Moments later the door opened, and two men entered, carrying black bags. Taft stepped aside as one man reached to take Elizavon's pulse and listen to her heartbeat.
"She has a heart condition," Taft offered. "She's had three nitro tablets, but they don't seem to be working very well."
"Okay. We'll take it from here," the paramedic said. While he finished taking her vital signs, the other paramedic disappeared, soon to return with a gurney. Elizavon moaned as the men gently lifted her from the bed, placed her on the gurney, and covered her with a blanket. As she passed Taft on her way out, she reached out and grabbed the side of his jacket.
"One moment, please," he requested, leaning close to the ailing woman.
"Call Mary," she whispered in a breathless voice. "There's something I have to tell her. It's important. Send the plane to fetch her."
"I will," he said, patting her shoulder. "You just worry about getting well. I'll make sure she knows where they're taking you."
The paramedic touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we have to leave. Now."
Taft stood silently with the other staff members as Elizavon was whisked into the waiting ambulance. As it sped down the driveway with sirens screaming, he wondered if the old woman would survive. He certainly hoped so; jobs that paid as well as his were hard to come by.
22
Mary's pensive mood vanished when she saw her husband standing in the airport reception area. It never ceased to amaze her that the mere sight of the man could send her pulse soaring and fill her inner being with such joy and happiness. Was this what being in love really meant? She sent a silent prayer of thanks to God for bringing Jack into her life and giving her the chance to know such wonderment.
"Hey, baby! I'm so glad to see you," she cried as she flung herself into his arms and smothered him with kisses. "Guess what? I have ten whole days off! Isn't that great?"
He hugged her close, kissed her tenderly, then guided her to a row of seats.
"What's wrong?" Panic replaced joy at his sober expression. "Did something happen to Sadie or Justine? The plantation? Oh God, please, tell me they're okay."
He patted her shoulder. "We're fine, the plantation's fine. It's your aunt. Elizavon's butler, Taft, called earlier today. I'm afraid she's been rushed to the hospital. They think it's a massive heart attack. He didn't know if she'd make it or not, and wanted me to let you know that he's sending her private plane for you. Evidently she wants to talk to you before-- Well, she wants to see you right away."
Stunned by the news, Mary's mind refused to work. Elizavon dying? Nah, couldn't be. This had to be some kind of sick joke. The old woman was a tower of strength, always had been. Besides that, she was too snotty to die from a normal disease like a heart attack. When her aunt died, it would probably be from some spectacular disease that would catapult her into the medical journals. That's just how she was. There was no way Elizavon would let something like a mere heart attack do her in.
It suddenly dawned on her that Elizavon's butler must have been the mysterious Mr. Taft who'd called her office. Had Elizavon been trying to get in touch with her because she knew she was dying? Guilt consumed her as she berated herself for not remembering that Taft was Elizavon's butler. How could she have forgotten something that important?
A hand on her arm snapped her out of her reverie. "Mary, are you okay? Honey, look. It's not your fault Elizavon's had a heart attack. Don't look like that," Jack begged.
She leaned into him, grateful for the support of his arms. "Oh, Jack. Mac told me last night that a Mr. Taft called the office a couple of days ago. I didn't remember who he was."
"Mary, how could you possibly be expected to know that Elizavon's butler was the same Mr. Taft who called your office? You're not a mind reader; quit blaming yourself. For one thing, you only got the message last night. And, didn't you tell me earlier today that you tried to call your aunt this morning but couldn't get through?"
"Yes, but--"
"No 'but' to it, Mary." He held her away from him, cupped the bottom of her chin with his fingers, and forced her to look up. "Listen to me. It's not your fault Elizavon's sick, and it's not your fault you couldn't return her call. For God's sake, woman. Give yourself some credit for being human. Elizavon's an old woman. Her heart was bound to give out sooner than later, and nothing you, I, or anyone else could do, can change that." He leaned forward, planted a wet, noisy kiss on her lips, then cuffed her chin affectionately. "I hate to say this, but your being so conscientious is one of the things I love most about you, Mrs. Windom. Come on. Let's go get a cup of coffee, and we'll figure out what you're going to do next. Okay?" He spun her around and nudged her forward. "And I won't take no for an answer, either."
