Authors: Carlene Thompson
She had just awakened from a dream in which Jeremy wandered through a city, aimless, alone, and dressed in shabby clothes, when she decided she must talk to Ames. She would not beg for her own job, but she would ask that Jeremy not be fired. He had done nothing that Ames could consider wrong.
Dawn had barely broken when Christine rose and wrapped up in a long robe. Downstairs she made coffee and peeked out a window. A patrol car sat in front of her house, but she knew Sheriff Teague wouldn’t agree to wasting manpower more than a day.
In spite of the patrol car, she did not immediately open the blinds pulled over the sliding glass doors as she usually did to see birds come to the feeder. How strange to think someone might be lurking out there in the dim misty morning to take a shot at her, she thought. Things
like that should only happen in novels. It was hard to believe this was happening for real.
While she waited for the coffee to brew, she glanced over the morning paper she’d retrieved from the front porch. The river level was almost back to normal, the headline announced, but the following article detailed the damage left behind. Cleanup operations would continue for at least two weeks, and some businesses and houses would have to be demolished because they were beyond repair. This flood had been worse than the one three years ago, the weather service announced. Christine knew this was one she’d never forget.
Jeremy stumbled upstairs from his lair a couple of hours later. He muttered, “ ’Morning,” without his usual gusto and headed for the coffeepot. “We got doughnuts or anything?”
“You’ll have to settle for toast and jelly. I need to go to the store today.”
“Toast is okay.” But he did not reach for the bread. Instead, he sat down near Christine and looked at her with troubled eyes. “Christy, I had bad dreams last night.”
“No wonder after the shooting,” she said, not mentioning her own bad night. “But Michael is going to be fine.”
“I’m real glad about that, because he’s one of my favorite people, but my dreams weren’t about him. I dreamed about Dara.”
“Oh.” Dara again. How Christine wished she could wipe the image of the beautiful, destructive girl from Jeremy’s mind. “Maybe you dreamed of her because I told you about our jobs at Prince Jewelry. You always thought Dara would be impressed if she knew you had such a talent for jewelry design. Now you think she’ll never know.”
“It wasn’t that, Christy. It’s . . . well, I know where she is.” Christine stared at him uneasily. “She’s on the island.” Jeremy always referred to the peninsula of land between
Crescent Creek and the Ohio River as “the island.” “I think Dara’s over there with the Mound Builders.”
“Jeremy, what would make you think such a thing?” Christine asked gently.
“My dreams told me. Besides, she loved it over there. She thought the land was magic.”
Christine put her hand over his. “Honey, she wouldn’t have stayed over there for three years. What would she have lived on? She wouldn’t have had any food or new clothes or a place to get in out of the cold.”
Jeremy looked frustrated. “You don’t understand. I think she’s . . .” He drew a deep breath. “I think she’s dead and her
spirit
is over on the island. Her spirit could go there because the island’s magic, Christy.”
“Jeremy, the island
isn’t
magic—”
“It is, too!” he said loudly. “You’re just scared of it. I think we should go over there and look for her.”
“We are not going to the island, particularly in this weather.”
“
I
am!” His tone was increasingly loud and defiant. “I’m gonna find her spirit and tell her not to be scared and I’ll always be her friend and everybody loves her!”
He started to rise from the table, but Christine grabbed his hand and held tight. “Jeremy, Dara is
not
on the island. The police looked for her there three years ago. There was no sign of her.”
“They weren’t looking for her spirit!”
“But you’ve been to the island a dozen times since she disappeared. Don’t you think you would have sensed her spirit?” Doubt crept into Jeremy’s eyes. “Well, don’t you? Not me. You’re right—I never understood your and Dara’s love for the place. I was afraid of it. But you understand it. You understood Dara. You were closer to her than I ever was. And
you
would have sensed her spirit on that island if it were there. It isn’t.”
“But my dreams . . .”
“Dreams don’t necessarily mean anything, Jeremy. Sometimes they’re just a jumble of images. You’ve been thinking about Dara. You’ve been thinking about the island. You were trying to go there the night Streak and I found you. You’ve just gotten Dara and the island all mixed up in your head. But believe me, Jeremy, Dara’s spirit is not haunting the island.”
“I didn’t say she was
haunting
it! She’s not a scary ghost!”
