Think, Val! She told herself. What kind of “scrolls”? Scrolls were something old and anything old was valuable, worth money! Her eyes glittered at the thought. Worth money to whom? Cunningly, she wondered if they were something that could be sold to, say, a collector! Perhaps she could sell them to the highest bidder? That she didn’t have the scrolls somehow didn’t matter. She would find them if it took the rest of her life. If they were valuable enough, they could set her up for life! I could leave this damn place and not have to beg Alex for a penny!
And what was that business about them being revealed in Alex’s lifetime? Did they have religious overtones? Something like Bernadette and her vision? Within minutes, Valerie had changed into riding clothes and was waiting for her horse to be brought to her. She eyed the clean lines of the Morgan and felt pleased. He looked like he could use the exercise. Well, he’d get it today and tomorrow and every day till she found the scrolls. I’ll call Eugene and see if he can investigate. And if I find them, he can put out some feelers for a buyer.
The stallion pawed and snorted as the young groom turned the reins over to Valerie. “He’s skittish today, señora, but when he works off a little steam he’ll give you a good ride.”
Valerie ignored the young Argentinian as though he had never spoken. “Easy, Nero,” she said softly as she stroked the black satin head. She continued to croon softly as she mounted the animal. He reared back as Valerie held the reins. Gently, she loosened them and let Nero have his head. With a gentle nudge to his flanks, the Morgan galloped down the path. Valerie sat with ease and laughed as the scenery flashed by. It was the most exhilarating distraction at the hacienda.
For the remainder of the day she rode with her head down scrutinizing the ground. By the end of the day, she had found nothing. She returned to the farm in a fitful mood.
Time passed and Valerie followed the same pattern each day: she would dress, have the horse saddled, and ride out till nightfall. By the end of the second week, she hadn’t discovered any opening resembling a cave. But Valerie, knowing Alex wouldn’t lie, knew the cave had to be somewhere on the grounds. It was hidden and she meant to find it.
Angry and determined, she rode for another week and probably never would have found the clearing but for a crazy fluke of luck. The Morgan had shied at a rattlesnake on the path. Terrified, Valerie pulled on the reins and almost backed the horse into a huge gnarled tree behind her. Shaken from the experience, she dismounted and stretched her legs.
She walked on, ever mindful of snakes, her eyes in the brush and ground. She bent down to pick a luscious flower and saw the darkness through the shrubbery. Slowly and carefully, she parted the lush greenery and saw the mouth of a cave.
It was so pitch black inside that she had to switch on the cigarette lighter that she had withdrawn from her jacket pocket. Instinct told her something valuable would not be near the mouth of the cave. Trembling with fear, she penetrated the darkness with the tiny flame of the lighter and walked deep into the darkness.
At best, it was a mere crevice in the rock formation, but the farther she walked the deeper and blacker the cave became.
Finally she came to the end of the cave. A dead end and there was nowhere else to go. She cursed as she looked angrily around. This had to be the place; there wasn’t another cave on the whole farm; she’d swear to it!
Valerie lowered the minuscule flame and dropped to her haunches. She pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The formidable boulder rocked as she sat down on it. Where the hell was it? Alex had said the scrolls, whatever the hell they were, could be found in a cask. Well, there wasn’t any cask here!
Impatience over her near-victory made her angry. She jumped up and stumbled; the boulder tilted precariously, causing her to trip and fall. As she did so, the boulder tumbled over and Valerie lay with her mouth hanging open. She lowered the cigarette lighter’s feeble flame and peered into what appeared to be a deep hole.
“Aha!” she exclaimed victoriously. “Fortune does smile on those who persevere!” She laughed, the tinkling sound bouncing off the thick, damp walls and creating an echo that set her teeth on edge.
Carefully propping the small, square lighter against the rock, she reached down and withdrew a small cask. Holding it near the light, she could see no way to open the top. It would have to be pried off. Valerie got down on her hands and knees, and, with the aid of the flickering light, she spotted a can of pitch and a sharp metal bar. She smirked to herself—it was almost too easy!
