Another Hour to Kill

by Anita Higman

  When the muffins came out, Dedra snatched an edge off one of the tops and popped it in her mouth. “Owww. Pumpkin buttery clouds with a hint of cloves. Makes me wonder why we fall in love with men when we have muffins like this.”

  I chuckled, wondering how I’d become a Martha Stewart overnight. I certainly had no real homemaking skills. I motioned for her to sit in the one cushy chair around the folding table.

  When we sat down and absorbed the satisfying aromas, I realized Dedra was facing the brass box across the room. Oh dear. I took a tentative sip from my mug, resigning myself to the fact that at any moment my friend would spot the chest and pelt me with a thousand and one questions.

  She took a swig of her coffee and glanced up from her cup. “Ohhh, my, my, my. What do I see?”

  Bingo.

  Dedra’s big dark eyes just got bigger, and her mouth opened wide enough to catch a few flies. “So, I’ll bet that’s the legendary chest. The treasure box that was hidden in the passage? Right? Am I right?”

  Here we go. “That’s the one. Go ahead and bring it over.”

  “Oh, this is sooo exciting. There’s intrigue at every turn in this house. In fact, it’s not really like a house, it’s more of a life voyage. . .a great and wondrous adventure.”

  I smiled.

  Dedra scuttled over to the brass box and came back holding it as if she were offering a sultan a chest of gold. She eased down onto her folding chair and set the box on her lap.

  I munched on my muffin while Dedra sat looking like one of those ancient dudes frozen in a glacier. She gawked at the chest. Maybe she’d decide to slip the box under her arm and race off with it. I doubted I’d miss the thing. Should I say something? “I guess you’re stunned?”

  Dedra appeared transfixed on the box as she let her fingers light across the top of it. She acted as if this were her first encounter with the sensation of touch. Always the artist—even her hands—short unpainted nails, but stained with the colors of her livelihood.

  “What a mysterious heirloom,” she finally whispered. “I think I’ll add this box to the still-life painting I’m working on. I don’t need to take it with me, though. I already have it memorized. May I have a look at what’s inside?”

  “You’re going to be disappointed, since it’s mostly empty, except for a few old mementos.”

  “I know, but I’ve been so curious.”

  Yes, what a great word to describe Dedra—curious. About all of life, in fact. That was what made her such a great artist and such a fun friend. But then perhaps I could have appreciated the box’s beauty more if it hadn’t brought me such misery. “Be my guest.” I raised my cup to her.

  Dedra looked at me. “I understand, you know.”

  “Understand what?”

  “Well, why you didn’t want to show this treasure box to anyone but Max.”

  “Honestly, I never meant to—”

  “Please let me finish.” Dedra held up her hand. “When I asked to see the box a month or so ago, you said you planned on hiding it back in the tunnel in your bedroom. Since I consider you my newest, but dearest friend, I did get my feelings hurt just a bit. But I’ve had some weeks to think about it. And I realize why you put it away.”

  I felt relieved that Dedra hadn’t held any grudges, but if she knew I’d once entertained the idea that she could have been an accomplice to the crimes committed in this house, she might not be so benevolent just now. “I really did need to move on. And this thing,” I said, glaring at the box, “represented all the terrors I was put through.”

  “I hear ya.” Dedra nodded. “You needed to distance yourself from it, so you could heal. And, I knew after some weeks, you’d have a clearer perspective of your future here in this house.”

  I shook my finger at her. “You’re good.”

  She chuckled. “Well, I haven’t had ten years of counseling for nothing.” Dedra pulled the rubber band off her wrist and swept her mass of ringlets up in a ponytail.

  Our gazes settled back on the chest. “I’m ready to have another look. And I’m glad you’re here to share it with me. Please, be my guest.” I motion toward the box on her lap.

  She raised her hand to her lips.

  My goodness, gracious. For someone who was desperate to see inside something, Dedra was mighty hesitant. Or maybe she was enjoying some imaginary drum roll. Or perhaps she was afraid that after all this time, she really would be disappointed with the meager contents of the box.