Mary leaned back to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Jack. You're wonderful, do you know that?"
He grinned mischievously and a twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Of course I know I'm wonderful. I was beginning to wonder how long it would take for you to figure it out!"
"You're terrible!"
"Yeah, but at least I'm never dull. Come on, let's go get that coffee."
Mary idly tapped her teaspoon on the side of her cup, unaware that she'd spooned three teaspoons of sugar into her coffee, instead of one. When she reached for the fourth, Jack placed his hand over hers.
"Uh, sweetie, I think that's enough sugar," he said with a grin. "If I were you, I'd try a sip before I put any more in."
"What?" She lifted the cup to her lips, then spit the dark liquid back into the cup. "Ugh...this is awful. Why didn't you tell me I added too much sugar?"
He shook his head, then waved the waitress over. "I'm sorry, but do you think we could get my wife another cup of coffee? She accidentally poured too much sugar in hers."
The waitress subjected Mary to a not-too-polite stare, puckered her lips together to blow a bubble with her chewing gum, then retrieved the offending cup. "Sure. No problem."
A few minutes later, she banged another steaming cup of thick black coffee on the table, causing Mary to look up sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I'm so worried about my aunt I wasn't paying attention. I really appreciate this."
The woman's expression softened, and she patted Mary's arm. "That's okay, honey. We all have family. I know how it is. You just let me know when you want a refill, and I'll bring it right over."
"Thanks." After she left, Mary stared out the window, gazing at the thick black clouds that were slowly moving toward the airport. "When's the plane due? I overheard the pilot telling the stewardess the weather's supposed to get really bad. Is that true?"
"Yeah, there's a storm front moving in sometime tonight. When Taft called, he said the pilot would probably get here about eight. I sure hope he didn't get delayed anywhere. Otherwise, he's in for a nasty ride."
Mary fidgeted in her chair. "Maybe I ought to call and see how Elizavon's doing. Did Taft leave a number for the hospital?"
"I thought you'd want to know, so I called Brigham and Women's Hospital before I left. Elizavon's in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. She's stabilized, but it's still too early to know anything, one way or another. The nurse's station said to call back in five or six hours, and maybe they'd know something by then."
"Thanks, Jack. God, I hope she makes it."
"Me, too. For your sake. Are you ready to go home? There's nothing we can do here." He caressed her palm and wrist suggestively with his index finger, then grinned. "We have a lot of 'homework' to catch up on, and it's so warm outside, I'm thinking about taking an afternoon siesta. Want to join me?"
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and a slow grin spread across her face. "Why Mr. Windom, are you trying to tell me you want to ravish my body?"
"Yes ma'am, that's exactly what I plan to do," he announced with a toothy grin.
"Well, if that's the case, then why are we still here?"
When Mary called the hospital some three hours later, Elizavon still hovered in the twilight between life and death. The doctor on duty informed her that even if
her aunt did survive, she wouldn't be allowed to visit her for several days because nieces weren't considered "immediate family." He advised Mary to delay her trip to Boston, and promised to have a nurse call if there was any change at all in Elizavon's condition.
Fuming, Mary hung up the phone and stomped into the office she shared with Jack. "Have you ever heard anything so preposterous? My sister and I are the only family Elizavon has, but because we're her nieces, we're not considered 'immediate' family. That really ticks me off. I'm so mad I want to smack that doctor up side his head."
"You might as well calm down, sweetie. There's nothing you can do, and they really are looking out for Elizavon's best interest," Jack said in a soothing voice. "Besides, you'd only be able to see her for what, five, maybe ten minutes at a time? Chances are, she probably wouldn't be awake, anyway. I hate to say it, but he's right. You're better off waiting until she's on the mend before going to Boston."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Whose side are you on?"