With clumsy fingers, she pried open the lid and withdrew an oiled leather pouch. In this darkness, she wouldn’t be able to see a thing. She cursed. Regardless of what was in the pouch, she was taking it. She plopped the lid back onto the cask and lowered it back into place. Struggling, she replaced the heavy rock and stood back to observe her handiwork. She ran from the cave, out into the sunlight, opened the saddlebag and jammed in the leather pouch.
With teeth chattering, she spurred the Morgan and galloped back to the hacienda. The biggest problem facing her now would be to get the pouch into the house without anyone noticing. Valerie rode her mount into the cool, dark stable and dismounted. She picked up a brilliant scarlet sweater that hung on a hook, and carefully placed it over the pouch.
Breathless, she made it unobserved to her room where she locked the door with shaking hands. Unraveling the strings of the pouch, she was all thumbs. Finally, after carefully unrolling one of the cylinders she held up an intricately written scroll headed with a multicolored painting. “Good Lord,” she exclaimed in awe. “An illuminated drawing!”
“It’s in Latin!” she grimaced to herself. “Illuminated drawing! This is more stunning than any we studied in art class. They have to be worth thousands upon thousands of dollars.” If she remembered correctly, such things were only painted by monks.
Valerie opened the other scrolls. Each was the same as the first, save for the obvious difference in wording. Perplexed by their meaning, she carefully rolled each one back up and placed them in her tote bag.
Valerie waited until after the dinner hour to return to her room. There, she would call the airlines to inquire about flights to the States. She wanted to leave as soon as she could. She scribbled furiously.
Her eyes fell on the scarlet sweater she had used to hide the leather pouch. Her mind mused over how much money the scrolls would bring. She reminded herself to call Eugene. The way the flights ran in this godforsaken country, it could be two days before she had a definite confirmation. The waiting time would give Eugene enough time to line up a deal. Anyway, she couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t take the chance of Alex discovering the scrolls missing. No, she’d pack and tell him that she had an immediate flight to New York. Then, if she did have to wait, she would stay at a hotel in Buenos Aires until a flight became available. Impatiently, Valerie paced up and down in the confines of her room. She was nervous, which was to be expected, but a familiar strain of something else plagued her. Something she couldn’t define. There were times when she had the eerie feeling that someone was watching her. She had experienced a similar sensation in the cave, but had shrugged it off. Could it be that damn monk they always used to talk about?
“Maybe it’s my guilty conscience!” Hysterical peals of laughter filled the room at the thought.
Abruptly, her laughter ceased. Was that a sound she’d just heard outside her door? She tilted her head to listen. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. An icy chill seemed to penetrate her being. Quickly, she raked her eyes around the room. She sensed dark, sorrowful, ghostly eyes upon her. God! It couldn’t be that crazy monk, could it? Holding her temples in a viselike grip, she ran screaming—soundlessly—from the room.
Five
Dani woke perspiring profusely, her head pounding. God, what a hangover. That was some party! You really had to hand it to Stacy; he knew how to throw a party. Everything had been fine till everyone started to ask, “Where’s Jack?” From then on, she lost track of the gin-a
nd-tonics. Come to think of it, she really didn’t remember much of anything after that. She squinted at the clock: six thirty-five. She would have to get a move on or she would be late for work.
Holding her throbbing head to steady it, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She shuffled her way into the bathroom and gulped down three aspirins, brushed her teeth and stepped under a needle-sharp spray of cold water. Shivering, she stepped from the shower and dried herself with a towel. She grabbed the first dress her hands touched, a mint-green knitted shift with a wide gold belt. Cautiously, she applied makeup and tottered into the kitchen to make instant coffee. She was just warming her hands around the bright, daisy-patterned mug when the phone rang.
“Oh, not this morning, not so early.” No one she knew ever called so early. Probably a wrong number, she grimaced, as she sipped the scalding coffee. The phone continued to shrill. Dani winced at the sound of the jangling phone. “All right, all right. I’m coming,” she muttered. She picked up the receiver in the middle of a ring.