  Dedra let go of the handles and lifted the latch. The hinges were no longer feisty, so with the exception of a few rusty squeaks, the lid opened easily. She gazed inside.

  I leaned over and looked at the contents with her—an empty perfume bottle, a watch, two green marbles, a faded red hanky with embroidered edges, a photograph of a woman, and a tarnished skeleton key.

  Dedra’s face became paralyzed with what looked like awe.

  “It’s okay. You may handle them.”

  She picked up the yellowed photograph first and cradled it in her palm. “I wonder who this could be. She’s beautiful, but such tragic eyes.” Dedra handed the picture to me.

  I studied the photograph a little more closely than I had before. The woman in the picture wore a lacy Victorian dress accented with a cameo at her collar. Her long hair was swept up in a kind of elaborate Edwardian style, making her look older. Her eyes though, gave away her youth, and yet those same eyes seemed to hold a lifetime of secrets. “She certainly doesn’t look like a bootlegger. Does she?”

  “So, you think she’s connected to what went on in this house?” Dedra’s eyes brightened.

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. I’m just rambling.”

  Dedra placed the photo back and picked up the empty perfume bottle. “So unique.” She gingerly turned the bottle in her hands. “You know, each of these pieces might be linked. There’s bound to be history here, or maybe some clues.”

  “Or someone might have just tossed this stuff in here, never imagining that we’d romance over it nearly a hundred years later. It might mean nothing at all.” Now why I would say such a thing—I, who believed in the interconnectivity of things and that this house had so many secrets it needed fulltime help just to listen to them all? I, who was also beginning to believe that Granny had chosen me for that very task. Or maybe I just didn’t want Dedra hounding me night and day, trying to make sense of my little relics.

  “I take that back,” I said, feeling guilty. “They may be connected, but I think it’ll take a lot of hunting to figure it out.”

  “I love hunting.” Dedra wiggled her eyebrows.

  Just what I thought. “But with my wedding coming up and all the repairs on this house, I don’t have time to supervise anymore adventures. I’m sorry.”

  Dedra’s shoulders sagged. “That’s okay. Maybe after the wedding you’ll have time to explore.” Her voice went a little weary.

  I studied her for a moment. Most of the time when we discussed my wedding she was excited, but once in a while I’d catch a subtle twinge of pain in her voice that was unexpected. I hoped my speculation was false. But if not, I prayed that whatever she may have felt for Max was gone now. I certainly never wanted to hurt Dedra. All in all, this didn’t seem like the best time to ask her to be my maid-of-honor.

  Dedra stared out the window, looking lost in thought. “Do you think she’s still alive?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman in the photo.”

  “Oh. I have no idea.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Well, if she’s say sixteen or seventeen when the photo was taken, and if the picture was taken toward the end of Prohibition, then she might be around. . .what, let’s see, maybe early nineties? It’s unlikely she’d be alive.”

  “That’s probably true, but not very romantic sounding or pleasant to think of.” Dedra examined the tarnished skeleton key next. “Oh, but this. . .it looks like it came out of an enchanted story like Legends of the Dark Knights or something, and then with this key they’d b
e able to open a door to a great mythical treasure, which lies just beyond the dragon’s lair.” She giggled. “Makes you wonder, though. You know, if it could open something incredible.”

  “Like what?” I was curious as to what else Dedra’s imaginative mind would cook up.

  “Not sure. Maybe another secret place. It sounds fantastical. Right? But who would have believed that inside your bedroom closet was a tunnel where bootleggers hid their whiskey?”

  I smiled. “True. Some mornings when I wake up I still have to go over it all—make myself believe it’s really true.”

  “By the way.” Dedra put the key back and licked her lips. “When are you finally going to let me see this secret passage?”

  Now that I thought about it, I felt pretty mean for keeping the tunnel from someone so full of imagination and passion. “You can see it right now if you want to.”

  “Really?” Dedra patted her hands together. “Oh, this is like Christmas morning. I can’t wait.” She set the box on the table. “Oh, Marlene at church will never believe it—finally seeing the secret tunnel.”

