Chapter 26
I didn’t remember much about the ride to Dr. McCauley’s office nor Grant helping my mother and me into her house many hours later. The next day, I learned that both Pat and Jasper stayed the night with us. Pat made tomato soup and carried it to my bedroom and across the hall to Mom. Later, Pat told me that I drank that soup like I was starving, but I don’t remember any of it. I do recall snuggling under warm blankets and the soft feel of my pillow under my head, but it was a feeling more than a memory. I slept until noon the next day.
When at last I awakened, I felt as if I had been kicked down the road and back by my neighbor’s mule. Mom probably felt the same, although she never complained about her own aches and pains.
Easing my feet to the floor, I got out of bed and stumbled to the shower. The feel of warm water and the fragrance of soap washed away all lingering remnants of smoke and dirt from the day before. Everything except the memories was washed away. I had a feeling that the horror of my mother’s and my flight through rain, briers, and an underground vault, plus the trauma of looking down the business end of a gun, and the terrible memory of that explosion would stay with me for a long, long time.
Drying off, I slipped on a gray, over-sized sweatshirt, a pair of my oldest and softest jeans, and stepped into warm, fuzzy blue house shoes. Pulling my damp hair into a ponytail, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. I looked as if I had been fasting for a month. My cheeks were gaunt and shadows circled my eyes. My bangs only partially covered the stitches Dr. McCauley had put in my forehead, but I was alive. And so was Mom. Neither of us had broken bones or bullet holes.
“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered. “You brought us through.”
As I limped downstairs, I heard voices coming from the kitchen. Grant sat at the dining table watching Mom pour coffee into his cup. I marveled at how well she looked, wearing a perky red print dress and white apron. Her hair was fluffed into a halo around her face.
“Mom, are you all right? Shouldn’t you be resting?” I asked, coming into the kitchen.
She smiled at me. “I feel as if a weight were lifted from my shoulders. Our long nightmare is over. Last night, I slept like a rock and today, I have more energy that I’ve had for a month. I’m glad to see you up, Darcy. Sit down and have some coffee and orange juice.”
Grant rose and pulled out a chair for me at the table.
“Do you feel like answering a few questions?” he asked.
Direct and blunt, that was Grant Hendley. I knew these questions would be coming and I dreaded confessing my lack of honesty, but it would be a relief not to keep any more secrets.
The coffee was hot and strong and burned all the way down. Looking at Grant, I managed a smile. “Fire away,” I said.
His blue eyes were as cold as gunmetal. “First of all, why didn’t you tell me your plans for yesterday morning? The first inkling I had that you were not here at home was when a passer-by reported the broken guardrail on Deertrack Hill and the crushed undergrowth showing a car had gone over. Then, when Jim and I found your Passport and you and Miss Flora weren’t anywhere around . . . .” He paused and gripped his coffee mug with both hands.
I reached across the table and touched his arm. “I tried to let you know Mom and I were leaving town; after all, you told us to go, if you’ll remember. We were just following orders, but you didn’t answer your phone. I’m truly sorry I didn’t tell you what we knew about Jasper. He wouldn’t go talk to you, Grant; he was afraid of jail. And now, I can see that he thought he had to keep Ben’s secret, sort of loyalty to his friend. So Jim Clendon was with you when you found the Passport?”
He nodded. “Jim had been in Chicago, digging up information on Hammer and Drake. He just got back a couple of days ago.”
So much for my suspicions, then. I wondered who chewed Red Man tobacco, Drake or Hammer?
Mom sat down with her coffee. “How’s your head today, Darcy?” she asked.
“It doesn’t hurt. My head is the hardest part of me, I suppose.”
Grant snorted but, to his credit, he merely continued with his story.
“Jim found out that Hammer had gotten in with some big time bad guys in the windy city and wound up owing a lot of money in gambling debts. A crime boss set Drake on Hammer. That must have really put the fear into him and he remembered his uncle and the story about gold, so he came back to Levi and went to see Ben. I guess Hammer pestered him for a long time about that gold, but Ben was stubborn.”
Mom ran her index finger around the rim of her cup. “That must have been what Ben meant when he said he thought something was going to happen to him.”
Grant’s mug banged against the table. “Ben Ventris told you that, Miss Flora? What else? I’ve known all along you two weren’t telling me everything you knew about this case.”
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Grant, I’m sorry. You’re right. We shouldn’t have kept all this from you. I hope we didn’t break any laws. I’ll tell you everything, but first—I have to know—did Hammer and Drake cook up this elaborate scheme between them, Drake pretending to be with the FBI and trying to scare us into telling him about the gold?”
“Well, what a relief that you’re finally going to let me in on what you should have told me a long time ago,” he said.
The sarcasm was back. Good. It was a shield against any tender emotions this man might evoke in my heart. At the moment, I wanted no romantic entanglements.
“Yes,” Grant answered, “Hammer and Drake were in this scheme together and Hammer even engaged that high-priced lawyer, Rowley, thinking he could scare you into believing he had a legal right to Ben’s treasure. Hammer will never have a chance to unburden his soul, but tough guy Drake is singing like a bird. I think his courage leaked out through that hole in his leg, Darcy.”
Squirming in my chair, I closed my eyes against the memory of that awful time in the cellar. “So, is he going to be all right?”
Grant nodded. “Sure. Eventually. He asked for a guard outside his door because he’s scared that some of his pals in Chicago might get to him before the law does. You were filling me in on your investigation, Darcy. I find it all very interesting.”
Taking a deep breath, I began with Ben’s will and Skye’s letter and map. When I finished, thirty minutes later, I felt drained of the last dregs of energy. I had re-lived every excruciating moment. My hands shook as I lifted my coffee cup to my lips.
“I guess that’s all, Grant,” I said.
“And I guess that’s enough,” he muttered. Reaching for his Stetson on the chair beside him, he pushed away from the table.
“I’ll go out this way, Miss Flora,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen door. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be in touch.”
Shocked, I watched him go. Wasn’t he going to say any more? I’d expected he would read the riot act to me and talk about the dangers of interfering with police matters or withholding evidence. He could at least have said, “Thank God you’re safe.” But he didn’t. He just got up and left.
Mom and I looked at each other. She and I had lots to talk about too, but not today. Today was simply a time for recovery and a celebration of being alive.