"Nobody's. I'm just trying to make you see reason, that's all." He patted the chair next to his. "Why don't you try and take your mind off your aunt by doing something else? I need your help for a minute."
"All right. But don't think I'm going to let them get away with this. As soon as my aunt's out of the woods, I'm going to give that doctor a piece of my mind."
He tapped the side of her head. "You think that's a good idea, sweetie? After all, if you go around giving everybody a piece of your mind, you won't have any left," he teased. "Then what would you do?"
"Ha ha. Very funny." She sprawled ungracefully in her chair. "What do you need?"
"Take a look at these papers. It's the evaluation of the Smythe's mansion. There's a particular piece I want you--"
The shrill ring of the phone on his desk interrupted his request, and he picked up the receiver.
"Blue Moon Inn. Jack Windom speaking."
"Paul Dykes here, Mrs. Phelps' pilot. I wanted to let you know I arrived. I'm supposed to pick up Mrs. Phelps' niece and take her back to Boston."
"Yes, we're expecting you. Glad to see you made it before the storm front moved in," Jack said.
"Yeah, so am I. This weather isn't even fit for ducks."
"If you don't mind waiting a little bit, Mary and I'll come and get you. No sense in staying in a hotel when we have plenty of room at the plantation. I probably should tell you there's been a slight change of plan; you won't be going back to Boston in the morning. I'll explain more when we pick you up."
"Do the folks in Boston know about this?"
"Yeah. Mary called them about an hour ago, and everything's been settled. You leave in three days. Unless, of course, Elizavon dies. Is that a problem?"
"Not really. How soon will you be here? I'll need to cancel the flight plan I just filed."
"Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour."
"Good, that'll give me time to tie up a few loose ends as well."
"We'll pick you up in front of the main doors, in the passenger loading zone. I'll be driving a white van with 'Blue Moon Inn' painted on the side. It shouldn't be too hard to spot."
Dykes laughed. "Don't worry; you can't miss me."
23
Jack switched the windshield wipers into overdrive and slowed down when the thunderstorm turned into a torrential downpour. The rhythmic hammering of rain on the van's metal roof reminded him of the sound nickels made as they fell into the metal trays beneath slot machines.
"If I'd known it was going to rain this hard, I would've told the pilot stay in town," Mary complained as she wiped the windshield with a cotton cloth since the defroster couldn't keep fog from forming. "This isn't rain; it's a deluge. Maybe you should pull over until it stops."
"Nah, it's not that bad," Jack answered. "Besides, it's already starting to ease off. As long as I can see the road, we're okay." Some ten minutes later the outline of the control tower appeared like a lighthouse beacon shining in a sea of darkness. "See?" he said, pointing to the tower. "There it is. I told you we were almost there. Feel better?"
"No. We still have to drive back in this mess. I think we should wait out the storm, even if it takes a while. This road's dangerous, even in the best of weather. All it takes is a few sprinkles to turn it into a slick sheet of glass. One wrong move and, poof, you're sliding into the bayou. I can't wait till they finish that new interstate off ramp. At least then we'll have a decent way to get to and from the plantation. No more two lane, bumpy asphalt strips, with alligators lined up on either side, just waiting for you to become their next meal."
Jack slowed the van to a crawl and stopped in front of the passenger loading zone. "When did you get to be such a chicken? Talk about overactive imaginations!" He caught the murderous look she sent his way, then sighed heavily. "All right, Nervous Nellie. Tell you what. I'll park the van and we'll wait for the storm to blow itself out. How's that sound?"
"Thanks. I hate to be like this, but I don't want to end up as some alligator's main course." She rested her forehead against her window, trying to peer through the rain to figure out which one of the people huddled together against the rain was the pilot.
"Why don't you go on inside?"
"Okay. I'll leave you the big umbrella; you'll need it." She jumped out and raced to the terminal's front door.
"You must be Mary," a tall man said announced as he held the door.
