The Gold Pawn

by L. A. Chandlar

  The song ended and a slightly slower song began. Tucker brought me a bit closer and concentrated on my eyes for a minute, like he was looking for something. His strawberry blond hair shone in the lights and just the tiniest bit of stubble was growing in as the night hours approached. He blinked a couple times like you do when you realize you’ve been staring, then asked, “So Lane, how long will you be here?”

  “Oh, not for long. Just under a week. But maybe this spring or summer I’ll be back for a while longer. I have to start looking through some of my parents’ belongings and whatnot. I’m a little nervous about it, actually.”

  “Yes,” he said, “that has to be a strange feeling. I bet you . . .” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence. I followed his distracted gaze. A couple of big guys at the edge of the crowd had their eyes on us and it looked like they were about to push their way through the people on the dance floor.

  “Ah, Lane? I think we should get going. There was some bad business between my firm and the company those two big guys . . . eh . . . represent. I’d rather not get into it here. Do you mind?”

  I didn’t like the looks of the two burly men with scowling faces. They started coming toward us.

  CHAPTER 7

  Tucker took my hand, firmly leading the way as we wound through the crowd in the opposite direction. I tried not to look back; I felt the nervous spark that went up my spine and fluttered in my stomach when I played hide and seek or a game of chase with the pursuer right on my heels. I saw the leering grin of one of the guys in a mirror we passed so I picked up the pace. Tucker held my hand tightly and at the last second, he pulled a dark red velvet curtain aside and we slipped into a small closet of sorts. The crisp line of his exquisite suit and the strong muscles of his arm were silhouetted against the bright light that lit up the red curtain.

  I whispered, hardly making a sound, “Can you see anything?”

  “Shhhh,” he said softly. “Back up.” His arm pushed against me, and we took small steps backward, just a few inches. I looked around for anything we could hide behind, but it was a small closet full of coats. Just then a footstep came directly outside the curtain and we heard the guys talking to each other, but I could only make out a few words. My heart raced and Tucker’s arm automatically came around my shoulders and pulled me close. Then we heard the distinctive sound of clipped steps, going away from the curtain.

  Tucker exhaled. He looked down at me; we were pressed up against each other and our faces were a little too close. I smelled his expensive cologne and felt his heart beating fast. “I think they said they lost us. And don’t worry, they’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer, Lane.”

  I chuckled and pulled away. “Do you think it’s all clear?” I asked softly.

  “Yeah, but let me check.” Tucker went to the side of the curtain and pulled it open a fraction of an inch. “They just went out the door. All clear,” he said in a louder voice.

  “Well, now. Don’t you offer a gal an interesting night!” I said. Sheesh. It was just like being with Roarke. Almost.

  He pulled the curtain fully open and his appealing smile lit up. “Oh, most definitely.”

  Tucker had already paid the bill, so we did a big circle of the place, picked up our coats at coat check, and left the building.

  When we got outside he said, “Sorry about all that, Lane. It kind of cut our night short.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. It was a great evening. Besides, I’m getting a little tired.”

  When we arrived back at the lobby of the hotel, he gave his delicious car back to the valet. “Thanks again, Tucker. I had a lot of fun. It was nice running into you,” I said.

  “You too, Lane. I hope your visit goes really well. Take care and I guess maybe I’ll see you back in New York.”

  “Thanks. Good night, Tucker.”

  He looked at me for one second longer, took my hand, and kissed it quickly. I turned around and headed up to my room, walking up the wide, deep red stairway. Now that I was nearing my bed, I realized just how dog tired I really was. It was a godsend running into Tucker even though the evening had a surprisingly mysterious tone to it at the end. Well, I’m quite familiar with mystery, I thought with a wry smile. Regardless, it felt good to start out my time here with a friend.

  * * *

  The next morning, I awoke refreshed and feeling more lighthearted than I had in weeks. It was probably the beer and good steak. I quickly dressed in a pair of casual trousers, since I was going out to the country, and a light pink sweater. I was practically giddy at the expectation of meeting Tabitha and getting to see the house.

