Forever and Always

by Jude Deveraux

When she smiled I knew I was making headway. Even better, I had an audience. “So I’ll just go there by myself and ask questions and probably get myself killed, since everyone else has. And that will be the end of Paul Travis.”

  She looked at me with twinkling eyes and said, “If he gets killed do you think we’ll get to see his apartment?”

  I laughed with her. She wasn’t easily made to feel guilty, that’s for sure. “Darci, the truth is that without you I can do nothing. Can you tell what will happen to my child if he isn’t found?”

  I didn’t have to be psychic to read what was on her face. “He’ll die, won’t he?”

  “No,” she said. “The mother will but not the child. There’s something about him…I don’t know what it is.”

  “Maybe he’s like you and someone wants to use him for nefarious purposes.” When I saw Darci’s too-pale face turn even whiter, I knew she was withholding information from me. “Spill it,” I said. “Out with it.”

  She drained her glass, then held it out for me to refill. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I don’t have the time.”

  At that I pointedly looked around the empty house. No husband, no kids, no employees, no job. What the hell did she do all day?

  “You don’t understand,” she said, running her fingertips around the edge of the wineglass. “I feel things all the time. Everywhere. But there’s one of me and thousands, even millions, of them.”

  “Them,” I said.

  “Yes, them. Evil people. No, not evil, that’s different. Greedy people, dishonest people. There are scams going on all over the world. I can’t go to parties with strangers because I become aware that the man by the piano is thinking about killing his wife, or the woman in the kitchen is stealing from her employer, or I’ll feel that the two children playing by the pool will be dead within a year.

  “I can’t change things…. I mean, I can change somethings but not enough to make a dent in the horror that’s in this world.”

  “So you isolate yourself in this house and do nothing.”

  “Not quite,” she said, and I knew she was trying to make me think she worked on projects all day long. Probably did. Probably worked on getting her husband back and nothing else.

  “You’ve been working on him for over a year. Think six more weeks will find him?” I was pleased to see her look shocked. Maybe I couldn’t read minds but an actor learned to read expressions, and I’d read hers perfectly.

  “Not possible,” she said as she put her glass down.

  “Not possible to do what?” I asked, putting on my innocent act.

  She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You go to wherever this woman was killed, find out all you can, bring the information back to me, and I’ll tell you everything I can.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “Two people are dead already but I’ll be safe. I’ll just ask about the kid and they’ll give me information and snapshots.”

  She sipped her wine for a moment and seemed to think about what I was asking her to do. “Where did the woman last work?”

  “A resort,” I said quickly—too quickly—and made myself slow down. “It’s an old…farm of sorts. Outbuildings. A couple of old-maid sisters own the place and have turned it into a sort of resort. Women go there for massages and whatever.”

  When she started looking at me hard, I couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

  “Read my mind,” I said and when she said, “Can’t,” I didn’t believe her. I got up, went to the foyer and fished inside my jacket for the brochure, then went back into the living room and handed it to her.

  She looked at it for a few moments and I could see her eyes widen in disbelief before she looked back up at me. “It’s a plantation named 13 Elms, in Alabama, complete with the slave cabins remodeled into guest houses. It’s owned by two women who are the descendants of the original owners and it’s—” She opened her eyes so wide I thought they were going to pop. “Among other things available to their guests, they conduct séances.”

  I gave her the grin Paul Travis uses when he’s trying to get information out of women. It’s meant to disarm them and to make them think Travis is a nice guy. The look didn’t work with Darci. I nodded at the brochure and said,“What else do you feel?”

  “They’re up to something. It’s not evil but it’s dishonest, completely illegal, and they’re getting rich off of it. And, yes, a murder or two may have been committed.”

  “At least it’s not evil,” I said, and Darci smiled.

  She quit smiling and said, “You do not want to go there.”

  “Great,” I said and acted like I was about to leave. “You go, find my son, and let me know when you have him.”

  “Very funny,” she said. “You know, I’m hungry. You want something to eat?”

