The shorter thug picked up Dykes' flight bag and dumped the contents onto the bed. Picking up a folded piece of paper, he opened it and scanned the contents. "This looks like the thing he was yammering about, Marco. Maybe we better double check with Sal before we slit this chump's throat."
42
Beads of sweat formed on Mary's neck and trickled down her back as she and Jack waited at the servant's entrance to Elizavon's mansion. Ignoring Jack's sighs, she pressed the buzzer once more, this time leaving her finger on the button so that the buzzer would continue to ring. If that didn't rouse the staff, nothing would. Several minutes later the door opened and a frowning Taft motioned for her and Jack to enter.
"Good morning, madam, sir," he droned.
"Morning, Taft," Mary responded automatically. "How are you?"
"Very well, madam. I was surprised to hear from you last night. I thought you said you finished the inventory last week."
Mary ignored the butler's subtle reproach. Stuffy old goat. "Ah, yes. Sorry about that, but there are a couple of items we need to reexamine. They're in the library." She scooted past him. "No need to escort us, Taft. I know the way."
Taft hurried to pass her. "It's no bother, madam. It's my job," he announced stiffly, leading the way.
Mary's lips quivered, but she held back her amusement. She very nearly lost her composure when Jack's finger poked her in the back several times. Shaking her head, she refused to look at him, knowing that one glance his way would rocket her into peals of laughter. Biting her lip, she followed Taft into the library.
The butler stepped aside as they entered. Mary made her way toward Elizavon's desk, but Jack walked quickly toward one of the tall bookcases. Closing the double doors behind them, Taft moved to stand behind Jack, sighing loudly. Jack sent Mary a withering glance, and she turned away, pretending to examine a dictionary while she struggled to regain her composure. Her shoulders shook as wave after wave of silent laughter roared through her. This was priceless! She knew Jack didn't appreciate her laughter, but his discomfort around Taft provided a much-needed distraction from the tension arising from her search for Elizavon's journal.
"We can take it from here, Taft," she finally managed to get out a few minutes later. "Would you be kind enough to bring us a cup of tea?"
The shocked look on the man's face was very nearly her undoing. "Very well, madam. Would there be anything else you require?"
"No, thank you, Taft. That'll be all." She watched him glide out of the room, his stiff bearing radiating disapproval, then collapsed into the nearest chair. "Oh my God, Jack. I see what you mean," she said between peals of laughter. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she struggled to quell her fit of giggles.
Jack moved to stand behind her; his fingers dug into her shoulder. "I'm glad you think it's funny, Mary," he spat out.
"I'm sorry, baby. It's just too precious," she said, giving way to another spasm of mirth. "You're right; he's like some ghoul out of an old horror flick."
"Yeah, well, I don't think it's very funny," Jack pointed out, moving to stand by the French doors that led into the garden.
"Come on, baby. If it was me, you'd laugh, and don't say you wouldn't, because I know better." She moved behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Resting her cheek against his back, she squeezed him once, then let go. "I'm sorry. I promise, I won't laugh again," she soothed. "Okay?"
He turned and stared into her face, as if trying to assess her sincerity. "Apology accepted," he murmured, ruffling her hair. "I guess it was pretty funny."
Her lips curved upwards and she quelled the grin before it got started. "It was, but having promised not to laugh anymore, I refuse to incriminate myself."
"Right." He turned to survey the room. "Where do we start looking?"
Mary felt her gaze being drawn back to the center of the room. "You know, I keep coming back to Aunt Elizavon's desk." She crossed the room and knelt beside one of the intricate wooden side panels. "I think she hid the journal in her desk. It had to be somewhere she could reach without anybody's help. And, given the fact that she was so ill, it would have to have been at waist level or lower, because her heart condition wouldn't allow her to raise her hands above her head. What do you think?"
Jack knelt on the other side of the desk. "I think you're right. Nobody would think to look for a hidden compartment in this old desk when they knew she kept her papers and jewelry in a safe. What are we looking for? A false panel? A drawer? What?"
