Authors: Earlene Fowler
“Sorry, Romeo,” I said, digging into my ham and cheese omelette. “Guess there are a few women left in this world capable of withstanding your charm. Eat your French toast.”
Over breakfast, I told him all the details of what I’d learned from Gloria Carrell and the confused words of her aunt.
“Sounds like this Jacob fellow was on the run,” Emory said.
“That’s sure what it sounds like. But from what? My first thought is it was something illegal especially since he stole this Jacob Chandler’s identity. And what happened to the real Jacob Chandler? How was he connected to my mother? This Gwen sounds like she had some sort of relationship with him, too, but whatever it was, it’s lost somewhere in her mind.” I stopped eating for a moment, staring at the melted cheese and ham on my plate. “It was so sad. Our memories are not only our connection to the people we love, but to . . . everything. If you lose them . . .” I didn’t know what to say, how to explain what I was feeling. Memories were what this whole situation was about. In a way, Jacob Chandler had stolen my memories of my mother and replaced them with this mystery woman.
Emory reached across the table, took my hand, and squeezed it. “We’ll figure this out, Benni. And no matter what happens, we have each other.”
I smiled at him through blurry eyes. “You plagiarist, those are the exact words I said to you when you came to stay with us the summer your mother died.”
“I know,” he said and squeezed my hand again.
We changed the subject and talked about Dove and tried to guess what she and the others had planned for their secret weapon.
“With the mayor’s mother in on it, it could be anything. Dove told you that Wednesday was the big day?”
“If Mayor Davenport doesn’t take back his vote. She didn’t say when on Wednesday, but knowing them, they’ll do it in time for the six o’clock news.” I folded my napkin and laid it next to my plate. “I gotta use the bathroom. Meet you out front.”
“Nice trick, Harper,” he called after me. “Stickin’ me with the bill . . . again.”
“You can afford it, havin’ that filthy-rich ole daddy who can buy judges and all,” I called back.
Neely came into the bathroom as I was washing my hands. She stood next to me in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.
“Say what you have to say,” I finally snapped when her silent staring irritated me long enough.
She spoke to my reflection. “Everything was fine until you came into town. Why don’t you just leave?”
“I will on Sunday.”
“Oh, yes,” she said bitterly. “You have to make sure you get your inheritance. You wouldn’t want to do anything to screw that up.”
I turned to her, forcing her to look directly at me. “Look, Neely, I don’t know what your problem is and frankly I don’t care. This situation between Mr. Chandler and me is really none of your business, none of Tess Briggstone’s business, and most certainly none of Duane and Cole’s business. Now, I know you all thought you had a sure thing in Mr. Chandler that was going to eventually pay off, and there is nobody—believe me,
nobody—
sorrier than me that he decided to leave me his estate, but it was
his
choice, for whatever reason, and if you don’t like it, I suggest you all go take a flying leap into that bay out there. Otherwise, you leave me alone and you tell your boyfriend and his brother to leave me alone, or I’ll find out who set that fire and who killed Mr. Chandler, and that person will spend the rest of his or her life scrubbing toilets in state prison.”
Her mouth opened slightly. Fear or some other emotion caused her face to turn ashen. “Killed Jake? What do you mean?”
It was only then that I realized what had popped out of my mouth in anger. I grabbed my purse and walked out of the bathroom without answering her. Silently I screamed to myself,
You idiot!
“What’s wrong?” Emory asked the minute he saw me outside.
“Nothing.”
His mouth straightened at my sharp tone.
We walked back up to the house in silence, me lambasting myself the whole way about my reckless words. Once inside, I broke down and told Emory about my heedless revelation to Neely in the bathroom.
“Not a wise move,” he said.
“Don’t you think I know that?”
He didn’t answer, just gave me one of Aunt Garnet’s pursed-mouth looks.
I couldn’t help laughing. He was such a good mimic. “I’m sorry, Emory. It’s just that when I do something stupid . . .”
“Everyone around you has to pay.”
“I’m not that bad!”
“Ummm,” he said and brushed at imaginary dirt on his jacket sleeve.
