I dragged the nightstand away and peeled up a length of faded carpet, revealing a rough, musty-smelling wooden floor. And there, about two feet to the right of the door and a few inches from the heat register, lay a yellow envelope.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My first thought was, Of course—why not hide it under the carpet? It had worked for Connie, why not my mother? I would have laughed at the simplicity of it if my throat weren’t so tight.
The phone sprang to life, jarring me to my feet. Envelope clutched in hand, I dashed to the hall phone, calling to my uncle, “I’ve got it!” because I knew it would be Philip. And I was eager to talk to him.
“Hello?” I breathed into the phone.
“Robin?” Yes, it was Philip. “You sound—excited—” The excitement in his own voice was obvious.
“I found it,” I gasped, and I rushed on incoherently about how I’d only just discovered the map and about the carpet and the way it wasn’t fastened down—
But I don’t think Philip heard anything I said after the part about finding the map. His voice sounded as if he were speaking from very far away. “It was meant to be, Robin. It’s ours now. Nothing can stop us.” I could almost hear the plans racing like a train through his head. “We’ll take it and get away from here. We’ll start our new life together on an adventure.” A pause. “Robin? Marry me.”
I caught my breath. Finally, he was asking me. Even though I’d known it was coming, had been aware ever since he’d slipped the ring onto my left finger, hearing it spoken still came as a shock. But wait—the way he’d said it—so sure of himself. It wasn’t even a question.
“Robin?” He had probably expected me to leap at the proposal. I let him repeat my name a couple of times before I spoke.
“Why do you want me to marry you?”
A strange laugh on the other end. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just answer it.”
“All right.” I heard him clear his throat. “I love you. I love you and that’s why I want to marry you.”
It was what I had been waiting to hear, but I stayed silent, fingering the yellow envelope.
“Robin? Are you there?”
I shook myself. “Yes.” I walked into my room, stretching the phone cord as far as possible before closing the door. Then I wetted my lips and said, “We need to make plans.”
This is the answer, I assured myself. Get away and start a new life. Suddenly I thought of my mother and how she had felt obliged to turn the map over to Anthony Ingerman. But he had been the last Ingerman, and now that he was dead, so was the obligation. Things were different now than they had been for my mother, and I told myself it was okay for Philip and me to take the map. We were not bound to reveal our discovery. Yet every so often, as Philip and I planned our getaway in urgent, hushed tones, I became hesitant. Eventually, Philip detected my uncertainty.
“Robin, don’t worry. Are you afraid I only want to marry you for money? No, I know you didn’t say it but I know it’s what you’re thinking. Listen, I want you. The map is only a bonus. For both of us. You know I need to be free. I would never tie myself down to someone unless I had to. And I do have to, because I love you.” Philip put such feeling into those last three words, his voice quivered.
It took him a moment to recover. “We have to trust each other. It’s great that you were able to find the map tonight, but that’s not why I’m asking you now to marry me. It’s because tomorrow’s your birthday—tomorrow you can come with me and no one can stop us. We don’t have to wait.” I could picture him smiling his perfect smile as he said, “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”
His earnest reassurances smoothed away my worries. We resumed making plans, and whenever pin-needle doubts pricked me, I ignored them. Because this was right. I could feel the thrill return, the thrill Philip never failed to ignite in me. Clearly we were meant to be together; I needed Philip to complete my life. And that’s love, my heart whispered.
When I explained that I had to work tomorrow, we decided I should go to the bookstore as if everything were normal, thus raising no suspicions. Evening would be better for travel anyway, Philip said. We could make a late disappearance and drive all night before my uncle even realized I was gone. Not that I thought my uncle would make any trouble. But I told Philip that if I could manage, I would get off early and get my things ready so we could leave at the first opportunity.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to wait for tomorrow,” Philip complained. “I wish we could leave right now.”
“Just be patient,” I jumped in, startled that now the idea had sprung to mind, Philip would consider it seriously. “Tomorrow is time enough. Oh, and Philip,” I scrambled through the nightstand drawer for pencil and paper, “give me your number so I can get a hold of you.”
After jotting down the number, I picked up the envelope, turning it over speculatively in my hands. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to glimpse inside it yet. Now I couldn’t resist. I ran my finger under the flap as Philip said goodbye. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow—and the map.” The last part he said jokingly, but the words rang uncomfortably in my ear.
“Philip,” I said, “you would feel the same way about me, even if the map never existed, right?”
“We’ve just been through all that, Robin.” I could tell he was becoming impatient with me. “Of course I would. You and I were meant for each other. Never forget that. But you did find the map, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I found it.”
“Of course you did. Take good care of it now, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I didn’t move for at least three full minutes after I hung up the phone. I kept playing his words over and over in my head. He did love me; he’d told me so. The map made no difference . . . Remember that, I commanded myself.
But my fingers were numb as I carried the envelope containing the map back to my room. After finally hiding it away inside a desk drawer, I got ready for bed.
I lay in bed for a long time, staring up at the blank cavern of the ceiling, telling myself everything was going to be all right, that I was doing the right thing . . . but I didn’t have a very restful night.
