Breaking the Chain

by C. D. Ledbetter

  Mary chuckled. "I'm sure God would forgive you that one little slip, Mrs. Durall."

  "I'll go to confession afterwards, to make sure he does." She reached for the phone book and thumbed through the yellow pages, still clutching the jewelry. "Let me see, what was that lawyer's name?"

  "I'll leave you to it, Mrs. Durall. I'll be up in my room if you need me."

  "Sure thing. Would you mind coming downstairs when they get here? My husband should be back by then. I can't wait to show him what we found. They'll all want to talk to you," she finished, eyes dancing with excitement.

  "It's no problem, as long as they come tonight. I finished the inventory, so I'll be leaving tomorrow morning. Just let me know when they arrive." Mary tried not to listen as she climbed the stairs, but Mrs. Durall's voice carried all the way to the second floor. Bits and pieces of the conversation even carried though the closed door to her room.

  She tried to focus on the inventory sheets displayed on her laptop. It certainly had been an exciting day. Too bad Jack wasn't here when she found the necklace and bracelet.

  It suddenly dawned on her that she'd forgotten to call him. Damn. How long had it been? Thirty, forty minutes? She dialed his cell phone and he answered on the first ring.

  "Well, did you find it?"

  "Yes! It was hidden in base of the grandfather clock! Can you believe it?"

  "That's great, babe. I knew you could do it. However, I have a question for you. When the housekeeper calls the authorities, how are you going to explain the fact that you knew where the necklace was hidden? Somehow I don't think they'd believe you if you told them you have 'psychic' powers."

  She flopped back into her chair. "Ohhhhhhhhh, good question. I hadn't thought that far ahead."

  "Well, you'd better. They'll probably be there soon, and you need to have a story ready."

  She thought about the grandfather clock and the explanation she'd given Susan. "No problem. I'll tell the truth."

  "What?" Jack's tone was incredulous. "Are you nuts?"

  "Don't worry, Jack. I'll tell them the same thing I told Mrs. Durall. The kind of grandfather clock they have on the third floor sometimes has a hidden compartment in the base. That much is the truth. I'll say that my mind's been working overtime to figure out the puzzle ever since Mrs. Durall told me about the disappearance of the necklace and bracelet. When I saw the clock this afternoon, it took a while, but I finally remembered about the hidden compartment some of them have, and decided to check it. And, since I know a lot about antiques, that would be a natural conclusion. What do you think?"

  "Welllllllllll, you might get away with that story this time. If you're lucky."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  He snickered. "For you, babe, anytime."

  She was startled by a series of knocks on her door. "Hang on, Jack," she whispered. "There's somebody at the door." She put him on hold. "Who is it?"

  "It's Susan. They're all here, and wanted to talk to you if it not too much trouble."

  "No problem, Mrs. Durall. Tell them I'll be down in a few minutes."

  "Thanks. They're so excited about the necklace and bracelet. They can't believe we finally found it."

  Mary waited until the sound of her footsteps faded to continue her conversation. "Jack, are you still there?"

  "Yeah. Who was at the door?"

  "Mrs. Durall. The attorney and the museum curator are here to pick up the necklace and bracelet. I gotta go. I'll call you in the morning, okay?"

  "All right. Sleep tight, my love."

  "You, too, Jack."

  "Uh, Mary, there's one more thing."

  "What?"

  "If you see any ghosts, can you tell them not to bother you during working hours?" His laughter boomed in her ears.

  "Ha ha. Very funny, Jack. You just wait until I get home."

  "Promises, promises. That's all I ever get these days. What time are you coming home tomorrow?"

  "I think it's around three tomorrow afternoon. I'm supposed to catch a flight out at ten in the morning, and I have a double connection. I'll let you know if anything changes."

  "Okay. Good night, my love."

  "Good night, Jack. Love you." She cradled the phone under her chin for a few moments, then tossed it onto the bed. Smoothing her shirt over her slacks, she mentally rehearsed her story for the folks downstairs. It was show time--the curtain had gone up and she was the star of the center ring. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the hallway, and started down the stairs.

