Marla glanced at the clothes flung over the queen-size bed. Her aunt, in her confused state, had likely misplaced an article of clothing. Here she’d been hoping Polly would tell her the story of Andrew’s treasure, while Polly just needed her services as a maid.
Marla’s gaze swept the bottles containing an unfamiliar liquid and tablets by the nightstand. She hadn’t been aware Polly took prescription medicines, but, then, she’d just recently convinced Polly to add her name to the checking account so Marla could pay her bills. These things took time, especially when her elderly aunt didn’t recognize that she needed assistance. So why did she insist on Marla’s presence now?
“What can I do to help you?” she asked. “Get you ready for bed? Give you a shower?” Marla’s concerned glance surveyed the older woman’s frail body. If she’d worked undercover as a nurse’s aide for Miriam Pearl, she could certainly assist her own aunt with personal hygiene. Although if Polly needed that level of care, she had no business living alone.
“No, child, sit down.” Polly sank onto the bed and indicated a space by her side. “I need you to help me find the stones.”
Oh no. Was Polly losing it again? “What stones?”
“Daddy’s stash. I know he didn’t spend it all. He hid them from those interlopers.”
Her heartbeat accelerated. Now they were getting somewhere. “Go on.”
“When you read my letters, you’ll understand.” Polly’s rheumy eyes looked at Marla in bewilderment. “I can’t remember where I put them. Oh dear. I wouldn’t want the wrong people to get hold of them.”
“What letters do you mean?”
“The ones I wrote to Vincent. Listen to me, child. If you find the gems, you can use them to fix things in the family. It’s our chance to make up for Mama’s mistakes.”
Marla felt hopelessly lost. “Who is Vincent?”
“Whassat? I don’t smell any mint scent. What’s the matter with you? Did you have too much to drink tonight?”
“Tell me more about Andrew’s stones.” Raising her voice, Marla carefully enunciated each word.
“Be careful when you’re searching for them. Others smell the scent. But that’s not the real trouble here.” Polly’s eyes narrowed. “They’re terribly wrong in what they’re doing. Greedy bloodsuckers. Ain foiler epel farfoilt di ander. One rotten apple spoils the bunch. Mark my words.”
“Excuse me?”
“They’ve lost sight of what this place is about. When you find the gems, you’ll buy back what’s ours and spread the rest among the family. If only I could remember where I put my letters.” Her hands, blue veins prominent under paper-thin skin, grasped Marla’s dress. “Find them, child.”
Flabbergasted, Marla stared at her aunt. She had no idea what Polly meant. Letters? Gemstones? How did these things relate to what was happening today?
“Can you explain more about Vincent perhaps? I need to understand better in order to help you.”
Scrunching her face, Polly peered at her. “Don’t coddle me, young lady. My time has come, so it’s your responsibility now.”
Before Marla could ask more questions, a knock sounded at the door. Sliding off the bed, she strode over to see who was calling at this late hour. A large woman wearing surgical scrubs met her gaze. Marla got a quick glimpse of ash blond hair in short curls, crystal blue eyes, and a wide mouth before the middle-aged woman brushed past her.
“Howdy, ma’am,” she addressed Polly in a chirpy voice. “I’ve been sent to help you get ready for bed.”
“Whassat?”
“I’m from Health Corps Staffing Services. This is a courtesy visit. I guess one of your relatives hired me as a sort of gift. You wouldn’t turn away such a generous gesture, now, would you?”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Marla gushed, noting Polly’s change in expression. “You can use the help, Aunt Polly, just for the one night. Forgive me for being cautious,” she told the nurse, “but may we see some identification?”
“You don’t have to stay,” the woman said to Marla after she’d checked her ID. “I’ll take good care of the dear lady.”