“She’s not a ghost at all.” Christine realized her voice had grown harsh in her anxiety. “I mean that if she’s dead, which she probably is, her spirit is in heaven. With God. Where it’s peaceful. And there’s harp music. And you can sit on a cloud.”
Jeremy stared at her for a moment. Then the anger vanished from his eyes and he said, “Heaven sounds real boring for somebody like Dara.”
Christine smiled in relief. “You’re right. For Dara, heaven would be a big party with loud rock music and a karaoke machine she could sing into—”
“And Rhiannon!” Jeremy added, smiling.
“Yes. But Rhiannon is here with us, not over on the island, so we know Dara isn’t there.”
“Okay. Maybe you’re right,” Jeremy conceded.
“Well, what do you have planned for the day?” Christine asked in a chirpy voice, hoping to keep him off the subject of Dara.
“We should be going to work,” Jeremy said listlessly.
“But we don’t have to today. We can do what we want. Would you like to go bike riding? It’s going to be a pretty day.”
“Nah. I don’t feel like riding my bike. I want to go into the store and work on a bracelet to go with the Dara Pin.”
“Let’s just forget about the store today. Hey, why don’t
you go to the fitness center? I’ll bet Danny would like to have your company, and you can help spot people while they’re lifting weights.”
Christine had no fear of the fitness center as long as it had plenty of clientele, as it would by midmorning. Besides, she had already cleared this plan with Danny twenty minutes earlier. She was glad to see Jeremy’s eyes brighten. “That sounds like fun! I haven’t been to the gym for a long time. And I like to help Danny!”
“Good. I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll drop you off.”
“Where are you going?”
“Uh, to see Tess. I thought we might have lunch together.”
“That sounds like fun, too. Don’t eat too much at Gus’s Grill.”
“What makes you think I’m going to Gus’s?”
“That’s where you
always
eat lunch with Tess, Christy. And you always have the same thing.”
“Then I’ll have something different today, smarty, just to show you I’m not as predictable as you think.”
Jeremy laughed. She was glad. At least his first day of unemployment would not be spent lying in front of the television sunk in depression. Too many days of that state would be bad for anyone, but especially for Jeremy.
An hour later Christine left Jeremy at the gym, then drove to Ames’s law office. She did not need to confirm that he was in today. She knew he would not have taken off more than one day after Patricia’s funeral. Ames usually had a strong sense of decorum. She wondered why he was so blatantly flouting it after the death of his second wife. Was it because he now knew she’d had a lover? Or had he known for quite a while and brooded about it until his anger boiled into action? This was a thought she didn’t want to entertain.
His receptionist looked startled when Christine walked in smartly dressed in a rust-colored tailored suit. She’d even worn her three-inch heels, putting her over six feet. It wouldn’t hurt to look commanding, she’d told herself as she dressed, even if she didn’t feel commanding. “Is Mr. Prince free this morning?” she asked.
The receptionist made a show of looking at an appointment book. “I’m afraid he’s with someone now, Miss Ireland, and booked up for the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow or later in the week . . .”
“What I need to speak with him about will only take a few minutes. I’ll wait until he’s done with his present client.” Christine walked into the tan-and-burgundy waiting room and sat down on a wing chair, picking up a magazine.
“Um, I’m afraid he’s going to be a while, Miss Ireland,” the receptionist said uncomfortably. Her face was growing pink. “Maybe an hour. Or longer. If you’ll just let me make an appointment . . .”
“No. I’ll wait.”
Christine’s voice was firm and confident. Then she looked at her magazine to see that she was holding it upside down. She continued to hold it steady until the receptionist glanced away, then she turned it right-side-up and told herself to stop being nervous, even if it was clear Ames had given orders that Christine Ireland was not to be admitted. He probably thought she’d come crawling back for her job and he would show her who was boss, send her out with her tail between her legs like Patricia’s dog, Pom-Pom, with all his false, collapsible courage. Well, she would show Ames a thing or two. She would sit here all day if necessary.
But such a bold move wasn’t necessary. She heard Sloane’s voice before she saw him, walking with a client
out into the waiting room. Sloane shook hands with the man, assured him his new will would be ready by the end of the week, then glanced over with pleasure at Christine. “Well, Miss Ireland! What a pleasant surprise!”