  18

  Mary stood outside the doorway, watching Jack pry wooden boards loose with a crowbar. Shirtless, clad in dark shorts, his tanned skin glistened with moisture as rays of sunlight streamed through the narrow window above his head. Each time he pushed his weight against the crowbar, the muscles in his arms contracted and he let out a loud grunt. Beads of sweat formed, then zigged and zagged down the center of his back to end their journey as a damp stain on the elastic waistband of his shorts. With each downward movement of the crowbar, rotten boards snapped and splintered, then were shoved aside. Engrossed in his task, he was unaware of her presence.

  She waited until he paused his rhythmic destruction, then made a noisy entrance. "I've brought you a glass of tea."

  He leaned the crowbar against one wall, then wiped the sweat from his brow with a hairy forearm. "Thanks, I appreciate it," he said before draining the liquid from the glass.

  Mary surveyed his handiwork. "Are you going to replace the whole thing?"

  "Might as well. The rest is bound to rot sooner or later, and I don't want to have to do this again." He offered the empty glass, then retrieved the crowbar. "Whoever built this tool shed didn't do a very good job on the floor. It's a mess."

  She nodded in agreement. "Would it be better to tear down the shed and put up a wooden building?"

  "Nah, don't need it. The walls are solid enough and I fixed the roof while you were in Kansas."

  She fingered the layer of dust and mold that covered every surface, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Lunch is almost ready. Can you take a break?"

  "I can in about thirty minutes. That section you're standing on is the last bit. All I have to do is finish it, move everything over to the burn barrel, then I'm done for the day."

  "Watch the heat, baby. The thermometer read eighty-seven degrees the last time I checked." She wiped beads of sweat from her brow. "Feels more like a hundred in here."

  He shot her a toothy smile. "Probably is. Come over here and give me a hug."

  "No way, dear. I can smell your 'earthy' scent from here," she teased. "Don't get too hot," she said in farewell as she side-stepped to miss the arm that threatened to envelope her in a smelly embrace.

  Instead of joining them for lunch, Jack stuck his head through the kitchen door. "Come quick. I've found another tunnel," he blurted out before disappearing.

  The glass in Mary's hand slipped from her fingers and shattered into stiletto-shaped shards. Chills broke out on her arms and back as a sickening feeling invaded her stomach. Oh God, not another tunnel! Memories of Jean-Pierre and Magdalene flooded her mind. What if the tunnel wasn't safe? What if the walls collapsed on Jack? What if...

  "Jack, wait," she wailed, racing across the yard. "Don't go into the tunnel. It's dangerous."

  No answer.

  "Jack? Where are you?" she cried in desperation. "For God's sake, answer me."

  A hand appeared in the tool shed doorway, motioned her forward. "It's okay, Mary. I'm right here."

  Thank God! Breathless, she propped one hand on the doorframe as she bent over to force air into her empty lungs. "Please don't go in there until we know it's safe," she begged. "The other tunnel nearly collapsed on top of me."

  "You're white as a ghost. Are you okay?"

  Tears welled up, then rolled down her cheeks. "I'm fine now that I know you're not climbing around in there."

  He wrapped his arms around her trembling body, held her close. "Oh, babe," he soothed.
"I'm such an idiot. I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm sorry."

  She buried her face in his chest, nearly gagging from his sweaty odor. "I know it's silly," she said in a muffled voice. "But I couldn't bear it if anything to happen to you." She lifted her head, gazed at him through watery eyes. "Please, please promise me you won't go into the tunnel until we've know it's safe."

  He stared at her, his face losing its customary smile. "Okay, I promise," he answered, crushing her against his chest.

  "Thanks." She remained entwined in his arms for a moment, then leaned back and waved a hand in front of her nose.

  His deep laugh filled the shed as he released her. "What's the matter, babe? Something wrong?"

  "Nothing a little soap and water won't cure," she replied with a chuckle.

  The rays of sunlight faded as Sadie and Justine crowded into the doorway. "What's going on?" Justine asked in a breathless voice. "Did Jack find anything?"

  "No. And nobody's going into the tunnel until we've had it inspected," Mary stated in a non-nonsense tone.

