Firebird

by Helaine Mario

  Alexandra read the words on the plaque. Falcon’s Jewel. “The foal? She gave you Lady Falcon’s foal?”

  “Just read the note, Aunt Zan!”

  Rhodes came to lean over her shoulder, making a sound deep in his throat as he saw his wife’s dramatic scrawl spill across the pale pink stationery.

  Happy Birthday, Jewel! Lady Falcon foaled in May. I named her Falcon’s Jewel, after you, and swore everyone here to secrecy. She’ll need lots of love and attention, my darling. Anthony has her papers - they’re all in your name. Take good care of her. I love you. Mom.

  Throat closed by tears, Alexandra swallowed and looked at her niece. “Now I know what you’ll be doing every vacation,” she said softly. She looked down at the note again. No message for her this time. Nothing at all.

  Her eyes searched the twelve foot square stall. “Where did you find this, Jules?”

  Juliet gestured toward the rear of the stall. “Back there - the tack box. Remember what mom wrote in her letter to me? ‘There’s a special gift waiting in Lady Falcon’s stall.’ Lady was her favorite mare. Mom always left surprises for me here. Another one of her hiding places…”

  Oh, God! Hiding place. The tack box. That was it. Alexandra closed her eyes. Eve had asked the cab driver to bring her to Foxwood the night of her death. The oil painting of Eve in the study, she thought suddenly. Astride Lady Falcon. And the foal’s name was Falcon’s Jewel!

  My God, Eve. You hid the brooch here, in the stall.

  Trust Eve to recognize the drama of hiding her own precious jewel here, in Jewel’s tack box. Her special hiding place...

  At the far end of the shadowed hallway, the new stallion, Dark Victory, began to move restlessly in his stall. Rhodes slipped an arm around his stepdaughter’s shoulders. “Come with me, Princess. We have caviar and birthday cake waiting for you up at the house. I’ll bring you back later so that you can say goodnight to Jewel.”

  Juliet covered the foal with a striped horse blanket and kissed the soft nose one more time, then joined her step-father. Rhodes stopped and turned. “Are you coming, Alexandra?”

  She took a step back, lingering, held up her bare wrist. “You two go ahead. I think I may have dropped my bracelet somewhere in the straw.”

  Rhodes raised a spiky white brow. “We’ll wait for you.”

  “No need, really. I’ll find my way, the moon’s come out. Go, you should be at the party. The groom will be back any moment.”

  “C’mon, Anthony, Auntie Zan prefers being alone.” Juliet ran off into the night. With a last questioning glance, Rhodes shrugged and followed his stepdaughter.

  “I like being alone?” Alexandra turned and walked carefully inside Falcon Jewel’s stall, smoothing the garnet neck with a gentle hand.

  A short, sharp whinny from Dark Victory’s stall jolted through her, and she made her way quickly past the foal to the tackle box.

  She dropped to her knees in front of the old wooden box, raising the squeaking lid slowly. Her hands felt, rather than saw, the tumbled items. Hemp, a worn blanket smelling of hay and horse sweat, jingling bridle, eye shields, a forgotten horseshoe, a half-tube of liniment.

  Nothing. Bloody hell, Eve, I was so sure.

  One last time Alexandra’s fingers felt deep into the black corners of the box, suddenly felt the wisp of velvet. Her fingers closed over the small pouch, drew it from the tackle box, fumbled with the silken cord.

  A brilliant jeweled brooch tumbled into her palm. The Firebird. “Oh, Eve,” breathed Alexandra.

  A sharp, alarmed whinny from Dark Victory pierced the darkness. Alexandra froze. Was that the sound of the door shutting?

  She heard the footsteps, very soft, in the long hallway.

  Alexandra pushed the heavy brooch into her evening bag as she spun around.

  “Aunt Zan.”

  “Jules? You scared me -”

  “I came back to feed Jewel,” said Juliet, holding out an apple. The foal moved forward, curious, blowing softly.

  “Does Anthony know where you are?”

  “He was talking to some old geezer. I’ll be back before he knows I’m gone.”

  Good Lord. “Not true, Juliet. We worry about you. If only you would –”

  “I don’t need any more of your damned therapy!” muttered the girl. She flung a contemptuous look over her shoulder.

