s going to be tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow! Impossible,” Becci said, panicked. They couldn’t possibly prepare everything in one day.

  “If you can’t get ready for the party, I guess we’ll have to cancel. They can’t rebook until sometime in the fall—October or November—and there won’t be any aid available then.”

  “Surely we can set up something else on a different day. I’ll take a day’s vacation.”

  “Sorry. As I said, it’s tomorrow night or not at all.”

  Becci’s hopes died. Without that grant, she wouldn’t be able to open her nursery. She’d lose Berclair Manor. And without Caleb here to help, she would never be able to pull the party together.

  “I can’t be ready that soon. I don’t get paid until next Thursday. I have to buy the food, and . . . and we have to finish painting. I can’t.” She fought back tears.

  “I’ll tell Mr. Latham to withdraw your application then. I’m sorry. Really sorry. I figured you’d be anxious to complete the sale now that you know you won’t be receiving the grant, so I brought along the papers for you to sign.”

  She stared at the pen. Over the last few weeks she’d begun to think she might win this time, but she’d been wrong. She’d have to sell. She didn’t have a choice. Her hand shook as she reached for the pen Michael held out to her.

  “Don’t sign anything yet.”

  Becci’s heart leaped at the sound of Caleb’s voice. She looked up and saw him standing just inside the small alcove. His face looked flushed, and his eyes had a feverish glare.

  He hadn’t left her.

  “I can finish the painting before nightfall, and I’ll move the rest of the furniture into place tomorrow morning.” Caleb smiled at her with that cockeyed smile that she’d gotten so used to seeing. “The house will be ready for the party tomorrow night.”

  Lilly glanced from Becci, to Michael and then to Caleb, but she didn’t speak.

  Neither did Caleb as he waited for Becci’s answer. He knew what he was asking Becci to do might be next to impossible, but he had to give it his best shot.

  “The food might be a problem,” he said when Becci didn’t speak. “If you two could cook up some ham, bacon, eggs, and rolls I think we can whip this party into shape and be in our dancing shoes at least an hour before the party begins. I already know what I’m wearing.”

  “You?” Ascott scoffed. “This is by invitation only, and I don’t recall putting your name on the list.”

  Silence hung like damp moss on a rainy day. Caleb shoved away from the door frame and crossed to the sink.

  The moment of truth had arrived. Would Becci inform Ascott that she had not only invited him, but made him the host for the evening? He kept his back to them. While waiting for Becci to speak, he turned on the faucet to wash the grime from his hands. The rush of water invaded the gaping silence as the seconds ticked by.

  Caleb opened the cabinet and pulled out a cup. The door banged closed, and the sound cracked louder than a rifle blast.

  Why wasn’t she speaking? He rubbed his thumb over the back of his swollen hand. He’d been stung in at least six places, but he was lucky. A couple more stings, and he would have more than a little fever and a few welts to show for his outing.

  Caleb reached for the coffeepot. The glass container clattered against its plastic base. Still, Becci remained silent. He carefully set the decanter back into place. Her unspoken declaration gave him the answer he needed. She would retract her invitation and let Ascott be the host.

  It didn’t matter, Caleb told himself as he clutched the edge of the sink.

  The hell it didn’t.

  Whatever she decided, he would work hard to make sure the party went on without a hitch. He would do this one last thing for Becci, even if it meant losing her forever.

  Fourteen

  BECCI FLICKED HER gaze over Michael, the ever-tidy, white-collared businessman, who stood in the middle of the room. When Caleb had entered, Michael had taken the pen and slipped it and the papers back into his coat pocket while casting a disdainful look at Caleb. She’d never noticed before how he tilted his head as if looking down his nose at everyone.

  She switched her attention to Caleb. He looked more comfortable with his surroundings. His actions revealed a casual façade that intrigued her—strong, silent, and dangerous. Definitely a man that shouldn’t be taken lightly.

  Her pulse throbbed, and her mind raced with confusion. Caleb made her heart dance and her body ache in a way that had all her senses humming. Definitely dangerous.

  With each second of silence she saw his posture change. Each deliberately calculated move accented his altering mood. He slowly filled his coffee cup and replaced the decanter. Steam swirled from his cup, and, keeping his back to them, he lifted the mug to his lips, took a sip, and set it back on the counter. His hand remained curled around the handle. She watched his shoulders sag and his head tip forward, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened.

  Gradually he eased his fingers free. As she continued to watch him, he lowered his arms, clutching the edge of the counter. His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, then straightened. After taking a deep breath, he turned and fixed his gaze on her.

  Becci whipped her braid back over her shoulder. When she saw Michael send Caleb a calculated smirk, she curled her fingers into her palms.

  Michael thought he’d won.

  “It’s true you’ve handled inviting the employees of Ascomp, Michael, but that doesn’t mean I can’t invite whomever I want.”

  “It’s a private party.”

  “Michael . . . ” Becci’s voice, raspy with anger, echoed in the intense silence. He turned the smirk in her direction and, with a slight tip of his head, indicated for her to continue.

  She gathered her courage and rested her hands on her hips. “Michael, this is my party. Not only did I invite Caleb, but he will be attending as the host.”

  “Host? I thought . . . .” Michael’s voice hissed through his clenched teeth, and anger sent blotches of color to his cheeks.

  Becci studied the way he drew in a deep breath and released it. She’d encountered this side of Michael once before. Angry and volatile.

  “I told the president of the company that I would be hosting,” he said.

  “Then you’d better inform him of your mistake. You are not a member of this household.”

  Michael started to protest, and she raised her hand, signaling him not to speak. “Caleb has been a dear friend of the family for a long time. He came here to help me with the problems surrounding the manor, and it’s only natural that he be the one hosting the event that could save my home.”

  Becci drew in a deep breath, hoping she’d put enough sincerity into her voice to disguise the lie. After all, it held a smattering of truth. He had been a friend of Rebecca’s and Saul’s, and that was a long time ago.

  “If that’s your wish, Becci,” Michael said stiffly. “I’m your friend, too, an
d at one time I thought you loved me. I just want you to know that I’ll work with you no matter what Ascomp decides. Hopefully, after the party is over, you’ll come to your senses about us.”

  “There is no us, Michael. I meant what I said last night. I don’t love you. Time won’t change my feelings, and I had hoped we could be friends.”

  “I am your friend,” he repeated. “When he’s gone,” Michael said, tipping his head in Caleb’s direction, “I’ll still be here.”

  Before she could respond, he caught the lapels of his jacket and straightened them, then stroked his tie into place. “I told Mr. Latham that the party would begin with cocktails at seven and dinner at eight. I’ll be here around six to help with the last minute details.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Caleb and I can handle everything.” She wanted to tell him not to bother coming at all, but he was her only connection to Ascomp.

  Michael lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug and pulled the folded sheet of paper out his jacket again. He tapped it gently against his palm. “There’s another piece of property down on Beale Street that Ascomp is considering. The other place is well established. It’s a soup kitchen that provides for the homeless. Ascomp can only afford one grant, and Mr. Latham is pretty sure the soup kitchen will get it. Why don’t you sign these preliminary papers? Then once you know whether or not you get the grant, you can either tear these up or go along with the deal.”

  A cold smile curled Michael’s lips as he slipped a pen from his shirt pocket and held it and the papers out to Becci again. “You’re going to have to sell anyway. You might as well go ahead and sign it over.”

  She reached for the documents and the pen. What difference would it make if she signed the papers now or later? She could tear them up if she changed her mind.

  Don’t sign.

  Becci froze, her hand hovering over the papers. The whispered command became a chanted repetition in her head.