  Jack gave a bark of laughter. "Ohhhhhh, big bad Mary's laying down the law," he teased.

  She sent him what she hoped was a quelling glance. "It's not funny, Jack. That tunnel's dangerous."

  Sadie rapped her cane across the dirt-encrusted trap door. "I knows what it is." She poked the edge of her cane into the fissure between the ground and door. "This here's the other end of the slave tunnel Mary found." Eyes sparkling, she dared anyone to contradict her. "It's part of the Underground Railroad slaves used during the Civil War."

  "I don't care who used it," Mary argued. "We're not setting one foot in there until somebody comes in and reinforces the walls." She wiped the dirt and mud from her hands and started toward the house. "I'll call the sheriff. He'll know somebody who can check it out for us. Maybe we can use the same men we used last time."

  "I doubt it, considering what you found," Jack remarked dryly as the others caught up. "If I remember correctly, you said they were scared shitless."

  Sadie rapped his arm with her cane. "Don't you cuss in front of me," she scolded. "I don't hold with folks cussing. Never have, never will."

  A sudden look of embarrassment rippled across his face. "Sorry."

  "Just see that it don't happen no more. Where's my lunch? What you trying to do, starve me to death?"

  "I'll get it as soon as I've called the sheriff," Mary called over her shoulder as she picked up the receiver. "I won't be long." The non-emergency line to the sheriff's office was busy and it took several tries to get through.

  "Sheriff Laroux here."

  "Sheriff, I'm not sure if you remember me, but my name's Mary Windom."

  "Who?"

  "You probably remember me as Mary Corbett. My aunt Elizavon bought the Maison de Fleur plantation last year."

  "Oh, yeah. The woman from the plantation. What'd you do, get married or something?"

  "Yes. The reason I called you is that we've found another tunnel. We think it might be the rear entrance to the one I found."

  "You didn't go in it, did you?" His voice sounded abrupt.

  "No way. Not after what happened. Do you know anybody who could check it out? To see if it's safe?"

  "My advice is to fill it right away. Those old tunnels are dangerous. Not only to you, but to anybody who goes near one."

  "I know, but I at least want to have it checked out before we fill it in," she countered.

  "I see you're still as pig-headed as you were last time we met."

  "How's your niece doing?" she asked. "The one you said I reminded you of?"

  "Still as stubborn as you are," he replied in a voice tinged with laughter. "Tell you what. I'll call around and see what I can do. After what we found last time, it'll be hard to find somebody. Might cost you extra."

  "No problem."

  "I'll let you know."

  She swallowed quickly. "Uh, Sheriff?"

  "What is it now?" he asked in a disgusted voice.

  "Do you think you could ask them to do it as soon as possible?"

  He sputtered into the phone, and she had no difficulty imagining his expression.

  "I said I'd do what I could. You'll just have to wait, missy."

  "Thanks for your help, Sheriff. I appreciate it."

  "You're welcome. You stay away from that tunnel, you hear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  She turned to find Jack, Sadie, and Justine standing behind her, unashamedly eavesdropping.

  "Well?" they asked in unison.

  "He said he'd do the best he could, and not to go near the tunnel until he's had a chance to bring someone out."

  "Who does he think he is?"

  Mary patted Jack's arm. "He's the sheriff, sweetie. You remember him, the man who swore to protect us, sometimes from our own folly. Listen, Jack. You might not want to hear this, but those tunnels are dangerous. Believe me, I know firsthand. The walls are unstable and could collapse at any time. Especially with all the rain we've had. He'll find somebody. Until then, you'll just have to cool your heels."

  "Yeah, well, I don't have to like it," he whined.

  She coaxed him into the kitchen, then noticed the glass shards on the floor. "Tell you what. As soon as I pick up the broken glass on the floor, I'll make you the best lunch you've ever had. How does that sound?"

  "I'm still not happy."

  "Yeah, well, better ticked off than dead."