  I ran down all the main stairs of the hotel instead of taking the rickety elevator. I sat down at a café table and had a quick breakfast of toast, jam, and coffee. I was waiting by the front door as I glimpsed the familiar forms of two dear people walking toward me in animated discussion.

  Aunt Evelyn’s busy pace was making her head bob up and down and Mr. Kirkland’s tall form was loping along beside her. Aunt Evelyn was talking a mile a minute, making huge gestures and even from a distance I could see Mr. Kirkland nodding and smiling at her banter. Her black slightly gray-streaked hair that happened to be the indicator of her mood was in a neat and tidy updo. They caught my eye and I waved, standing on tiptoe. I ended up running over to them the last several yards. I gave Aunt Evelyn a huge hug and Mr. Kirkland just about lifted me off my feet as he squashed the air out of me.

  “How was your trip?” I croaked.

  “Great, smooth as could be. My visit to my cousin went very well.” It was a cousin on her father’s side, and I didn’t know her, but Aunt Evelyn felt the need to go and help her get things in order as her husband had just passed away. Aunt Evelyn’s generous heart couldn’t say no to such a deep need, and her love of organization couldn’t resist either.

  But before we could talk more at length, a large and well-used sedan pulled up to the front of the hotel and out jumped a round-faced, lovely girl of about seventeen. She waved at us.

  “Hello, Tabitha dear!” exclaimed Aunt Evelyn. She gave her a quick hug and Mr. Kirkland shook her hand vigorously. “This, Tabitha, is Lane Sanders. I hear you had car trouble last night?”

  “Hi, Lane, nice to meet you,” she said quickly while we shook hands. She seemed nice, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with me and I caught myself bobbing and weaving trying to get into her line of vision.

  Her black curls of hair bounced around her face as she busied herself with the luggage. She cut in before I could reply, “Yeah, the car broke down, but Dad fixed it pretty quick. Just not quick enough to make it last night.”

  Aunt Evelyn turned to me. “Yes, Lane, I hope you made out all right on your own last night.”

  “I did! I actually had a great night. You wouldn’t believe it, but I ran into Tucker.”

  Her eyebrows shot up and her face tilted down, saying without words, Really, isn’t that interesting.

  “He happened to be here on business. I have to say, it was nice running into a familiar face. And you should have seen his car! It was divine,” I said with a sigh.

  Mr. Kirkland looked skeptical, but said, “Well, that’s nice you weren’t alone . . . I guess . . .”

  Tabitha, evidently all business, cut in again, “So, are you all ready to go? Here, you can put the bags in the trunk.” She had run around to the back and opened the trunk, tossing our things in with a hurried effort, like she was trying to get back to Rochester as quick as she could. After our bags were situated, we all loaded into the car. We let Mr. Kirkland and his long legs get into the front seat with Tabitha, while Aunt Evelyn and I sat in the back.

  The three of them talked and chatted amiably, but I lost myself in the view out the window. I loved looking at the city as we drove through it, past the steadfast General Motors Building, only eclipsed in size by the Penobscot Building. Past the golden roof of the Fisher Building and Michigan Central Station built by the same architect as my own beloved Grand Central of
New York City. And then as we left the city limits, the houses and roadways sprawled out like spokes on a giant wheel. Farther and farther away, the houses gained more space between them. We’d occasionally drive through little towns here and there as we got into the country. I hadn’t been out of New York City in quite a while, so the sheer space and the fact that you could see the horizon everywhere you looked was surprising. It was a funny feeling. I felt like I had breathing space and the sky seemed so huge, but at the same time I felt a little lost. A little exposed.