When my uncle knocked on my door the next morning, I grunted that I was getting up, then dropped out of bed and trudged to my window to pull open the shade.
Sunlight streamed through my window like clear gold, cascading over me and filling my room. My soul swelled with the sudden warmth, and I felt good about mastering the art of opening the window shade so that it didn’t come crashing down on me. The rays of sunlight worked magic, brightening my mood and altering my outlook. I had assumed I would feel nothing special on my birthday, thought I’d outgrown being excited, but I guess I was wrong.
I was eighteen, and it felt wonderful. I thought of Philip and our plans for today, and my skin tingled with anticipation as I splashed cold water on my face.
I was ready to leave for work extra early, eager to be off and get the day moving. My uncle was ready to go when I came downstairs. With a smile on his face, he suggested we leave right away so we’d have time to stop at a café for breakfast. “To celebrate your eighteenth birthday.”
My surprise showed. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?” my uncle asked. “The first of June . . .” His voice drifted off. “I remember when your mother turned eighteen.”
I wondered how he could talk about her. But maybe remembering the good things, the happy times, helped him forget the pain. Walking down the sidewalk, he continued talking about her. “She had a mind of her own and she liked to use it. And I let her. When she made mistakes, she learned from them. She knew if she wanted to make her own decisions, she’d have to live with the consequences.”
Why are you telling me this? I wondered. Pink and white petals from crabapple trees lay sprinkled in our path, and more petals fluttered down like soft confetti dancing on a breeze.
“We all have to make choices in our lives,” my
uncle went on. “We can’t depend on others to make them for us.” I didn’t say anything. “Well, I hope you enjoy your day, Robin. You certainly don’t have to work at the bookstore—unless you want to, of course. Take the day off, enjoy yourself.”
I was tempted to accept the offer. But only for a moment. Remembering what Philip and I had discussed, I didn’t want to act too eager. My uncle might suspect something. The way he’d been talking about my mother made me particularly uneasy.
“That’s all right,” I answered slowly. “After having three days off, I really don’t mind coming in today.” I could tell by his quiet agreement that my uncle was pleased.
Maybe he gets lonely in that old store, working by himself. This thought had never occurred to me before. Maybe this is part of being an adult. Understanding people, relating to them. I suddenly felt wise and mature, particularly under the influence of realizing I was soon to be a married woman.
We turned down a street that we passed every morning. We approached a quaint little café that, with its white siding and sky blue shutters, I could easily have mistaken for a house. Only the small, ornately carved wooden sign standing in the front yard beside a trellis-arch gave away the building’s true identity. A mug of steaming coffee surrounded by smiling pansies was painted on the sign.
Before following my uncle inside, I made the mistake of glancing across the street. I caught sight of a low, stone-front building with the words “Lorens Daily Journal” lettered across it in black. My stomach tightened. Lorens Daily Journal meant only one thing to me: Justin. The last person I wanted to think about. If I can avoid him for today, I told myself, I’ll never have to see him again.
While my uncle ordered breakfast, I worried about running into Justin. And I was afraid, because I knew now what he was after. What would he do if he knew I had found the map? How much was it worth to him?
But he doesn’t know I found it, I reassured myself, my fingers tightening on the smooth porcelain handle of my coffee cup. And I’m certainly not going to tell him.
“Come now,” my uncle said, “the coffee’s not that bad.” He offered me vanilla creamer. “Add a little of this and it will be the best you’ve ever tasted.”
Turning my attention back to my uncle, I discovered he could be almost charming, despite the fact that he dunked his donuts. After living here for two weeks, I was amazed at how little I knew him; and it was with a slight twinge of guilt that I accepted the delectable (translation: expensive) breakfast of sweet pastries and rich coffee. What would he think of me if he knew what I was plotting?
To ease my conscience, I tried to make the most of the time we had left together. Sitting at the blue-checkered table, I actually tried making conversation. Strange thing was, I soon forgot that I was making a purposeful effort, and after that it came naturally.
My uncle and I had been sitting near the back of the café, so it wasn’t until we were ready to leave that I turned and noticed Justin sitting at a small table near the front, looking for all the world as if he were absorbed in reading the newspaper in his hands. Only I knew better.
Justin was spying on me. As if to confirm this, his eyes shifted up from the paper and caught mine. I could not resist narrowing my eyes and giving him what I hoped was a withering look as I approached the door.
It was the wrong thing to do. Justin’s eyes held mind and somehow pulled me nearer to his table so that I could hear him when he spoke. “Gold.”
“What?” I asked in an alarmed whisper.
“I said gold. Look at your mood ring.” He pointed. “Gold means you’re feeling nervous. What’s the matter?”
I swung away from his table to follow my uncle out the door, chastising myself for even having acknowledged Justin’s presence.
My uncle, in front of me, had apparently missed the interchange. My knees felt like marshmallows as we left the café behind. I fingered the smooth round stone of my ring. Justin thought he was so smart. Thank you, Justin, I thought. You have already succeeded in spoiling my day. I glanced at my watch. Eight-thirty. Congratulations. This must be a new record for you.