  “Just talk to me.”

  “Talk doesn’t solve everything!”

  Somewhere in the far reaches of the stable, a door closed softly. A restless thump of hooves began in Dark Victory’s stall. Both women looked up. Another sound, closer. The jingle of a bridle in the shadows.

  Something not right. “Jules, I think we need to leave.”

  Footsteps. Whispery in the darkness.

  “Jules, quickly - ” Alexandra reached to thrust her niece out of the stall. “Get out of here. Now!”

  The sharp clang of a steel bolt, pushed open, then the metal creak of a swinging stall door.

  The lights went out.

  Juliet shrieked in the pitch blackness. Dark Victory’s shrill cry tore through the stable.

  “Run!” cried Alexandra, pushing her niece once more toward the exit.

  From the far end of the stable, pounding hooves raced toward them.

  She lunged for Juliet and swung her hard to the right.

  She heard a shout just as something struck her shoulder with the force of a hammer, tumbling her to the hard earth.

  Searing pain.

  Blackness.

  * * * *

  She was swimming. On the beach, Ruby and Juliet were waiting for her. So far away. Swim to the girls. But the pain was too sharp. She was sinking, she couldn’t get to the beach! Ruby…

  “Alexandra.” The voice came from a murky distance. She kept swimming, one arm in front of the other. Get to Ruby.

  “Alexandra!” Louder now, more insistent. A man’s voice, deep. More voices, whispers, an exclamation. Where was she? Now she became aware of the machine sounds – bleeps, buzzes, dripping. Pain.

  “I need you to open your eyes, Red.”

  Leave me alone.

  “I’m not leaving you.” As if he’d heard her.

  The blackness was taking her.

  “Stay with me, Chica!”

  Bloody hell. She forced her eyes open. “Garcia.”

  “Welcome back.” Bending over her, too close. Serious eyes too bright.

  “From where?”

  “You’ve been out cold for more than an hour, Red. You’re in the emergency room at Middleburg Hospital.”

  Middleburg? She tried to move her right arm and sickening pain jolted her once more. “Ahhh! I feel as if I’ve been trampled by an elephant.”

  “Horse. You were clipped by Dark Victory.”

  A horse… The cry of a stallion in the night, the terrifying sound of crashing hooves. “Oh, God, the stables! Juliet!” Panic surged through her. She struggled to sit up.

  A gentle hand, holding her down. “She’s okay. Shaken, but not a mark on her, thanks to you. She’s at Foxwood. Rhodes assured me that he’d shepherd her safely back to New York in time for tomorrow’s rehearsal. And I’ve called in a retired female Secret Service agent, just in case. No way she’ll disappear again.” He cocked a spiky brow at her. “Your brother-in-law was quite concerned for you.”

  She tried to focus. “What happened?”

  “Damned stallion got loose. I went looking for you, heard a scream, the sound of stampeding hooves. Then that huge monster rushed by me in the darkness. Dios!” He shook his head. “But somehow you got Juliet out of harm’s way, took on the stallion yourself. You are something, you know that, Chica? You never back down.”

  “Garcia, I heard a noise. Footsteps, a bolt sliding. And then - the lights went out.”

  “It wasn’t an accident. The groom was found unconscious. He was just stirring when the ambulance left to come here.”

  A white coated figure appeared. “And how are we feeling?”

/>   “I’ll feel fine,” said Garcia with blunt impatience, “when I can take this woman home.”

  “Back to Foxwood,” she whispered.

  “Not on your life, Red. You’re coming home with me.”

  She tried to say no, but the doctor raised a syringe and then water was taking her down once more. She heard a voice, felt her eyes close, saw the words spinning like sparks against her lids as she sank into the darkness.

  It wasn’t an accident.

  CHAPTER 37

  “Pride is his own glass...”

  Shakespeare

  POTOMAC RIVER MARINA

  FRIDAY, OCTOBER 29

  “Alexandra! Wake up. You’ve been dreaming.”

  She sat up quickly, pain shooting knife-like through her left shoulder, down her arm. “Ouch! Oh, God…”

  A large animal nudged her cheek, his nose wet and gentle. A human hand reached out. Long, strong fingers.

  “Easy, Chica. You were having a nightmare.”