“I said I was sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Now, the next thing on our agenda is damage control.”
“Not much I can do now,” I said, flopping down on the sofa. He sat in the recliner across from me. “Uh, you might not want to sit there.”
“Why not?”
“It’s where Mr. Chandler died.”
Emory didn’t flinch. “You know I’m not superstitious except when it comes to betting on horses.”
“Okay, just wanted to inform you. Anyway, maybe it’s a good thing I said something to Neely. If she or the Briggstones had anything to do with Jacob Chandler’s death, this might flush them out.”
“Or it might get you killed.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”
“Famous last words.”
“Look, thanks for breakfast, but I’ve got things to do, so why don’t you go make up some news to report or something.”
“You’re getting more premenopausal every day, sweetcakes.”
“That is a downright nasty remark, Emory. Not to mention chauvinistic. I’m surprised at you.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Seriously, enough bantering. I’m worried about your safety.”
“I know and I do appreciate it, but what can I do? I can’t give up now. There are only a few days left. And the thing with my mother, you know I have to find the answer to that or I’ll never rest.”
He nodded, knowing I was right. “So, what’s your next step?”
I shrugged. “Read through the wood carving lessons again until something hits me. That’s what Gabe says detectives do to solve cases, study the evidence over and over until something clicks. I know there’s something more than what I’m seeing. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Let me look at them.”
While he read through the notes, I washed the few dishes I had in the kitchen and watered the houseplants in the window there. Outside, the blackened frame of the garage reminded me once again how this game he’d started could have devastating consequences. When I went back into the living room, Emory was sitting in the chair, his chin resting on his palm, staring at the burnt logs in the fireplace.
“So, did you come up with any ideas?” I asked.
“He’s an odd character, no doubt about it. And a control freak. But he’s not stupid. These lessons are actually quite profound. They could pertain to any art form.”
“Or to life itself.”
“So, the question is, did he intend for you to take them literally or symbolically? There are lots of sentences that suggest to me that he’s speaking metaphorically, like
your powers of observation are your most valuable tools
, and
one detail may be the secret—search for that detail. ”
“Like I said, they seem to be telling me something, I just can’t figure out what. That’s why I’ve decided that my next step will be the library. I’m going to look up every reference I can find in quotation books and reference books pertaining to stones and wood. Maybe I can find the source to that quote on the wall. That might tell me something.”
Emory stood up and went over to the carved plaque. He read it out loud in his slow, Southern accent. “ ‘Raise the stone and thou shalt find me; cleave the wood and there I am.’ ” He turned back to me. “Sure does sound as if he was tryin’ to tell you something, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, I wish he’d just sent a fax.”
“How’s things between you and your daddy?”
I looked at the ground. “I need to go out and see him. Knowing Daddy, he’ll just act like nothing happened, and I’ll go along. That’s how it’s always been with us.”
“This has to be hard for him, too,” Emory said gently. “If he did know about your mama and this man, it can’t be a good memory.”
“I know. Whatever I find out, though, I’ve decided not to tell Dove and him. As far as they are concerned ... and for that matter, as far as I’m concerned, they are my family.”
“But you will tell Gabe.”
“Yes. I tried to explain it all to him Sunday night but I was so upset, and he told me just to tell him everything when it’s over.”
“He’s a good man.”
“I know. All I want is for this to be over so I can go home. I miss our life. I miss him.”
A quick shower of pain flashed over his face. “I envy what ya’ll have.”
“It’ll happen for you, too.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Oh, Emory, don’t get discouraged now. Take it from someone who knows Elvia better than anyone. She’s starting to thaw.”
“I want to be married, Benni. I want to have kids. I want to marry Elvia. I love her. I always have.” For the first time since he’d come west, doubt clouded my cousin’s eyes.
“Emory, you don’t realize what a coup it was for you to be invited to the Mother’s Day celebration at her house. She’s never invited a man to that. Why, that’s practically as good as an engagement announcement in the Aragon family.”
He smiled slightly.
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out,” I said, smiling back. “And remember, no matter what happens, we have each other.”