“Miss Arnold?”
“Yes?”
“This is Alexander Mendeneres. I feel that I owe you an apology.”
Dani waited as her head continued to throb.
“I wonder if I might stop by and speak to you, to offer my apologies in person. Also,” he added quickly, “there is a matter I would like to discuss with you.”
“Look, Mr. Mendeneres, I accept your apology, although I feel it is a little late coming. However, I happen to work for a living and right now I’m late for work. So give my regards to Maria—and goodbye,” she snapped in cold tones.
“Of all the nerve! Who does he think he is? Here I go out of my way to take care of this child and he accuses me of abduction; then he calls and apologizes and wants another favor. Not in this lifetime, Mr. Mendeneres. That’s it, Dani Arnold, Sucker of the Year. Thanks but no thanks, Mr. Alexander Renaldo Mendeneres,” Dani mumbled.
The subway ride was torture to Dani’s throbbing head. By the time she reached her small office and saw the load of unopened manuscripts on her desk she felt the need for more aspirin. Her task accomplished and a cup of steaming coffee at her side, she opened the first manuscript—Foxtrot to Death. She shoved it back into its manila envelope. She opened another, The Gelatinous Pawn. This, too, went back into its manila envelope. Dani leaned back in her swivel chair.
Damn it, what does he want? Was something wrong with Maria? No, it was probably something ridiculous like the child wanting to come over to play with Bismarck. Speaking of cats, what was she doing with a cat? Young, single, and only a cat to love her. Talk about old maids set in their ways! Dani swallowed a hot mouthful of the coffee and tried to picture the lonely years ahead with the cat. Romance was out of her life for the moment. Who knows, at the age of twenty-six, I’m halfway over the hill. Still . . . the deep, warm-toned timbre of his voice had affected her, charmed her with its inviting quality, ignited by a melodious Latin accent. She sighed, annoyed that she could be attracted, in anyway, to one Alexander Renaldo Mendeneres. Pretty soon I’ll have wrinkles, and Bismarck won’t live forever. Gloomily, she envisaged a procession of Bismarcks in the coming years.
Dani swallowed the remainder of her coffee and once more reached for a manuscript. Ah . . . The ABC Affair. It’ll do for starters. Slowly, she started to read. Before she knew it, she was engrossed in the story. Lunchtime came and went. She turned over the last page of the manuscript and placed it back in its envelope to be passed on to one of the senior editors. It was good. With a little polish and some new terminology, it would be publishable. She glanced at her watch; ten past four. Not enough time left to get into anything new. She had a few hours coming to her and she might as well take them now. The headache was still with her, duller but still there. Going without lunch certainly hadn’t helped. She gulped three more aspirins and called into her boss’s office to tell him that she was leaving.
“Heavy date?”
Dani grinned. Let him think whatever he wanted—she didn’t feel like explaining. “See you in the morning,” she called.
The subway ride was mercifully short, and beating the rush hour was to her benefit.
Back in her gleaming, shiny apartment, she set about preparing her supper. Something light: poached eggs and some cream of mushroom soup. While the soup was warming, she poured some milk for Bismarck and cleaned his litter box. Washing her hands, she sat down to contemplate once again the phone call from Maria’s, father. “Arrogant! I’ll bet he’s a real whiz with the ladies,” she snorted to Bismarck, who, in the process of licking his whiskers, managed to look like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Do you know what I think, Bismarck? I think they should put all men on an island someplace and blow it up. What do you think of that? Hmm. Well, maybe not all of them, but at least ninety-seven percent of them.” At this declaration of percentages, the cat jumped into her lap purring contentedly.
“And that’s another thing, Bismarck,” Dani muttered, dumping the cat unceremoniously onto the floor. “There’s no way that you and I are going to go through life alone. If I have to, I’ll take a roommate.” As she removed the soup from the stove, the phone shrilled. Reaching with one hand for the phone, she carefully set the hot saucepan onto a trivet.
“Hello, Miss Arnold?”
It was him! One of the ninety-seven percent. “Speaking.”