  “We just ate a huge meal.”

  “Yeah, but—Come on and I’ll bake you some Jell-O.”

  She could see I didn’t get what she meant—was it a joke?—but I followed her anyway, then sat and watched as she made herself an enormous sandwich. If she could bottle her ability to eat and not gain weight she’d be worshiped in Hollywood. I knew women who’d eat bear dung, or inject it into their veins, if they thought it would make them lose five pounds.

  “We need to figure out how we’re going to go about this,” she said, her mouth full.

  “Does this mean you’re agreeing to do it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking about it. Maybe—”

  She stopped talking because the telephone rang and, instantly, she went running into another room to get it. I could hear her quick footsteps going deep into the house, probably into a bedroom where she’d have some privacy.

  I was on the opposite side of the bar from the telephone but could see that the light on line four was on. Was that the super-private line? Slowly, I went around the bar and began to tidy up the countertop. Oops, I dropped one of those heavy kitchen knives on the telephone and when I picked it up, my hand accidently hit a couple of buttons. When a man’s voice came through on the speaker phone, I thought that someone ought to talk to Darci about phone systems that didn’t allow other people to eavesdrop.

  “Turkey,” I heard a man say. “I’m in Turkey, but I’ve found nothing.”

  “You have,” Darci said,“and stop testing me.”

  The man chuckled. “That’s my baby. Yes, I found that big embroidered bag of Bo’s.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Darci said. “Where? Tell me everything.”

  “You told me you felt something was in a shop in this area and it was. It was in an antiques shop. The thing was so worn and battered it looked like it was an antique.”

  “Where did he get it?”

  “It cost me three hundred dollars to get answers and I’m still not sure he was telling the truth. He says some old man sold it to him with a load of things, old clothes, old household goods and—”

  “Old mirrors,” Darci said.

  “Yeah. An old mirror. Cracked frame and so faded you couldn’t see yourself in it. He didn’t take the mirror. Said it was rubbish.”

  “Have you found the man who sold him the things?”

  “Not yet. I thought you—”

  “He’s gone, Dad. I can feel that he’s gone. He doesn’t live in Turkey and the man has gone home. His old wife is ill. Egypt. Pyramids. I see pyramids.”

  “Okay, honey. I’ll get on the first plane out of here. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” Darci said hesitantly.

  “What’s wrong? Other than what’s wrong, that is?”

  “There’s a man here, Dad. He’s an actor and my mother sent him to me. She wants me to help him find his missing son.”

  “An actor with a missing child would bring you a lot of publicity.”

  “No, it’s not like that. It would take too long to explain but people don’t know about the child and…” She trailed off.

&
nbsp; “Look, honey, I need to go, but if you’re asking me if it’s okay for you to help somebody, yes it is.”

  “I’d have to go somewhere. I can’t do it from here.”

  “Yes!” the man shouted into the phone. “Yes! Get out of that house. Take Adam’s cell phone. I have the number. Help the man. And, Darci, call your mother. She loves you.”

  “Yeah. Sure,” Darci said.

  “I love you!” the man said. “Call you when I can.”

  Quietly, I pushed the button to cut off the speaker phone, then finished tidying up. When Darci returned, she sat on a barstool for a while and said nothing.

  I put lunch meat and cheese away and when I looked back at her she was staring at me. “Hear what you wanted to?”

  I willed myself not to blush at being caught. “I heard that you can do what you need to do without being here in this house.” I leaned on the countertop toward her. “Look, Darci, you must know whether or not we can do this.”

  “No, I can’t see the future, but I can see—”

  “See what?”

  “Something in my life will change if I do this. I don’t know how or what, but I see that something will change forever—and I’m not sure I want that.”

  “Does it have to do with your husband? Or that people find out about you? Or me? Maybe they say you and I—”

  She waved her hand. “No, identity isn’t the problem. We have to go in disguise. No one will recognize you. Me, maybe. But not reporters. Someone else, and I can’t figure out who it is.”

