Authors: P. R. Garlick
"Too heavy for ashes," the man said.
She winced as she heard the sound of the urn breaking.
"Feel like counting pennies," he said, laughing more.
"Cut it out!" the other man ordered. "We don't have time for
that."
Another loud crash came from below. It sounded more blunt,
like wood this time.
If that's the dresser, I don't think anybody would
distinguish the foot print in the dust.
And from the sounds of it, they
probably no longer distinguish the dresser either.
After what seemed like an eternity, she heard them leave. But
she knew she still wasn't safe. They'd soon be on their way upstairs to
the rooms directly next to her. Only a few more rooms, then she
hoped they'd be gone.
Pins and needles stabbed at her foot, making her realize she
had been sitting on it the whole time. Slowly she lifted her weight
and stretched her leg in front of her. As she did, her shoulder bumped
something
–
nearly tipping it over
–
and with a thud, a weight tumbled
on top of her.
In the darkness she fumbled for it, then sighed as she felt the
heavy object in her grasp. She held it tightly against her, hoping the
men hadn't heard the noise. Listening, she heard such racket, she
doubted they'd hear anything!
Her fingers gently ran over the surface of the object in her
grasp. It seemed to be some type of figure made of pottery or
ceramic. Feeling what was possibly four legs, she stopped as some
pottery crumbled onto her lap. Now she felt something cold
–
metallic. And it was inside the pottery.
Again she listened as the men spoke, right next to her now.
They were obviously angry they hadn't found what they were looking
for. "Let's frisk the barn, then get out of here."
"What do ya think the Boss will pay to find the stuff?" the
deep voiced man asked, but Liane couldn't hear the other's reply as
they trashed still more of her brother's belongings.
She closed her eyes and waited, knowing patience had never
been one of her virtues. But tonight she had no choice. She was
certain her life depended on it. She was sure these men meant
business.
As she waited she wondered what connection her brother had
with these men. They had mentioned the Boss. Was their boss, Jack's
boss too? And if so, what kind of work was he doing that brought
him into contact with men who went around trashing people's homes.
They had said something about an airport, Liane remembered,
trying hard to think if she ever heard Jack mention an airport near his
home.
Suddenly she realized the sounds had stopped. The men
seemed to be gone. She waited a long time before she dared make a
move.
Slowly she stood, still clutching the four legged object. She
waited in silence, wondering if it would be safe to turn on the light.
At the same time, uncertain if there was a light in this little room.
Carefully reaching, she felt the top of the table she had nearly
knocked over. There were a lot of papers strewn on top of it, but no
light.
With a room this narrow, she knew she had only to reach her
arms out at both sides and she'd be able to feel the wall for a light
switch of some kind. She carefully avoided the entrance, and stepped
further into the room. One hand encountered a coat rack with several
pieces of clothing hanging from it. The other hand fumbled over
boxes.
She took several more steps and bumped into something tall,
narrow and metal. As she grabbed it to keep it from falling, she
realized it was some sort of floor lamp.
Quickly finding the switch, she flooded the tiny room with
light. As her eyes focused to the renewed light a smile crossed her
nervous lips.
She looked at the antique lamp. This one was almost exactly
like the one that had once been in their parent's home. Her brother
seemed to remember many things from their past. The games they
played as children, the hidden rooms with rope ladders, and family
mementoes.
But Liane knew without a doubt that now it was not a game.
She quickly glanced around the room, her eyes stopping on the
brightly painted pottery that had fallen on top of her. She now
recognized the shape as that of a llama. Lifting it, she noted the
chipped leg revealed a bright gold metal.
"Sorry fella." She banged the ornament against the table to
chip off the rest of the pottery.
"Wow!" Her eyes grew bright as she lifted the golden llama
artifact from the rubble. Without a doubt, she knew it was valuable,
and more than likely made of real gold. She wondered whether it was
worth more as a timeless treasure, or from the value of gold. It was
heavy, and at around a thousand dollars an ounce. . .
Her mind returned to the money her brother had sent Mary
Catherine. Probably the money the men had been speaking about.
And the rest, as they called it. She looked around at the many crates.