"I don't think it's a false panel," Mary murmured, more to herself than Jack. "That would be too obvious." She paused, then cleared her throat. "There's something else, too. What do you think about when you hear the word journal?"
Jack shrugged his shoulders. "A book? A diary? I don't know, why?"
"Right, you picture something about the size of a book. But that's not what I've seen. I keep getting the image of something much smaller. Elizavon told me she wrote down the information in a journal, but I don't think that's what it was. The journal I see isn't very big; it's tiny, like one of those small notebooks you buy in the dime store that fits in the palm of your hand. I think she deliberately misled me to test my ability. What we're looking for is small, so it's got to be hidden in a drawer somewhere. I'm betting it's behind one of those carved birds on the sides of the desk."
She bent down and gently caressed each of the four birds that had been carved into the side panel. "Look for a subtle change in the way the wood feels under your fingers. Remember when I showed you how some of the old grandfather clocks had a hidden drawer in their base? I'll bet you this desk has the same kind of setup. Look for a slight break in the wood. It won't be obvious, but if it's there, you should be able to feel it."
"Mary, I've found something," Jack exclaimed a few minutes later. "I think this might be it," he cried. "Come over here."
Staying on her knees, Mary crept over to Jack's side of the desk. "Where is it?" she asked, eagerly covering his hand with hers.
Jack took her index finger and rubbed it across a small section of wood in the center of the panel. "Feel it? There's a slight cut, just there."
Mary nodded and rubbed her finger across the wood several times. "I think you're right, Jack. Can I get a little closer, please?"
"Sure." Jack moved back, out of the way. "What do you think?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder.
"Honey, you're killing my shoulder. Please, let me look."
"Oh, sorry. I just wanted to see what was going on."
"Hang on, baby. We'll know if we've found it in a second or two." She placed her thumb against the spot and pressed down. "Yes!" she cried when a small drawer slid out from the corner of the desk. She lifted out a black notebook that fit into her outstretched hand. "We've found it," she cried, hugging Jack. "You did it, baby! You found the hidden drawer!"
He patted her shoulder. "No, I only helped. You knew where to look."
"Well, it was a joint effort," she said, climbing to her feet and flipping open the cover. "I'm so excited. I wonder what she's written..."
"Uh, I'd wait a minute, if I were you," Jack interrupted, pointing toward the double doors. "I think I hear Taft bringing our tea."
As if by command, the doors swung open and Taft strode into the room, carrying a silver tray.
"Your tea, madam," he said, setting the tray on the corner of the desk. He shot Mary a disapproving glance and stared pointedly at the notebook in her hand. "Will there be anything else?"
"No, thank you, Taft," Mary replied, closing the notebook. "In fact, as soon as we drink our tea, we'll be ready to leave."
"Shall I return in ten minutes?"
"Yes, that'll be fine. Thank you."
"Did you see him staring at the notebook?" Jack asked once Taft closed the door behind him. "I thought his eyes would burn a hole in the pages."
Mary grinned. "Yeah. Did you see his expression when I closed the cover? I thought he was going to have a stroke."
Jack eyed the tea tray si
tting on the edge of the desk. "You don't really want that tea, do you?"
"Nah. It was just a diversion to get Taft out of the way. You ready to leave?"
"I was ready to leave the moment we got here," Jack responded, walking toward the doorway.
Mary stuffed the notebook into her purse. "Sounds good. I'll check out the notebook once we're in the car."
Taft met them in the hallway, scowling. "You could have rung for me."
Mary patted his arm. "We didn't want to bother you, Taft."
"Like I told you before, madam, it's my job," he pointed out. Sniffing loudly, he escorted them back to the servant's entrance, and slammed the door behind them with a bang.
"Did something we say annoy him?" Jack asked as they pulled onto the freeway.
Mary's chuckle echoed in the car. "I think it was our irreverent attitude that made him mad. He's not used to 'normal' people like us. He's more my Aunt Elizavon's kind of person--very prim, very proper."
"Yeah, well, I'm just glad it's over," Jack said, glancing at Mary out of the corner of his eye. "We are finished with him, right?"
"You are; I'm not. I still have to escort Aunt Elizavon's paintings to New York next month, but once that's done I'm free as a bird. Believe me, I can't wait."