  I had to work to keep from asking,“Why the hell won’t they recognize me?” Instead, I said,“Good or bad? Are the changes you foresee good or bad?”

  She looked as puzzled as I felt. “I don’t know. But I feel that if I don’t do this, I’ll never be able to find my husband. Somehow, going with you to this dreadful place, helps me…I hope it helps me find him.”

  “Okay,” I said, “so now tell me why no one will recognize me.”

  “Oh,” she said, as though it didn’t matter. “They think you’re gay and a look-alike, not the real Lincoln Aimes.”

  “Gay?” I said. “I am not gay. I am—”

  “Speaking of which,” she said, “you touch me and I’ll cause you pain.”

  “I have no desire to touch you or any other white woman,” I said. “Besides, you’re—” I stopped because I knew Darci saw too much. The truth was, if I didn’t get some relief soon I was going to do some things that were going to get me on the front page of the tabloids. “Okay,” I said. “Hands off. A promise.”

  “On your mother’s life?”

  I sighed. She sure did snoop. “Yeah, on my mother’s life.”

  Darci

  Chapter Five

  THERE WASN’T ANYTHING I COULD DO BUT LET HIM spend the night, but I made sure he was as far away from me as he could possibly be. Since he was such a snoop, I couldn’t let him near my father’s studio, so, in the end, I stuck him in the housekeeper’s room. It had been the smoking room for some man whose wife wouldn’t let him smoke in the house and, in retaliation, he’d added a couple of rooms on until it was his own apartment. After that, they’d been a fairly happy couple.

  So, anyway, I put Linc downstairs, way at the back of the house, and thought about nailing a 2 x 4 across the door. The man needed a sex partner soon.

  All night long I tossed in my bed. I needed a sex partner, too, but not just anyone. I needed Adam Montgomery, the true love of my life.

  This actor, this Lincoln Aimes, thought my power was wonderful, that I was a cross between a witch and a superhero, but I knew that my power was useless since it couldn’t find the one thing I wanted: my husband.

  Part of me knew I should be grateful for the tiny bit of time I’d had with him. I guess no one deserves a blazing light of joy such as I’d had with Adam. Not forever, anyway.

  Adam was such a complicated man, so full of anger at what had been done to him and his family, but he didn’t allow that anger to turn into evil. He could have used his anger and his family’s money to hurt a lot of people, but he didn’t. Instead, he helped them.

  To the people of Putnam, Kentucky, where I was born and raised, Adam Montgomery was a hero second only to the Lord. “Jesus saved my soul, but Adam Montgomery saved my ass,” was what people in Putnam said on a regular basis. I didn’t like the profanity or the easy use of our Savior’s name, but the saying was true.

  That horrid book written about me said that I was obsessed with money, that I had been paid a fabulous salary, but wouldn’t pay for anything on my own, and that I made Adam pay for everything. Basically, that was true and when Adam, who knew the extenuating circumstances, teased me about it, his family wanted to know why. He couldn’t tell them about my abilities and he didn’t want to tell them anything bad about the Putnams—who owned Putnam—so Adam had made up some story about my saving for my dowry.

  Unfortunately, the whole family—except the few who knew the truth—picked up on it and began to tease me. I didn’t mind. In fact, I liked it. It made me seem normal and one of them. In my own family I’d always been treated as though I was strange, someone to stay away from.

  The truth about the money was that Putnam—the son, not the father—said that if I’d marry him he’d forgive all the debts of everyone in town, which was about seven million dollars. No one born in Putnam was ever refused credit; they just got more in debt.

  I didn’t want to marry Putnam. He was a nice young man but he had the IQ of a raisin and about as much depth. He only wanted me because I was the only girl in town who wouldn’t go out with him, which, translated, meant that I wouldn’t go to bed with him.

  I came under a lot of pressure after Putnam told someone, which meant that everyone in town knew within 33½ minutes, that if I married him he’d forgive the town all mortgages, car loans, store charges, whatever. After that, in the town’s mind, it was a done deal. I’d marry Putnam and they’d be out of debt.