She checked to see what was inside the crates stacked against
one wall. Each box contained two more pottery articles of various
shapes and designs. She lifted one pottery bowl out of the straw
packing. She tapped this one on the edge of the table, not surprised
when the hardened clay fell away and revealed a precious metal bowl.
"Oh Jack, what have you gotten into?" She moaned as she
looked around the small haven. On the wall she saw the clothing she
had felt in the darkness. With disbelief she held it before her for a
closer examination. "A priest?"
Although her brother had once studied for the priesthood, she
doubted he had kept these as mementoes. Besides, priests in New
York City didn't wear the white, light-weight suit she was now
looking at. These were designed for much warmer, tropical, climates.
Her eyes returned to the statues. Instinctively she knew there
was a connection. She returned the suit and walked over to the table
full of scattered papers.
Please let there be a clue.
She found scribbled notes mentioning names and places she
had never heard of before. But one name seemed to keep popping up:
Juan Suarez.
The maps she found were of Peru, many showing jungle areas
circled in red. She read the names of some cities and one, Pucallpa,
stirred her memory. Why does it sound so familiar?
She was so deep in thought when the telephone rang she
nearly jumped and gasped. She hadn't even noticed the cell phone
buried beneath the papers. Now she wondered if she should answer it.
Thank Goodness it didn't ring when those apes were here destroying
the place.
On the third ring she picked it up and waited for a response.
"Jack?" The strangely familiar male voice said. "Is this you, Jack?"
He sounded impatient.
"Who is this?" she finally asked, but was given no reply, as the
line went dead. The man had swiftly ended the call after hearing her
voice.
"Damn!" She slammed the cell phone back on the table, the
paused before picking it up again and slipping it into a pocket.
If only
I knew what this mystery was all about. There's so many loose ends.
She returned her attention to her brother's notes. He had been
scheduled to do a show in South America. A nightclub in Lima, Peru
called the
Conquistador
. She also knew her sister was supposed to
leave in the morning for a small village in Peru.
Now she remembered where she had heard of the town
Pucallpa. Mary Catherine had mentioned that as the town closest to
the small mission school where she was going to teach.
Is there a connection?
She knew she'd have to find out.
Didn't many fugitives find refuge in South America?
It was as good a place as any for her to hide until the
authorities found out she wasn't responsible for Ralph Devereaux's
murder. And while she was there, she could possibly find some lead
to the whereabouts of her brother.
Quickly she made her way back down the rope ladder,
carefully returning it and the ceiling tile. She noted that the men had
left little unturned in their quest, and found the rest of the house in
much the same disarray. She was thankful she had found the security
of the little room before they had found her.
Vanity made her stop before a mirror. She was glad she did.
The black and white veil she was wearing was askew and had some
streaks of dust, obviously from all her recent activities upstairs. She
brushed at her skirts, noting they were filthier than the rest.
Again looking in the mirror, she saw there was a smudge of
dirt on her forehead and what looked like fingerprints on her cheek.
Not at all the picture of her meticulous sister.
Then M.C. would hardly be likely to get herself into this sort
of jam. "No, she just gets me into it," Liane spoke to her reflection,
then looked contrite as she knew it was unfair to blame her sister.
"No, it's your fault, Jack!"
She tried to wipe the smudges off her face and only succeeded
in making it worse. She looked at her filthy hands and knew why.
With a sigh she hurried into the bathroom to clean up. She knew she
could never return to the convent looking like this.
In the bathroom she leaned over the sink to scrub her face.
Then she straightened, pulling a towel to her face, to dry it. She
lowered the towel and looked in the mirror to make certain she hadn't
missed any of the dirt.
The mirror reflected a strange orange glow. Eyes wide, Liane
turned and raced to the bathroom window.
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed as she saw that the glow was
coming from the windows of the barn. The two men had said they
were going to check the barn before leaving. They must have set it on
fire.
She quickly removed the cell phone from her pocket and
dialed nine-one-one, not even certain who she'd find on the other end,
still doing it instinctively. Within a second a woman responded.
Liane quickly said there was a fire and gave her Jack's address, making certain to add the city and state. She hung up when asked
who she was.
Within seconds she was outside and off the porch. She knew
Jack kept his horses in stables behind the barn. As she hurried in that
direction she didn't notice the car lights headed right for her until the
car was practically on top of her.