“I can look after myself,” Polly grumbled. “Whoever hired you, give them their money back. Was it Anita?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Ask your mother if she’s up to her old tricks,” Polly shouted at Marla. “If this is her doing…”
Marla didn’t wait to hear the rest. She flew out the door, shutting it behind her so Polly wouldn’t have any choice except to comply. In the hallway, she realized she’d been clenching her teeth. Forcing herself to relax, she called Vail on her cell phone while approaching the elevator.
“I’ve just finished talking to Polly,” she told him, hearing the television in the background. “I’m going to take a brief walk before I come upstairs. Do you mind? I need some fresh air.”
She needed more than that, Marla thought as she pushed open an exit door on the ground floor. Outside, a cool sea breeze ruffled the hairs on her arms and brought a salty taste to her tongue. Crickets sang their nightly chorus as she proceeded over a gravel path, her ears picking up the distant swoosh of waves. Through the ages, this place had seen many tragedies. What secrets did it still hide?
Polly had mentioned Andrew’s stash: stones or gems. Reverse the order, and put them together. Could his source of wealth have been valuable gemstones? She hadn’t gotten the chance to ask Polly about her grandfather’s origins. How had he escaped from Poland and made his way to the United States? Had he been a victim of persecution? Not necessarily, if he’d been a student at the University of Warsaw. He’d graduated as an architect. Those skills would come in handy in his new country, but instead of landing a job, he’d met Ruth, married, and moved to Florida. By then, he had the cash to purchase thirty-five hundred acres of a thriving plantation. If he’d brought jewels from the old country, that could account for his immediate wealth. It could also provide a reason for his leaving Poland if he’d stolen them. And that scenario tied in with the two strangers who spoke with heavy accents. They must have tracked the thief and come to confront him.
What had happened in the midst of their meeting to make them disappear and cause Andrew to flee the room in distress? Could the remainder of the jewels have been hidden in the humidor that Andrew had requested? Maybe he’d offered the remaining gems to the visitors to appease them, in which case there was nothing left to be found. Or had the humidor simply contained tobacco, and something more sinister had befallen Andrew’s guests?
She needed more information on Oleander Hall in terms of its reconstruction. Maybe things were buried there that someone regarded as best left alone. Tearing down the place might expose old bones, for example. But how would ancient history shed light on today’s events? Or was there simply no connection?
Polly had also exhorted Marla to find some letters she’d written. If her aunt couldn’t remember where she put them, how was Marla to find them? Perhaps the letters were what her aunt had been searching for on the fourteenth floor.
Watching her footing around a jagged piece of coral rock, Marla compressed her lips. Like it or not, she’d have to return to the top levels of the tower to conduct her search.
She hoped the home health aide would be able to appease the older woman. Hiring her had been a gesture of kindness, but who had thought of it? Marla’s mother? Uncle Moishe? No matter. Polly could use the help, even if she blustered her denial. Her condition had deteriorated even more than Marla had realized. When they got home, she’d have to see about hiring someone full-time.
Sparse ground lighting made it difficult to discern her location, but when she glanced up, she noted Oleander Hall rose directly in front of her. Her steps had carried her toward the condemned wing. Many of the windows had accumulated a coating of grime and salt deposits from the briny air. Butler had ordered the other side painted to spruce up the building for visitors, but apparently not this end, because it still bore the ravages of time and weather. Those roof tiles looked as though t
hey were about ready to tumble to the ground.
Her gaze caught a light waving in an upper window. Squinting, she tried to define its shape. Maybe if she moved a few paces to the right…Her back collided with something solid, and she cried out. An answering curse made her ears ring.
“Marla, what are you doing here?” said Jeffrey Levine, cousin Lori’s husband.
Marla turned to regard him, about to ask the same question, when she noticed a dark-haired beauty clinging to his arm. They sprang guiltily apart.
“I needed some fresh air,” Marla explained. “And you?” She gave the woman a pointed glare.
“We were discussing the menus for Friday,” Jeff said. “This is Brittany Butterworth. She’s the resort pastry chef.”
“My friends call me Brownie,” the lady said in a syrupy tone.