She looked up, then winced at the loud flowers printed on the man's shirt. "You've got to be Paul Dykes," she said with a grin. "You were right--nobody could miss you in that getup."
He chuckled and tugged one collar. "Like it? I picked it up in Hawaii last time I was there. I know it's kinda loud, but it sure makes a change from that God-awful uniform your aunt insists on."
"Well, I'm not sure which is worse; the uniform or your shirt," she teased.
"Hey, I did my time in uniforms. I was a chopper pilot in the Gulf War. Flew to hell and back six, seven times a day, for three long years. Had to wear a uniform every stinking day I was there." He scratched the side of his chin. "Maybe that's why I hate 'em so much now. Guess they bring back too many bad memories." He leaned closer, studying her expression. "Please tell me you're not going to make me wear that awful thing when we leave. It's bad enough that I have to wear it whenever your aunt's around."
"No. As much as I hate to admit it, the uniform's worse."
He sighed dramatically. "Thank God. A woman after my own heart."
She shook her head. "Don't be too sure about that. I'm as anal about details as my aunt."
"Nah. Nobody can be that bad. That woman's in a league all by herself."
"I agree with him," Jack chimed in as he joined the group. He held out a damp hand. "Jack Windom. I take it you're Paul Dykes?"
Dykes grasped Jack's hand. "In the flesh."
"Glad to meet you. How about a cup of coffee? It's raining like hell outside. Might as well get something hot while we wait for it to slack off." He glanced at the floor, then looked up. "Where's your stuff?"
"Left it in the plane. Figured we could drive around and pick it up on the way out. Didn't want to get everything soaked; it's a long walk from the plane. Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. Good idea."
The small restaurant was unusually crowded, and they had to wait for someone to leave before they could sit down. Mary watched the single waitress rush from table to table. "Everybody must've had the same idea," she observed. "I'll bet this is the most business this place's done in years."
The waitress grabbed a pot of steaming black coffee and shuffled over to their table. "Two or three cups?" she asked with a grin. "I've already told the cook to dish up two orders of peach pie with a scoop of ice cream on the side."
"Coffee for three, thanks," Mary replied. She turned to Dykes. "Are you hungry? They make the best pie in St. Francisville, and their sandwiches aren't bad, either."
"You must spend a lot of time here," Dykes commented, putting down his menu. "I'll take a ham s
andwich, fries, and a slice of that peach pie, please. With ice cream."
"We probably spend as much time in airports as you do," Mary said. "Jack and I are estate curators, which means we travel all the time."
"I'm only working for your aunt until I've got enough money stashed away to start my own charter service," he announced as the waitress brought their order.
Mary studied him out of the corner of her eye as he inhaled his food. "How long have you been working for my aunt?" she asked innocently.
"Long enough to know I don't want to do it for the rest of my life," he replied, deftly side-stepping her question.
Jack shoveled a forkful of pie into his mouth. "How do you stand being cooped up with her in that small plane? She'd drive me crazy."
"Easy. She has to be nice to me. Otherwise the plane goes down," Dykes said, straight-faced.
Mary choked, and Jack thumped her several times on the back. "It's okay, honey. He's only kidding."
"Remind me to be very nice to you when we leave," she said, rubbing watery eyes.
Dykes lifted his eyebrows a couple of times, and a dimple appeared, then disappeared in his cheek. "Yeah, it sure pays to be nice to the man who holds your life in his hands," he teased. He turned toward Jack. "So you guys own a plantation? Tell me about it. Maybe we can cut a charter deal out to your place once I get my business started."
24
"Do you want another piece of fruit?" Justine asked as she wiped off the kitchen table.
Sadie reached for her cane, then rose from her chair. "No. I'm going to my room. It's almost time for my favorite television--" She paused mid-sentence, her body started to shake, and one bony hand shot out to latch on to Justine's arm. "He's come," she croaked in a strained voice. "The brown man's here."
Startled, Justine helped Sadie to a chair, then collapsed into the one next to her. The brown man was here? How could that be?
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