  Garcia? “Go away. The world is moving.”

  “You were shouting.”

  Shouting? She opened her eyes carefully, hearing the concern in his voice. “What did I say?”

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Oh. “ He was hovering over her and she shot him a look as she shifted away. “No mystery there. What are you and Hoover doing in my bedroom?”

  “My bedroom, Red. You’re on the Vaya con Dios. How are you feeling?”

  She grinned weakly. “Like I’ve been trampled. Everything is fuzzy.”

  “The doc gave you some strong pain meds. Your shoulder is badly bruised but he said you’ll be fine in a day or two.”

  She nodded. And heard the terrifying sound of hooves crashing through her head.

  “Juliet!” she cried out. “You’re sure she’s –”

  “Told you last night, not a scratch on her.”

  “Last night?” She looked around the small cabin. “What time is it?”

  “Dawn. Friday morning.”

  “Friday! Bloody hell!” She pushed weakly at the bedclothes and a lightening bolt seared down her arm. “Whoa!” She looked down and realized for the first time that her left arm was in a soft sling. “Good grief, I don’t have time for this! I’ve got to get home to Ruby. She has a doctor’s appointment in New York this afternoon, I need to be there, it’s important. And I need to check on Juliet -”

  “Juliet’s fine. Rhodes has called twice. Said to tell you he would take your niece back to New York himself, this afternoon. Offered to take you, too, but I told him you were leaving earlier. I knew you needed to get back for Ruby’s appointment.” He gestured to the portholes that were filled with deep pink light. “It’s not yet six. You can still make an early shuttle and be home by late-morning. Hoover and I will get you to the airport.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “I don’t do things to be nice, Red.”

  She scowled up at him. “How did you know about Ruby’s schedule?”

  “I’ve been in constant touch with your nanny’s brother – Dan, isn’t it? - and the ex Secret Service guys I sent to work with him.” He saw her look and shrugged. “You told me once you couldn’t breathe when you were scared for your child. I’m just giving you some breathing space.”

  He was full of surprises, this man with the dangerous eyes. The Lab crowded closer, settling beside her. She pushed at the blanket and saw that the twin-sized bunk where she sat was rumpled with sleep.

  “Where did you sleep?” she asked suddenly.

  His mouth quirked in amusement as he struggled with the answer. Finally he relented and pointed toward a blinking computer screen. “I worked.”

  “Oh.” She moved very slowly, gasped as she saw the spill of coppery silk across the foot of the bed. Her right hand flew beneath the blanket, felt the soft cotton of a man’s oversized pajama top.

  “I didn’t... We didn’t…?”

  “I prefer awareness,” he murmured, looking directly into her eyes.

  Something stirred, deep in her chest.

  He said, “You insisted you’d manage, in no uncertain terms. Truth be told, you were more Lucille Ball than Kim Novak when I got you here.” He held up a long white robe, offering it with a questioning look.

  “Nothing wrong with Lucille Ball,” she muttered, allowing him to drape the robe over her shoulders. It smelled of him, and the sea. She turned to see his dark hair fringed over those usually-so-serious eyes - now lit with a disturbing glint. The words on the faded tee-shirt stretched across his chest said, “Lawyers Never Lose Their Appeal.”

  His hand, grasping hers at the river. Like a lifeline.

  His voice. Stay with me.

  She hadn’t expected this sense of connection. This trust. She hadn’t seen it coming. Oh, no, she thought. No way. “I’ve got to get back to Georgetown and pack,” she said, her voice suddenly brusque. She moved too quickly, and once more the fire shot down her arm. “Ahhhh! Damn!”

  “This will help.” He placed a steaming mug of espresso in her right hand. “It’s none of my business, Red, but those nightmares of yours…”

  “You’re right, Garcia. It’s none of your business.”

  She saw his jaw tense. “Right,” he murmured. “I’m just glad you’re okay, given everything that happened last night.”

  Everything that happened? Her thoughts were so blurred. She closed her eyes, gulped the hot caffeine and let the memories rush back in a blaze of images. Anthony’s angry blue eyes. The candlelit ballroom, the Lions. Baritone laughter, the scent of musk cologne. Juliet at the top of the stairs. A broken silver sandal, and the unsettling expression on Garcia’s face in the shadows of the garden. A portrait of Lady Falcon. The stables. A flash of diamond-fire, the horror of pounding hooves...