  With that notion, the worry started creeping in again, making me want to look over my shoulder as if someone was following me. I wasn’t sure what would be waiting for me. I used to love looking at my parents’ photo album for hours on end. But after they died, it often felt like I was looking at their story from the outside. And I so desperately wanted to feel like I was part of that story. After our last case, where I learned more about them and about their past, I had begun to feel like their story was mine, too. But as we drove farther from the city and the passing miles made me feel more and more vulnerable, doubt began to creep in again. My parents were involved in intelligence in the war, not just the simple bookstore owners I had thought they were. They worked with Mr. Kirkland on occasion, but some of the details of their activities were a bit sketchy since they worked undercover with the Red Scroll syndicate. There were rumors of stolen art that never surfaced and it made me wonder if they’d had a hand in it. I only knew them as bookstore owners, so there was a lot I didn’t understand about them. I loved my parents and I know they loved me. But did I trust them?

  Whether she noticed my silence or if something else gave it away, Aunt Evelyn reached over and held my hand.

  We finally came to a sign that said WELCOME TO ROCHESTER. It was a small town, with a smattering of stores and a few restaurants lining the street. Main Street. As we slowly went through town my eyes devoured all the stores, wondering if things would look familiar or if the town had changed as much as I had after all these years.

  “Oh look! There’s D & C’s Dime Store!” I yelled excitedly. I spotted the jewelry store, a couple of barber shops including Baldy Benson’s, the C. W. Case Hardware Store, the Wilcox & LeBlond Pool Hall, the Avon Theater, which looked like it showed films and had live shows as well, Zimmerman’s Shoe Store, Brown & Dunge-row’s Tavern, and what I remembered most was the small opera house with large, semicircular windows on the front. A trolley car rattled down the street as I spotted Knapp’s Dairy Bar. And Knapp’s was the place I hoped hadn’t changed one iota. They had chocolate malts like no one else’s. I could practically taste the malt as we drove by.

  We turned left onto Pine Street. We went up a few streets, turned left again. I rubbed my sweaty palms up and down my knees, and . . . there it was.

  I reached over and squeezed Aunt Evelyn’s hand. The Tudor-style brown-bricked house that at once was foreign and strange, yet familiar like an old friend. My house. It had a large triangular peak in the front, slanting down almost reminiscent of an Austrian chalet; then the living room was to the left of the triangle with its mullioned windows. The front door was curved at the top with a rectangular window to the side, which made me miss Ripley. There was the enormous pine tree to the left of the house that made the perfect hideout beneath its long-reaching, fragrant branches. And then to the right, the tree. My tree. It was there; it really was still there. The purple maple tree with the big branch reaching out to the left. Even in mid-November, a few of the deep purple leaves remained. Like they had been waiting for me.

  Before the car came to a complete stop, I leaped out to Mr. Kirkland’s laughter. I ran around the back of the car and over to the tree. A few paces away, I stopped. It was bigger than I remembered, of course. It surely had grown over thirteen years, just as I had. Some of the branches were a little lower to the ground, like elementary school desks that seem to shrink in size over the years. I walked over to the familiar branch that I used to climb the tree a thousand times. I closed my eyes, reached out my right hand, and grasped the cool bark. I moved my hand slowly to the right and I felt the knots that were like handholds, right where I knew they’d be. I instantly pulled myself up onto the branch like a gymnast. I inched over to the trunk and I knew right where those branches were to be, like my own personal ladder. My legs carried me up and up, and then I stopped and leaned back. Since many leaves had fallen to the ground creating a great carpet of dark purple and red, I had a clear view of everything around and I drank it in.

  A funny little ache appeared in the back of my throat and stung my eyes, like a need to cry, but also like it wasn’t the right timing and something was holding me back. Just a little while ago, I’d had a vivid dream of this very view. A deep and familiar memory from childhood. Something I relived and reviewed daily, many times.

  I looked around, not in a dream world, but the real world. My forehead furrowed in consternation as I realized with a coldness of heart that things were missing. The view was incomplete. There was something important that was deeply lacking. A breeze whipped the hair about my face. I felt a penetrating coolness that had nothing to do with that breeze slowly creep in through those well-worn tracks of doubt and anxiety. In some kind of decision, I took a deep breath and clenched my jaw.