The encounter, though outwardly insignificant, disturbed me greatly, and all through the morning I counted the hours to noon, for this was the time I decided to take my uncle up on his offer. In the meantime, I found some distraction in making cardboard signs for the bookshelves, in order to categorize the books according to genre. On the “Romance” sign I painted a rose; on “Horror,” a dagger dripping blood; on “Mystery,” a jagged lightning bolt, and on “Religious,” a white lily.
“You’re quite an artist,” my uncle said admiringly. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t tell him that the signs would make it easier for customers to find books when I was no longer here to show them where to look.
By noon I had all the signs hung. “I would like to get out and enjoy some of the day,” I admitted, my eyes on the clock, knowing I couldn’t bear the combination of the quiet bookstore and my loud thoughts one minute longer, “maybe even work in the garden . . .” Immediately, I felt guilty, hinting at such a thing when I had no intention whatsoever of gardening. But my uncle was only too willing to let me off early.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
I didn’t answer. I was too conscious of opening the door, conscious that this was the last time I’d hear these jingling bells, and that I would not see him later. I paused with the door open, turning to sweep one last look through the store’s familiar interior, seeing the tall shelves, the new signs, the rows of books, and finally, my uncle sitting at his desk, absorbed in paperwork.
Without warning, he looked up and his eyes met mine. Questioningly. I let go of the door, and it banged shut behind me. I prayed my uncle hadn’t seen anything in my lingering gaze that would give me away.
That final slamming of the door proclaimed the end of my interlude in Lorens. Now I could look ahead. I was on the brink of living my own life—with Philip. My heart beat faster with the prospect, increasing my excitement as the blood coursed through my veins. I sprinted up the sidewalk, inhaling deeply, enjoying the feel of the clean air filling my lungs to capacity. This is it, I thought, the first step in leaving the past behind. From now on, I’m in control.
I thought of Philip’s smile and of his handsome face, his lively spirit, his lovely words, and I knew this was the right choice. We would get married and go to California. Of course that was the right choice. I’d have to be crazy to think otherwise. How many girls only dreamed of having a chance like this?
When I entered the house, it felt solemnly empty. The rooms radiated loneliness. I never had liked being in this house alone; it had too much of its own character, which seemed determined to take over when no one else was around. I ate a quick lunch, but I have no idea what I ate. I do remember it was tasteless and took forever to chew. I couldn’t free myself from the house’s atmosphere, from the brooding desolation, the pensive listening, waiting and watching. I opened the windows, but the outside sounds were too soft to cover the monotonous ticking of the clock.
Upstairs, I pulled out a suitcase and busied myself with packing. But I couldn’t rid myself of the jittery feeling that kept compelling me to look over my shoulder. Finally I switched on the radio, wondering why I hadn’t thought to do so sooner, and tuned in to a station that was playing an upbeat song. Taking advantage of the fact that no one was around to protest the noise, I cranked the volume up full blast. Because that’s what normal teenagers do.
It didn’t take me long to finish throwing my things together. Just basic things because I reminded myself I was starting a new life, and this was the time to discard the past and begin anew. Besides essentials, I packed drawing materials and a few books.
I hesitated at my mother’s diary. I wanted to take it, for all it contained and for all it stood for. It was my one link to my mother’s past and to the part of her I had never known.
But I do know her now, I realized.
I didn’t need to t
ake the diary. I had read it once, and that was enough; I would not forget. Besides, I did not think I could read it again. I shoved the diary back into its camouflaged place in the bookshelf, wondering wryly when it would next be discovered—if ever.
With dramatic finality, I snapped the clasps of my suitcase shut. Just as I was about to heave the suitcase off the bed, I happened to glance out the window. I thought I saw a figure walking down the driveway. Leaving my suitcase, I moved to the window.
My vision focused and I saw Justin Landers.
“No,” I whispered, gripping the curtain. I pulled it partially around myself, but the gauzy material couldn’t hide me. Before vanishing from view, Justin glanced up, and I knew he saw me.
Panic seized me. Here I was alone and unprotected, and Justin was coming to the door.
The door. I realized I hadn’t locked it behind me. I tore down the stairs, my feet keeping pace with my racing heart. The last thing that would stop Justin was an unlocked door. I had to reach it before he did.
My hand fumbled at the lock, expecting the door to be thrown open at any moment.
Miraculously, it stayed shut. Just when I got it locked, there was a loud knock. I tried to calm my palpitating heart, telling myself I was safe now. I collapsed with my back leaning against the door and took a deep, drawn-out breath.
“Robin?”
I jumped at the sound of his voice, so close it was like he was standing next to me. It took me a moment to realize he was standing at a nearby open window.
“Robin? Come on, open up. I know you’re in there.”
That’s right, I am in here, and I’m alone, I thought. You know that. And that’s why I won’t open the door.
Why was Justin here? I searched my mind frantically. I hadn’t told him anything to give me away, had I? He couldn’t know I’d found the map. Perspiration broke out on my forehead as I recounted our meeting this morning. The only word I had said to him was “What?” How could that get me in trouble?
Past Suspicion (Christian Romantic Suspense) Page 25