  Diamond-fire.

  “Where is my purse?” she asked suddenly, searching the rumpled bedclothes. “Is it here?”

  He answered as if her sudden question made no sense. “Purse? How the devil would I know?”

  “Hurry, Garcia. It’s... muy importante! Small, gold-colored.” She raised glowing eyes to his. “I found something last night. In the stables.”

  Together they searched the rumpled bedclothes. “Here it is.” From beneath her crushed gown he lifted the tiny gold evening bag and handed it to her.

  “BethereBethereBethere.” She tipped the purse. Lipstick, comb, cell. Glasses! She snatched them up. Unbroken, thank God. And there -

  “What is it?”

  “Yes! Behold Exhibit A, Counselor. The Firebird.” She tipped a velvet pouch, and the shining brooch fell into his palm.

  He stared at the jewels, dazzling in the new morning light. “Dios.”

  She smiled at his stunned expression. “Last night I realized that the stable was one of Eve’s hiding places. She must have planned to hide the brooch at Foxwood until she needed it. This is what everyone has been searching for. This brooch must hold the answers.”

  He gazed down at the jeweled bird. “Good work, Hotshot. So the pieces of your puzzle are finally beginning to fall into place.” He moved to his computer. “And I found something else last night. Using the information from Charles Fraser’s letter I did a search with Fraser’s key words: 1966, European cities, Prince Ivan, and injuries by fire.” He pressed several keys and the printer whirred to life. “Aqui esta,” he murmured, retrieving the pages and handing them to her.

  She raised a questioning eyebrow as she moved to the light of the window and tipped her glasses over her nose.

  It was a report from the London Times, dated September 9, 1966. The words leaped out at her.

  Kirov Dancers Lost in Theatre Fire.

  Her eyes flew to his, wide with shock, then back to the printout.

  London, Covent Garden, September 9.

  Last night a deadly fire swept the backstage area of The Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, after a performance of Stravinsky’s Firebird Ballet by the Kirov Ballet troupe on its first tour of the
West in several years.

  “Oh, my God, Garcia,” she whispered. “It’s the Firebird ballet!”

  Seven bodies have been recovered, including three theatre crew and orchestra members and four members of the Kirov company. Three dancers are still missing. Details are unavailable at this time, but it is believed that the dead or missing include the principals who danced the roles of Prince Ivan and the Firebird. Garden officials are at a loss to explain...

  Her eyes flew to his. Ivan! She finished reading and turned to him. “Ivan must have been one of the dancers,” she murmured. “He must have been hurt in the fire. But he didn’t die…”

  “No, Red. He didn’t die. Sounds like he took a flying jeté west.”

  She smiled as she held the Firebird brooch to the light that spilled through the porthole, and studied it intently. “Jewels designed for a Czarina,” she said softly, “glimmering with legend and mystery. What is the Firebird’s secret?”

  Hoover gave a low whine and Garcia rolled his eyes as he reached for a thick leash. He glanced at her as he snapped his fingers at the Lab. “Timing is everything,” he murmured. “But nature calls, and Hoover has taught me to listen.” Amusement softened his voice. “Hold your thoughts. I’ll give Hoover a quick run and we’ll take on your Firebird when I get back. Make yourself at home. Head’s in the bow, towels are clean, your pain meds are on the desk. If you’d rather take Advil, it’s in the galley cabinet.” His voice changed. “That’s about it. Not sure what else you’ll need, I’ve never brought a woman here.”

  She watched man and dog clamor easily up the ladder to the deck, then wrapped her fingers around the coffee mug and inhaled deeply. I’ve never brought a woman here. She could feel the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat.

  Swallowing the strong caffeine, and making sure once more that his pajama top skimmed the top of her knees, she stood up carefully, pulled the robe more tightly around her and set the Firebird brooch by the brightening porthole. Rainbow sparks skittered across the cabin walls.

  She limped to the small bathroom. One-handed and cursing the pain, she splashed water on her face, used his mouthwash and gulped three Advil. Returning to the main cabin, she saw that she was still alone. Good. She needed time to think.