  I looked around one last time. A darkness blossomed in my spirit at the same moment a fast-moving cloud came across the sun. It brought a sudden, cold shadow over the lawn. Over me. I looked at the red brick planter. But it was a blank canvas of brown dirt, the bright petunias of the summer were long gone. The black fountain was empty. The clear, tinkling water didn’t happily splash around in the shell-like basin. At the bottom of the tree, my dad wasn’t there, shaking his head and laughing. The corner kitchen window . . . My mother wasn’t standing there. It was vacant and lonely.

  I closed my eyes slowly, tightly, then after a long moment of resignation, opened them again with a snap. I gathered myself mentally and I erected in my mind and around my heart, piece by substantial and angry piece, a very large, thick, impenetrable wall. It was powerful, like a living and breathing object, keeping out whatever I wished—whomever I wished. It was a dangerous thing, but I embraced it.

  CHAPTER 8

  “A change had come over me.”

  I slowly, methodically climbed down the tree plastering a small, toothless, mirthless smile on my face. I got down and turned to a cheery Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn.

  “How was your climb?” asked Aunt Evelyn.

  “Fine.”

  “Oh, I remember hearing many stories of you up there. Your mom would go on and on about it. She loved seeing you up there,” continued Aunt Evelyn. I blinked.

  There was a long silence and Mr. Kirkland said, “Uhhh . . . Would you like to go in the house, Lane?”

  “Sure. Of course. Let’s go.”

  He darted a wary glance at Aunt Evelyn.

  Tabitha tilted her head to the side, her black curls glistening, and said, “Well, I should be going now. My parents invited you over for lunch. In about half an hour, just come by.”

  “Okay, Tabitha, thanks so much,” said Aunt Evelyn.

  Silence.

  I took a deep breath. “All right, let’s go check out everything.”

  Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn exchanged more dubious glances and I smiled a closed-mouth smile that held no warmth inside or out, and forged ahead. I went in the front door and walked quickly through the familiar kitchen, the living room, the dining room.

  I said without equivocation or elaboration, “I think I’d like to wait until next time to go upstairs.”

  They nodded at me without saying a word.

  I continued in a firm voice, “And after lunch I’m going back to Detroit. Then I’m going home.”

  Aunt Evelyn started to say, “But honey—”

  But as my eyes flashed to her, Mr. Kirkland put his hand on her arm and interrupted, “It’s all right, Lane. You do that. We can wrap up a few things here by ourselves and we can
all head back to New York early. I’m sure I can switch our tickets to tomorrow or the day after. Sound good?”

  I nodded curtly and told them I’d take a walk and meet them at the Baxters’ in a while.

  I went out the door and turned to the right. I had to move, I had to use up the weird energy that was coursing through my confused body. I used the time to even more securely shore up my wall that protected my mind and my heart. And kept things out. There was something not only defensive about that angry wall, but it was on the offensive, it was aggressive.

  After a while, I went back to Tabitha’s and met her gracious parents. Can’t remember what we ate, but my humor returned a bit and I could see Aunt Evelyn sigh with relief. She just didn’t realize that was part of my offensive strategy, too. I didn’t want anyone to breach my wall, and humor would distract them and keep them out.

  Tabitha’s parents were surprised at our early departure, but we were able to catch a ride with a neighbor who needed to go to the city anyway, so Tabitha didn’t have to drive us all the way out there again.

  On the way back I avoided Aunt Evelyn by taking the passenger seat of the car, next to the driver. I made a constant stream of small talk with him the whole way back to Detroit. I don’t recall one minute of that trip. I made excuses to Aunt Evelyn and Mr. Kirkland and had dinner on my own that night. They didn’t push. I wasn’t very hungry and just grabbed a sandwich from a cart and read some novel or other long into the night, submerging myself in another world.

  The next day came and went in the same fashion. I walked around, shopped, said little, ate little, felt little. Finally, the day to go home to New York rolled in and, thank God, Mr. Kirkland had been able to get earlier tickets. It was like I couldn’t stand one more second of the place.