Jack pointed to an overhead sign. "Isn't that our exit coming up?"
"Yeah. Don't miss it, because the next one's not for five miles."
He turned onto the airport off-ramp and slowed down. "I know you're anxious to check out the notebook. How about I drop you off at the plane first?"
"Sounds good. Dykes is probably waiting for us. He can stow the baggage while you turn in the car."
The plane was sitting outside the hangar when they drove up, but Dykes was nowhere in sight. "He's probably in the plane. I'll go check," Mary offered, climbing out of the car.
Both the cabin and the cockpit were empty. "Dykes are you here?" she called out. "It's Mary. We're ready to leave when you are."
"I'm in the restroom," Dykes responded. "Be out in a minute."
"No rush. Jack's getting the suitcases out of the trunk; he still has to turn in the rental car." She stepped back onto the stairwell and waved to Jack. "It's okay, baby; he's here."
"I'll be back in five minutes," Jack promised as he stacked the last suitcase at the foot of the stairs. Climbing back into the car, he disappeared around the corner of the hangar.
Mary waited outside for a few moments, then stepped back into the cabin the same moment that Dykes emerged from the bathroom. "Oh my God," she cried, running toward him. "What happened to you?"
43
A full moon greeted the private jet as it rolled to a stop in front of the hangar at the St. Francisville airport. Swallowing the last of her brandy, Mary unfastened her seatbelt and carried her snifter to the sink. "Thank God we made it in one piece," she said. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to fly in this plane anymore. At least not with Dykes."
"Shhhhhhhhhh, Mary," Jack admonished. "He's still in the cockpit; he'll hear you."
Embarrassed by her outburst, Mary lowered her voice. "I'm sorry, Jack, but that's the way I feel. Every time we fly with him something bad happens. We either run into bad weather, or the plane breaks down and we have to make an emergency stop for repairs. The man is jinxed, and I, for one, don't want to fly with him anymore." Holding up an index finger, she pointed it toward Jack. "And another thing--I don't care what he said; that man was not the victim of a street mugging. Muggers don't give you two black eyes and a bloody face. They either shoot you or throw you to the ground so they can make off with your purse or wallet. They don't beat your face to a pulp." She ran a hand nervously through her hair. "There's something fishy going on with him; I can feel it."
Jack rolled his eyes upward and shook his head. "I can't believe you said that, babe. You sound just like Sadie. What's wrong with you? Look, I talked to Dykes before we left Boston, and if he says he was mugged, then I believe him. Why would he lie?"
"I'm telling you, Jack, that was no mugging."
"Since when are you an expert on mugging injuries?"
The door to the cockpit swung open and Dykes moved gingerly through the doorway, one arm nursing his ribcage. "Well, folks, at least your last trip was uneventful," he announced with a grin, then winced in pain.
"You sure you don't want us to take you to the hospital to get those ribs x-rayed?" Mary asked, noting the pilot's pallor. "I hate to say it, but you look terrible. You might want to have a doctor check you out to make sure you don't have any internal injuries."
"I'm fine," Dykes answered quickly. "Believe me, all I want to do is get back to the plantation, lie down on one of your feather beds, and sleep for a year. That is, if I'm still invited."
"Of course you're still our guest," Jack interrupted. "Don't be ridiculous. And, since you're obviously in pain, I'll grab the suitcases out of the back and put them in the van."
"No, don't," Dykes protested, his voice rising several octaves. "I'm fine. It's my job and I'll take care of it."
"But that's silly. Why do more damage to your ribs when I'm perfectly capable of taking the luggage out of the plane?" Jack argued, puzzled by Dykes' unusual reaction to his offer. "It's no bother, really."
"No, and that's final," Dykes repeated in a loud voice. He walked over to Jack and patted his arm. "Look, I appreciate your offer, but it's a personal thing. I've never let any of my passengers unload their own luggage before, and I'm not about to start now. This is, or was, my last flight with you guys, and I want to be the one to do it. I know that sounds silly, but it's a matter of pride. I don't want any of us to remember that my last flight as Elizavon's pilot was the first one where my passengers had to do my job. Besides, I hate to pull rank, but technically I am still the captain of this plane."