I held out my hand, and he took it, shaking it solemnly, just like an eleven-year-old boy did twenty-four years ago next to a gurgling creek bottom while blackbirds flitted from tree to tree and a twelve-year-old girl cried for the first time in six years.
15
AFTER HE LEFT, I closed up the house and headed for the San Celina Library. Set on a low bluff overlooking Laguna Lake, its large parking lot was almost empty on this Tuesday morning. I tied Scout to an empty bicycle rack where I could see him from a reference room window. For the next two hours, I searched every quotation and reference book I could find, looking up the words “stone,” “rock,” and “wood.” I discovered there were a vast amount of quotations with the words stone and wood in them, and not one of them cleared up anything for me. I did discover the origin and history of the quotation on the wall plaque, however. First attributed to the claimed sayings of Jesus recounted in the third century, it was also later quoted by Henry Van Dyke and Rudyard Kipling. That also didn’t illuminate much. So I turned to the dictionary and looked up the word “cleave” to make sure I was getting the meaning right.
“To adhere closely; cling. To remain faithful. To split or divide by, or as if by, a cutting blow, especially along a natural line of division, as the grain of wood. To cut off; sever. To penetrate or advance by or as if by cutting.”
To split or divide as if by a cutting blow. To sever. Exactly. It felt like he’d severed me from my history, from the family I thought I knew, from the perfect mother I’d formed in my mind.
The small black print in the dictionary blurred in front of me. Above me, a florescent light flickered. The buzz sounded like a large insect let loose in the quiet room. An old man two tables away coughed into a white cotton handkerchief.
A line in his last set of instructions kept coming back to me.
One detail may be the secret to the whole piece. Search for that detail.
My instincts told me that detail was in this ancient phrase. But I still couldn’t figure out what. I put away the reference books and went back outside. After giving Scout some water, I dropped by the Historical Museum, which was surprisingly calm this afternoon. Only one reporter sat outside, and one police officer manned the command post, a young blond female officer I knew slightly—Bliss Girard.
“How are they doing?” I asked her, nodding at the museum.
“Everything’s quiet, ma’am,” she said.
I smiled at her. “You can call me Benni. Ma’am makes me feel a little old.”
“Yes, ma’—uh, Benni. Your grandmother talked to me this morning through the door and said they were all feeling fine. I guess that’s all to report.” She shifted from one foot to the other, her belt, loaded down with all the paraphernalia a street cop carries, squeaking in the quiet afternoon. She struggled to keep her smooth, girlish face stem and authoritative. I could tell she was taking this assignment with great seriousness. Gabe had talked about her before, told me she was a good cop, one of his best rookies. But to me she just seemed like a vulnerable young girl, someone who should be gabbing on the phone with her friends or riding her horse in the hills. Certainly not toting that loaded gun and solid nightstick. Inwardly I sighed. Looking at her made me feel as old as the bricks of the Historical Museum.
“I’m going to go in and see if they need anything,” I said. “Could I leave Scout with you?”
“Sure,” she said, her face softening slightly at Scout’s wagging tail.
“Be good,” I told him. “She has the power to lock you up.”
As I walked toward the museum, she started talking softly to Scout, then a spontaneous giggle erupted from her. I smiled to myself and didn’t turn around.
Inside the mood appeared lighter than my last visit. Elmo sat in a corner watching a soap opera on a thirteen-inch television. When I asked him where the ladies were, he pointed a finger straight up and didn’t say a word.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I will be on Wednesday night when I’m home in my own bed.”
“So, Wednesday’s the day, huh? For sure?”
“Better ask the general. All I know is I’m going home Wednesday night even if I have to crawl out of here under gunfire.”
I tried not to smile. “Elmo, I’m sure it’s not going to come to that. In fact, I can almost guarantee it.”
“Hmmph,” he answered and turned his eyes back to the screen.
Upstairs, the women were working on a quilt, laughing and talking as if this were just another afternoon get-together.
“Benni, pull up a needle and sit down!” June Rae exclaimed, moving over. Next thing I knew, I was gamely pushing a needle through a burgundy and tan pinwheel quilt.