  Putnam made everything worse by saying that he’d even write off the debts if I’d marry him for just one day—meaning, of course, just one night.

  Adam once asked me what Putnam’s dad, also named Putnam, thought of this but the town of Putnam had been given to Putnam when he turned sixteen, so he could do what he wanted with the place. His dad was too busy trying to buy Dallas to care about our town any longer.

  I knew that I couldn’t live with the burden of not marrying Putnam and having the town stay in debt, so I got Putnam to agree to give me one year to pay off the debt. I’d done some concentrating and I could foresee enough to know that within a year I’d either be able to pay off the debt or I’d be dead. At the time, death seemed preferable to being married to Putnam.

  The Montgomery family loved to laugh about how I’d searched for a nickel in change, how I’d refused to buy myself warm clothing even after Adam gave me the money to do so. Better they should laugh about such things than know the truth, I thought.

  But Adam knew and after we were married, he went to Putnam and worked out a deal so that everyone’s debts were paid. Suddenly, people owned their houses, owned their cars. It changed the town completely, and almost overnight, prosperity began to hit the little town. Because everyone had been so deeply in debt, no one had had the get-up-and-go to try new things. What money they earned went to pay the Putnams for Putnam-owned merchandise. But when the people owned their own buildings and all the money they earned was their own, they began to have some energy.

  “Communism,” Adam sad. “It’s why when Russia was communist ninety percent of the food was grown on ten percent of the land that was privately owned. People are selfish creatures.”

  Anyway, it had all worked out. Putnam the town was beginning to thrive and Putnam the son had married and had two kids already. Putnam the father had moved to Louisville and was trying to buy it, as he’d been defeated by Dallas.

  As for me, everything had backfired, and I couldn’t defend myself. Right after that book came out, my
dear sweet husband wanted to publish a book that told the truth, but we couldn’t. We couldn’t tell about the money I wanted to give to Putnam without telling of how positively feudal the place had been for about 150 years. The mountains of Kentucky got enough bad press without hearing something that was guaranteed to make a bunch of Yankees laugh their heads off. The people of Putnam were just regaining their pride, so how could I take that away from them?

  It was Boadicea who’d made me stop feeling sorry for myself. “You have freedom; you have everything,” she’d said in her childlike way. Having been raised by an evil witch had not given her an expansive vocabulary. It seems that witches didn’t get their captured kids together for play dates. Ha ha.

  All in all, everything had been okay for years because I had my family and love was everywhere. But that now seemed long gone. My daughter and niece seemed to be perfectly happy in Colorado. It was a child’s dream place with animals, trees, and playmates. Best for my daughter and niece was that their cousins didn’t think they were weird. When the girls made their dolls climb trees, the cousins thought it was hilarious. There’d been a problem when one of Mike Taggert’s kids had started charging admission to shows, but Mike had sorted his son out soon enough.

  I punched my fist into the pillow and tried to think about what to do. My father wanted me to get out of the house, but he was always telling me to do that. He said he didn’t want me to become obsessed with Adam and Bo’s disappearance. He said that for the children’s sake I should try to create a life for myself.

  He could give advice but he certainly couldn’t take it! He’d been on the road since soon after Adam and Bo had disappeared and he’d had no rest—or life—at all. When Linc had asked me if it was easier for me to find something if I was closer to it, I almost spilled my guts. Yes, definitely yes. My father was my legs, so to speak, in our continual search for Adam and Bo. He called me from points around the world and I told him what I felt and where to try next.

  Of course I’d felt that he’d found something of great significance: Bo’s bag. It was the bag Adam had used to take the mirror out of the witches’ house in Connecticut, so there was a lot of energy attached to it. What I think happened was that it had been stolen. Earlier, I’d told my father I felt that Adam and Bo were being held prisoners somewhere and one of the guards had stolen Bo’s bag—with that old mirror inside it.