“Miss Arnold. Please don’t hang up on me. I must speak with you. It is very important.”
“I won’t hang up on you, Mr. Mendeneres. I am not that rude. Contrary to what you may believe, my parents taught me to respect my elders.” That should get him! “What is it that’s so important?” she demanded. “And important to whom? I can’t imagine what you have to say to the abductor of a small child that could be so important. Could it be that you wish to call the police?” she asked, her cold tone matching his of the day before.
“I do not blame you for being angry. I am most sorry. My daughter has explained everything to me. What can I do besides offering you my apologies?”
“I accepted your apology this morning. There is nothing further for us to discuss. I really must go now. My dinner is getting cold. Again, give my regards to Maria.” Quickly, she hung up the phone.
Sipping the soup she’d heated up, Dani swallowed each mouthful with one eye on the green telephone. Somehow she felt vaguely disappointed when it didn’t ring. Her dinner over, she straightened up the bright kitchen, polishing the faucet to a bright shine. She changed into a faded pair of blue jeans and washed out the navy blue sweatshirt that proclaimed she was a student at MIT. A memento of some long-forgotten boyfriend. As she bent to tie her sneakers, she decided she needed a drink. She poured a considerable amount of gin and very little tonic, and gently squeezed the lime. Clutching her cigarettes and matches, she settled herself on the comfortable tangerine club chair. She propped up her feet on a matching ottoman. With the aid of the remote, she danced her way through the channels until she saw Dan Rather’s comfortable countenance. She was paying rapt attention to the anchor’s somber tones when the doorbell chimed.
“Come on in, Martha; the door’s open. Have a seat,” she said, not taking her eyes from the impressive-looking Rather.
“Miss Arnold?”
Dani jumped to her feet. It was the ninety-seven percent again. “I thought it was my friend, Martha,” Dani sputtered.
“Am I to understand, then, that if you knew it was me ringing your doorbell, you would not have answered?”
“You assume correctly,” Dani snapped. “I thought we covered the apology on the phone?” Deliberately, Dani lit a cigarette from the stub of the previous cigarette. She took a long pull on her drink. Everything in moderation, she grimaced to herself. “I would offer you a drink, but I know you must be in a hurry. So once again, give my regards to Maria.”
“Miss Arnold, hear me out. I don’t blame you for being angry. I am trying to make amends. What more can I do? What can I say? Try to put yourself in my position. Wh
at would you have thought or done in the same situation?”
“For starters,” Dani snapped, looking him square in the eyes, “I would have met my daughter at the airport. If that were not possible, I would have had someone do it for me. I can understand, though, that you were busy wining and dining a socialite and that was more important. I can read and my eyesight is excellent. The picture in the paper hardly did you justice, Mr. Mendeneres. If that’s your excuse, then you had better try again,” she said coldly.
“Miss Arnold, that picture was three days old. They must have put it in the paper as a fill-in. I was at the airport, the day of Maria’s arrival. Somehow or other, she was on the wrong plane. Unfortunately, my mother did not see fit to inform me of the change in plans. My mother,” he said apologetically, “thinks I can do all things—and reading minds is only one of them. Please believe me.”
Dani looked into the dark eyes and suddenly felt weak. God, he was a handsome brute. Suddenly, she found herself comparing him to Jack. This must be what they mean by separating the men from the boys. Feeling a giggle bubble in her throat, Dani said seriously, “Very well, I accept your explanation.” Good lord, was that squeaky voice hers? What was he doing to her? She had never reacted like this to a man before. Hmm. No wonder that Alicia—whatever her name was—looked at him like some moonstruck calf.
“Papa, I cannot wait any longer,” Maria shouted from the open doorway. “She did not hit you over the head. Can I come in now?”
Dani laughed and held her arms open and the young girl ran pell-mell into them, hugging her friend ecstatically.
“Oh, Dani, I have missed you. I told Papa how wonderful you are and how well you manage without the maid and the chauffeur. Is she not amazing, Papa?” the child asked beseechingly.
The Future Scrolls Page 6