“I’m sure. Especially for Ames. I’m told he’ll be busy for days and days.”
“I didn’t say
that
,” the receptionist returned indignantly. “I said he’s busy
today
. And she doesn’t have an appointment.”
“Since when does Christine need an appointment?” Sloane asked.
The receptionist turned from pink to cerise. “Well, Mr. Prince actually said that . . . well, that—”
“That he doesn’t want to see me,” Christine supplied. “But he’s
going
to see me.”
“Well, of course he is.” Sloane gave her one of his conspiratorial winks. “I happen to know he’s just sitting in his office drinking coffee as we speak. Christine, come with me.”
The receptionist nearly leaped from her chair. “Oh, Mr. Caldwell, I really don’t think—”
“Don’t worry,” Sloane said easily. “I’ll take the blame for any fallout that might occur.”
As they walked down the long, heavily carpeted hall to Ames’s office, Christine looked at Sloane gratefully. “Sloane, I don’t know how to thank you for going out on a limb like this. Ames is going to be angry with you.”
“He’s been angry with me before and I’ve survived. So will you.” Sloane tapped on Ames’s office door, then opened it without waiting for a reply. “You have a guest, Mr. Prince.”
Ames looked at Christine. “Go away this instant. I do not wish to talk to you.”
For a moment Christine felt as if she’d been slapped.
Then her back stiffened. “I will
not
go away. I will take exactly ten minutes of your time. Then you never have to look at me again if you don’t want to.”
Ames stared at her with his cold gray eyes. Then, to her amazement, she saw a flicker of admiration in them. “All right, Miss High-and-Mighty. Say what you have to say.”
Christine was aware of Sloane slipping quietly out of the office as she composed herself for a succinct, if not abject, speech. “Ames, I know you and my father were roommates in college and close friends in law school. Then you drifted apart. Therefore, your generosity in taking in his two orphaned children was an even greater act of kindness and generosity than it would have been if you’d been bosom buddies until the end.”
She drew a breath. “Dara and I never got along, as you know. But Jeremy adored her. Not in a licentious way that you could possibly find offensive. He just loved and revered all of her good qualities. He would never have done anything to hurt her, and that includes handing over her diary to the police. He had nothing to do with that action. In fact, he warned me to not even
read
the diary because Dara wouldn’t want us to. But I did and I found information in it I thought might lead to finding out who killed her.”
“My daughter is not dead,” Ames said without emotion.
“Yes, she is. You know she is. But that’s not the issue.” Ames continued to look at her steadily and she rushed on, not wanting to give him a chance to interrupt. “I understand your being so angry that you fired me from the store. I haven’t come here to ask for my job. But I want you to consider keeping on Jeremy. He’s shown a remarkable talent for jewelry design. As a matter of fact, he made something as a surprise for you. I took it from his room this morning. He doesn’t know I’m here, and he doesn’t know I brought this to you.” She opened her
purse, withdrew a small black velvet box, and handed it to him.
Ames flipped up the lid on the box. “Jeremy calls it the Dara Pin,” she said. “Rey told him that the Incas called silver ‘tears of the moon.’ He remembered that, so he made the leaves of silver. He read an old superstition that coral wards off evil, so he carved the rose of coral to protect Dara. Also, he knew Dara loved roses like the ones in Eve’s garden. There’s a bush in the garden with blooms exactly that color. It was Dara’s favorite rosebush.”
She watched Ames closely. His hands trembled a bit, but he did not look up at her. “Jeremy made this for Dara. And for you,” she told Ames. “But besides considering the sentiment involved, I want you to look at the workmanship. He did a beautiful job on it without any help from Rey. Ames, I am begging you not to take this accomplishment away from him because you’re angry with me. Let him continue to work at the store under Rey’s guidance. He’s taught Jeremy so much. They like each other immensely. Please. I will never ask you for another thing.”
Ames continued to stare at the pin. Finally he said, “I didn’t fire Jeremy, Christine. Only you.”
“He doesn’t want to stay without me. He says he
won’t
. But I believe he’d change his mind if you asked him. Asked him sincerely, not as a matter of courtesy. If you told him you
needed
him at the store, I know he’d stay.”