Jack threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. Whatever. Is it okay if I unlock the van for you?" he asked sarcastically.
Dykes grinned and clapped him on the back. "Come on, Jack. Don't get touchy on me now. Tell you what. I'll let you help carry the bags once I unload them. How's that?" He unlocked the cabin door and inched his way down the stairs. "Why don't you and Mary get the van while I grab the suitcases?"
Mary followed Jack down the stairs. "See? What did I tell you?" she whispered when they were out of Dykes' hearing. "There's something wrong, Jack. You didn't believe that line about not wanting passengers to unload their own baggage, did you?" She grabbed his arm. "Please, tell me you didn't believe that line of bull he was handing out."
Jack shrugged out of her grasp. "Okay, maybe Dykes is acting a little strange. But, if I'd just been mugged and then had to fly from Boston to Louisiana, maybe I'd be acting a little strange, too. You gotta give the guy credit for doing his job even though he's obviously in pain, Mary."
Shocked, she stopped dead in her tracks. "What is it with you and Dykes, Jack? Some kind of macho male bonding? I don't believe you. The man is acting weird, and all you can say is that maybe it's because he got mugged and then had to fly a plane?" She threw her hands in the air. "Wake up, Jack. The man is obviously hiding something. Why else wouldn't he want you to unload the suitcases?" She became suddenly quiet as a thought occurred to her. "Oh my God. You don't think he's hiding something in the cargo bay, do you? What if he's a thief? Did I tell you somebody's been switching fakes for some of Elizavon's antiques in the Colorado house? I know, because I found two of them when I did the inventory. They were listed on the report I turned in to her business manager. What if Dykes is in cahoots with the staff in Colorado, and he's using the plane to take the stolen items to unscrupulous art dealers?"
Jack grabbed her by the shoulders. "Stop it, Mary. Right now. You're being ridiculous. Why would the man get involved with stealing antiques when he'd be the first one the police would question? Only a fool would try to pull that kind of stunt, and Dykes is no fool. Besides, the last place he'd hide contraband would be in a cargo bay. Too obvious. Come on, baby. Think about it."
; "But--"
"No buts, Mary. You're obviously letting your imagination get the best of you. Dykes is a good, conscientious pilot. Why else would he insist on flying us back to the plantation? Maybe he's acting a little squirrely tonight, but for God's sake, woman, cut him some slack." He patted her shoulder to take the sting out of his words. "Look, sweetie. You're tired, I'm tired, and God knows Dykes has to be exhausted. Why don't we just go home so we can all go to bed. I'm sure you'll see things differently after you've had a good night's sleep."
She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I am being silly." She wrapped her arm around his waist. "However, you have to agree with me that his behavior has certainly been out of character. Even for Dykes."
He squeezed her shoulders. "Agreed. I'll bet he's having some kind of delayed shock from being mugged. Dykes is too level-headed to act this weird." He released her and pointed to the parking row ahead. "There's our van. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go home."
Mary climbed into the passenger seat as Jack walked around to the driver's side. "Me, too. I sure hope Mrs. Milliron's got everything under control at the plantation. The last thing we need is to go home to a house full of unhappy guests."
Jack shifted the van into gear. "No problem, babe. The only guest we have is Dykes' friend, Sal something or other. Mrs. Milliron can take care of him with one hand tied behind her back. And, considering the fact that he's here to think about putting us on his bus tour agenda, I hardly think he's going to go out of his way to cause problems."
44
Though it was well past eleven pm when Mary, Jack, and Dykes arrived at the plantation, someone had thoughtfully left the porch lights on to welcome them home. The soft glow of the amber colored lights felt like a homing beacon to Mary, and she could feel the tension in her body dissipating as they neared the house. "Let's leave our bags until morning," she suggested as the van rolled to a stop on the curved driveway. The sound of snoring reminded her that Dykes lay sleeping on the back seat. "Dykes, wake up," she called in a soft voice. "We're home."
Breaking the Chain Page 21