  He stuck out his tongue and she swatted him playfully with the dustpan. As she swept bits of glass into the dustpan, she couldn't help wondering what the tunnel held in store for them. Jack seemed to think it was some sort of glamorous adventure, but she knew better. Chills raced up and down her spine as frightening memories flooded her mind. No, it wasn't going to be any picnic, no matter what Jack thought. A deep sense of foreboding filled her and she recognized the feeling for what it was--a premonition, and a bad one at that. That tunnel was going to spell trouble for all of them. One way or another.

  19

  Mac Grayersin tapped the edge of his half-smoked cigar against a plastic ashtray while he reviewed the latest stack of incoming jobs. After reading the details, he assigned a curator to each job, then tossed the sheets into an assigned bin that his assistant emptied daily. Every so often his glance strayed across his desk to the completed inventory bin, which was nearly overflowing.

  Having finished his task, he leaned back in his chair, stuck the cigar back in his mouth, then propped his feet on top of the wastepaper basket. Business had been good, especially since June. For the first time in several years he had more assignments than curators. Not a bad place to be. Maybe this year he'd be able to give his employees a bigger bonus. God knows they deserved one.

  A soft tap on the door interrupted his quiet contemplation. "What do you want?" he growled, recognizing the knock.

  The door opened and Belinda Dubart, his assistant for the last fifteen years, stuck her head around the door. "What kind of mood are you in?"

  "Why?"

  "Got a rush job from a very wealthy client. Needs to be finished this week."

  He swiveled his chair around. "So? What's the problem? And don't tell me there isn't one, because the only time you knock on my door is when you don't want to talk to me. What is it?"

  The petite, gray-headed woman sighed, then covered the short distance between the door and his desk. "Here's the information." She slid a stack of papers across his desk and hurriedly retraced her steps.

  "Don't even think about leaving," he ordered.

  She stopped, but didn't turn around. "I have a lot of work to do."

  "So? It can wait. Get over here." He grabbed the pages and scanned the information.

  She retraced her steps and perched on the edge of a chair. Mac's lit cigar dangled dangerously between his lips, then rolled from one end of his mouth to the other--a sure sign he wasn't happy. Just when she thought she might sneak back to her desk without a scene, he removed the cigar from his lips and crushed the end
of it in the ashtray. Sighing, she leaned back in her chair, waiting for the inevitable. Mac liked his office run smoothly and despised any interruption or problem. Whenever one arose, he lost his temper, ranted and raved for a little while, then calmed down and apologized. She'd been on this particular merry-go-round for several years, and it was beginning to pall.

  "So, did anybody bother to call this Mr. Charles to find out why Mary's the only person they want?"

  One finely penciled eyebrow rose as she favored him with a sarcastic look. "What do you think? Of course I called him. Unfortunately, his boss, Ms. Phelps, stipulated that either Mary does the job or we don't get the contract. There's no room for negotiation."

  "Any reason why?"

  "He didn't volunteer that information and, based on his curt replies, I didn't ask."

  "Damn. She's done four jobs without a break. How the hell am I going to talk her into this one?"

  A gleam shone in Belinda's eyes as she rose from her chair. "She ain't gonna be happy. You better make it good or she's liable to quit."

  "Very funny, Belinda. You can be replaced, you know," he growled.

  She flashed him a saccharine smile. "Oh, yeah? Like I'm really worried. I was looking for a job when I found this one. Besides, nobody else would put up with your guff, and you know it." Having delivered her parting shot, she turned her back on him and marched from the room.

  Mac stared at the empty doorway for a few moments, then retrieved his cigar from the ashtray. Damn, damn, damn. He grabbed the order and scanned the pages a second time before tossing them back on the desk. He'd need to handle this one with kid gloves, especially since Mary had been working non-stop for over four weeks.

  Lacing his fingers behind his head, he propped his feet on his desk and stared at the ceiling. She was his best curator and wasn't going to be happy when he delivered the news that she'd have to take this assignment. Unfortunately, this was a premium rate job he couldn't afford to pass it up. Wealthy customers were the backbone of his company, and frequently lead to other, more lucrative contracts. If they played their cards right, this one job could translate into six or eight additional months of work at three times the normal rate. He pressed the buzzer.