  I knew Marlene at church, and I was not only certain she’d believe it, she’d be over for a tour in five minutes.

  “Let’s go.” Dedra rose, looking ready to seize the day by attacking the tunnel.

  The doorbell rang. Was I saved by the bell? Maybe. “I’d better get that.” I gave her a serious nod, hoping I didn’t look too relieved.

  Dedra’s shoulders went droopy, which made me feel like a chump of the highest order. But then that was certainly nothing new.

  I slogged to the front door with Dedra in my wake. Unfortunately, somewhere between my hasty offer to let my friend see the tunnel and her overly eager response, I started to remind myself of the reasons I didn’t want people to see the tunnel. A.—the passageway was perilous, and people would invariably want to explore it and end up getting hurt. And B.—Dedra was a great gal, but sometimes her gusto went into broadcast mode, which would mean the end to my privacy.

  I opened the door to Magnolia. She stood in front of us with her hair up in a poufy thing, an apron tied around her middle, and her hands positioned on her hips. “Dedra lady, where have you been?”

  “Right here.” Dedra chewed on her lower lip. “Did I forget something?”

  “Yes, you most certainly did. You promised to help me bake pies for the women’s shelter.”

  “Oh, no.” Dedra’s hands flew to her mouth. “Autumn-fest. Pies.”

  Magnolia let out enough of a sigh to lift a hot-air balloon. “That’s right. We’ve got to make three strawberry rhubarb, three lemon chiffon, and two blackberry. In fact, if my memory isn’t failing me, this was all your idea.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry. I’m coming right now.” Dedra grabbed her purse off the entry table and scooted out the door. “Bye, Bailey. I’ll have to take a rain check on the tunnel thing.”

  I tried to tone down my grin. “Bye.”

  Dedra waved her hand over her shoulder and then circled her arm through Magnolia’s. They strolled off down the walkway and were cooing like two doves by the time they hit the gate. Now how did that doorbell ring at just the right second? And to think, I didn’t even have to pay Magnolia to come over and interrupt us. You are so bad, Bailey.

  I looked out over the neighborhood, suddenly wishing I could see the Houston skyline, but couldn’t because of all the monstrous live oaks. Amazing that downtown was only fifteen minutes away, and I had only spent an hour or two exploring it. I added that to my mental to-do list.

  Once back in the kitchen, I lifted the old photo out of the chest and then eased down onto my only soft chair. I turned the yellowed paper over and held it up to the light. Something was there. On the back in the lower right-hand corner I saw a fine impression that almost looked like a name. I quickly grabbed one of my small lamps, removed the shade, and held the photo over the bright light. I still couldn’t quite make out the faded script.

  Then I remembered a mystery I’d read once entitled The Foreshadowing, and in it a sleuth deciphered faded handwriting by simply penciling over it lightly. I didn’t want to damage the photo and yet my curiosity wasn’t about to sit still. I yanked open my kitchen junk drawer, found a sharpened pencil, and ever so gently stroked the pencil back and forth, covering the delicate impression with graphite.

  My breathing picked up. Like magic, the script had come to life. Oh, yeah. A faint, but discernible name appeared. It looked like Alexandra. The middle name was Marie—like my own. And the last name was definitelyHeltzberg.

  I turned the photograph over and looked at the young woman again. “So, you’re Alexandra,” I whispered. “You really do look desperate.” I wish I knew why.

  3 – Troubling Thoughts

  The doorbell rang again, giving off its flourish of majestic tones and pulling me from my reverie. I gingerly tucked Alexandra back into the box and headed through the hallway toward the entry.

  On opening the door, I saw Max, my Max, leaning against one of the posts and wearing tan khakis and my favorite navy silk shirt. Mmm. Good-looking, in a Joaquin Phoenix kind of way. Instantly, all troubling and baffling thoughts fled from my mind. A blissful calm flowed through me like an IV drip of Valium.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself,” I said, sounding more croaky than sultry.

  Max stepped over the threshold and took me in his arms. “And how is my One and Only today?”