“Oh, really?” I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth, Jeff. Was it desserts you were discussing, or a different kind of honey? The woman certainly exuded feminine appeal, with wide, dark almond-shaped eyes framed by a waterfall of ebony hair that hung to her waist. She wore a sarong that wouldn’t suit well in the kitchen but would work just fine in the bedroom. As her nickname implied, the chef presented a sweet confection that men must feel tempted to sample. Marla’s nose detected a familiar lilac fragrance.
“Brownie’s been telling me about the meals planned for our family events,” Jeff said.
“Is that so?” Would Jeff fudge his response if she accused him of cheating on his wife? Then again, he’d get his just desserts if she tipped Lori herself. Or maybe she should e-mail Jeff a cookie to a family therapist. Marla smiled to herself as her cousin’s spouse led them toward the well-lit pool area.
“On Friday we’re having a beach picnic with shelling. It should be a blast,” he said. “Then that night is the outdoor luau. Sorry, no roast pig on the menu; it’s not kosher. We’ll have chicken instead. You gonna do the rumrunner’s jog? Sounds like a hoot”
“Where is Lori?” Marla asked bluntly.
“Poor girl has a headache. I came out for a stroll and ran into Brittany, er, Brownie.”
I’ll bet you did more than run into her. “Don’t tell me you just met,” she scoffed.
“Lori and I have been to the resort before. It’s one of our favorite getaways. We’ve always complimented Brownie on her dessert cart selections.”
Yeah, right. “How often do you come here? I understand Aunt Polly returns every year.”
“Oh, our visits don’t usually coincide with hers. We’ll both be disappointed if this place is torn down, though.”
“If that theme-park idea gets passed, it’ll ruin things for everyone,” Brownie said in a smooth voice with a gritty undercurrent, like molasses tinged with coffee grounds. “Do you realize they don’t plan to build another hotel? At first I thought it would be a great opportunity to step up and take charge as master chef. But now, I think the changeover could turn into a disaster. Who’ll come to see a recreation of some old buildings with costumed cast members?”
“The town council met earlier to debate the issue,” Marla said. “Did you happen to hear the results?”
“The developers are putting up a strong argument. They say a living-history museum will bring more jobs to the area as well as tourist dollars,” Jeff replied. “That’s baloney. They get plenty of tourists here already. I don’t see any advantage to destroying Andrew’s legacy.”
Marla peered at him closely, but she couldn’t discern his thoughts from his placid expression. How much did he know about their family secrets? “So I gather you and Brownie are opposed to the theme-park idea. You’d rather see the money put into remodeling. What about the ghost stories?”
“The spirits would be a lot happier if we fixed their home,” Brownie said, her dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
As they parted company, Marla considered her options. Should she report this encounter to Lori? If it was truly a chance meeting, as Jeff claimed, she’d only stir up trouble.
A cough sounded behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, Marla noticed a figure on one of the lounge chairs by the pool. “Michael, are you alone out here?” she asked her brother.
His face, a male reflection of her own, gave her a weak grin. “I had some drinking to do. I thought I’d sit and listen to the waves. Maybe the right decisions would come to me.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s wrong?”
He waited while she sat on the adjacent chair. “A lot of things. The stock market…You know how things took a dive. People tend to blame their financial advisers.”
Marla felt her blood chill. It had been only a few months since she’d consulted a psychic in Cassadaga, a spiritualist camp in Central Florida. The Reverend Hazel Sherman’s words had been clear: Your brother is experiencing tremendous emotional difficulties that he’s created for himself. It’s producing a snowball effect…. He’s having to make some major changes in his lifestyle…. A lot of it has to do with his finances. He’s gone off the edge.
Hazel had said a lot of other things, too, about Michael’s relationship with their father and Marla’s need to reconcile with him over past differences. She hadn’t paid any heed to the fortuneteller’s meanderings. Why should she, when Michael and his wife seemed to lead the perfect upscale life in Boca Raton?