  I took pleasure in the sureness of those arms and the warmth of that smile. “I’m doing all right.”

  “Only all right?” He looked disappointed.

  “Much better since you’re here.” Max always seemed to carry the scent of the outdoors, even if he’d been inside all day. I gave him another squeeze.

  “Uh-oh.” Max released me and stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his pants. “Has Dolly been over?”

  “No, she hasn’t.” Dolly was Max’s dear cousin on his mother’s side who put the “over” in “overwhelming.” In other words being around Dolly was like having a triple shot of espresso, without any foaming milk or syrup or cream to cut the caffeine. “Oh, was she planning on coming over for a visit?” I said in my chirpiest voice.

  Max said nothing.

  “Is it about the wedding?”

  He paused.

  Not good.

  “You know.” Max gave me a consoling grin. “Dolly has really taken a liking to you.”

  “Oh?” I drummed my fingers against my legs. “But don’t you think it’s odd that Dolly likes me so much. . .especially since I’m not all that likeable.”

  Max laughed. “That’s not true. Look, I tried to redirect my family away from our simple wedding plans. I really did give it a go. But the pressure keeps building.”

  “I kind of figured you were going to say that.”

  “Even if one of my five sisters had married before me, I don’t think they’d be so militant about this, but hey, they’re excited. And I am thirty-five after all. That’s pretty old in their book.”

  “It’s not old at all. Although I did see a few gray hairs earlier.” On impulse, I reached up and ruffled his thick brown hair.

  Max caught my hand and the moment heated up again. “And they’re excited about you being a part of our family.”

  How could one argue with his family’s logic; it was so endearing. “I see.”

  “You know, I want us to plan the wedding, and yet I’d like to honor a few of my parents’ wishes. I hope that’s still okay.” He shook his head. “This is difficult, since my best plan is to elope with you right this minute.”

  I kissed Max’s cheek. “I think your parents are wonderful. I’ve grown to love them, and I wouldn’t want to hurt them. I know they want to celebrate with us.” I straightened my shoulders, ready to trudge up mountains of rice bags and swim through rivers of sherbet punch. For my Max. “So, what kind of guest list are we talking about?”

  “I know we were hoping to have the wedding in Memaw’s backya
rd. But it appears there’s not enough room now.”

  “Not enough room? Really?” I dabbed at the perspiration beading on my forehead. “So, do you mean like say, two hundred guests?”

  Max winced.

  “Three hundred?” Even my feet were sweating now.

  “Four hundred and seven on the list. . .so far.”

  My head did a funny little buzzy thing. “Oh, wow.” I took in a deep drink of oxygen. “Maybe I need to sit down. Let’s go in the kitchen.”

  “Wait just a sec.” Max held up his hand. “Here’s the good part.” He crossed his arms. “Since the guests are almost all my friends and family, my grandparents want to pay for the whole wedding, and—”

  “But Max.” I gave his arms an affectionate tug. “Because of my inheritance from Granny I have more than enough to cover the wedding.”

  “But they insist. They want you to be able to use your Granny’s money the way she intended. . .and that is to make this house into a home.”

  I hardly knew what to say. “I don’t know.” I paused, mulling over their more than generous offer. “Well, maybe, with one condition.” I narrowed my eyes, hoping to seal the deal.

  “Name it.”

  “No wedding planner.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain.”

  “All right. But I hope you’ll let me help the minute you feel overwhelmed. I wouldn’t—”

  “I promise.” I reached up and touched his cheek. “By the way, that is incredibly generous of your grandparents. Please thank them. Better yet, I’ll thank them by taking them out to their favorite restaurant.”

  “They would love that.” He ran his finger along the contours of my face.

  I closed my eyes to enjoy the sensation to the fullest.

  “And since they’re paying,” Max whispered in my ear, “Memaw said you could have anything you want. . .an outdoor ceremony with a big tent.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, feeling distracted by Max’s soft breath on my neck.

  “And we can have our guests arrive in horse-drawn carriages,” he said, wooing me in a dreamy voice.