“What do you mean?” she said when she found her voice again. “Everyone lost money when the market plunged. You couldn’t predict what was going to happen.”
Michael stared at a trail of ants on the pool deck. “I made some bad choices. Not only for myself, but for my clients. They called me on it, wanted the money back that they’d lost, started lawsuits.” Swiping his hands over his face, he regarded her wearily. “I didn’t tell Charlene the extent of it, but I got us into a pretty big hole.”
Marla swallowed. If the psychic’s forecast about Michael had turned into reality, then what about the warning to her?
You’re going to take a trip, and it involves family issues. Something bad is coming up around this trip.
There may be a death before the end of the year.
Chapter Six
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having problems?” Marla asked her older brother. “I could have helped. Does Ma know?”
Michael shook his head. “Don’t say a word to her. I haven’t told her anything.”
“So what are you doing to meet your debts?”
“I got a loan.”
He shuffled his feet while Marla swatted at a hovering wasp. Sniffing fragrant jasmine from a nearby hedge, she skirted away from the insect vector. Encouraging Michael to talk was just as sensitive an issue as dealing with hornets. If you weren’t careful, you’d get stung.
“It isn’t good to keep problems to yourself,” she said. “Stress builds up until it makes you sick.”
“No kidding. I’m probably responsible for running the store out of antacids these days.” Michael smiled ruefully, his toffee-colored eyes so much like her own that Marla’s heart ached.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re making light of something serious? You should trust the people who love you.”
Michael pushed himself off the lounge chair, straightening his tall frame. “If I can correct my own mistakes, no one else needs to suffer along the way. You should understand. You didn’t tell the folks when Tammy’s parents threatened to sue.”
“Daddy had just recovered from his first heart attack when Tammy drowned. My grief caused our parents enough pain.”
“You hired a lawyer on your own, didn’t you?”
“I had to do something when the toddler’s parents blamed me. I’d only gone to answer a phone call they told me to expect. I wasn’t a bad baby-sitter.”
Yeah, and look at what you had to do to earn money for the attorney. She’d posed for some rather explicit photographs. Her face flushed at the disgraceful memory.
She rose and stretched. “You have nothing to hide. Everyone experienced losses in the lousy economy.”
Wearing sandals, Michael still topped her five-feet-six-inch height by several inches. “If Charlene finds out how much I’ve lost, she won’t see me in the same light anymore. It’s my job to provide for her.” His eyes reflected the glare from the balloon-shaped globes lighting the pool area.
“You’re the one who drives a BMW and has the latest plasma TV on your family room wall. Charlene doesn’t care about those things.”
“She works too hard. I’ve been hoping she could retire soon. This will put a crimp in our plans.”
“Whose plans, hers or yours? I thought she was aiming to make principal of her school.”
He jabbed a hand through his mocha brown hair. “Just because you enjoy working so much doesn’t mean Charlene does. She’d like to stay home with the kids.”
“Oh yeah?” Marla planted a hand on her hip. “I never got the impression that Charlene means to quit her job, especially when Jacob is in kindergarten and Rebecca is almost old enough for preschool. You want her to stop working because it’ll make you feel more manly. It’s merely another status symbol for you to be the sole breadwinner.”
Like Stan, my dear ex-husband. The jerk couldn’t understand why I wanted to go to cosmetology school. No way I’d ever burden myself with another controlling male. Marla didn’t like to see her brother in that role, either.
“I don’t know how we got down this road,” Michael said in a morose tone.
“Speaking of roads, remember when you told Daddy about your car accident and he loaned you the money to fix your car?”
“I should have dealt with my own problems instead of burdening him. Pop had his fatal attack not long afterward.”
Old resentments surged from an inner well she hadn’t known still existed. In her heart, she’d blamed him for their father’s death. If Michael had stayed home during the rainstorm like Mom had insisted, he might not have skidded on the wet road and hit that other car. His disregard for safety could have led to worse, but enough stress came from the incident anyway.
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