White Deer looked at me, amusement playing over her face. “Black bear.”
Black bear, brown bear, grizzly, or polar, I didn’t care. The beast was four-legged, had long claws, and stood way too tall for my comfort. In the pale light of the stars, we could see its silhouette as it lumbered around the camp. Oh yeah, right at home. The wilderness belonged to bears and mountain lions, and I suddenly felt like an intruder, but intruder or not, I didn’t want it messing up my wheels.
Kip shoved in between us and peered out the window. “Wow! He’s huge! Is he going to tear up the Jeep?”
“I hope not, honey. The last thing I need right now is a car repair bill.”
The bear raised its head and sniffed the air, snuffling as it tested the scents floating on the breeze. Then, with a grace I never thought possible for such a big animal, it turned and glided out of the meadow, heading for the woods. I slumped back on the bed. Beautiful, yes, but also dangerous. I hadn’t seen any cubs nearby, so I assumed it was either a male or a lone female.
Murray found a battery-operated lantern and, once it was clear that the bear was gone, went out to check my car. When she returned, her face was set in stone, and I could tell she was trying not to laugh. “Okay, we thought we bagged all our garbage, but I found a package of marshmallows out there, and a handful of candy wrappers. That’s what attracted it.”
“And the car?”
“You’d better go have a look.” She handed me the lantern and guided me out to the Jeep.
“I just hope Mr. Fuzzypants is gone for the night,” I muttered.
We stopped in front of my car, where Winnie-the-Pooh’s big brother had decided to gouge a long scratch along the side. I was looking at one expensive paint job, unless I decided to leave it as a conversation piece. I supposed I could use it as a great icebreaker. “What’d you do last weekend?” “Watched a bear tear up my car, wanna see the scratch?”
I returned to the cabin. “Okay, show’s over. Everybody get back to bed.” The girls headed into their bedroom, whispering about their close encounter. Kip trailed behind, grumbling that he wished he’d been outside with them. When the kids were tucked in, I slumped at the table, resting my chin on my hands. “When I think of the girls out there alone… they could have been killed.”
White Deer put her hand on my shoulder. “No harm was done, except for your car. Be grateful for the blessings instead of focusing on the negative, Emerald.”
“I know,” I said. “Believe me, I am grateful. I’m just—we came up here to relax, and now the girls get into a tangle with a bear.”
“You’re exaggerating,” White Deer cautioned me. She was about to say more but then stopped as Murray shot back inside. She’d been out gathering an armful of wood and now she dumped it in the wood box and stoked the fire.
“Em…”
“What? Don’t tell me the bear damaged anything else?”
“Not the bear, no. Do you have a spare tire?”
“Why?” I didn’t want to hear the answer.
“You’ve got a flat; looks like you drove over a nail or something and developed a slow leak. We’ll have to change the tire.”
I flounced over to the bed. “It can wait until morning.”
White Deer crawled back in her sleeping bag, and Murray stretched out after making sure the door was firmly latched. I shoved my feet under the covers, flopped over on my side, and pulled the covers up to my chin. If only I could sleep for a week, maybe then things would start getting back to normal.
Chapter 10
IT WAS STILL early by the time we reached Chiqetaw, not quite nine-thirty. On the way through town, we dropped Lori off before heading home. We’d pick up the cats in a little while. Murray and White Deer had a busy day ahead of them; they just gathered their gear out of the back of the Cherokee and, with a hail of hugs, said good-bye. I asked the kids to unload the car while I took a bath.
As I trudged up the stairs, all I could think about was soaking in a mound of lavender-scented bubbles until every muscle in my body quivered like jelly. I was soft, I admitted it. Soft and cushy. No hard body here. But when I opened my bedroom door, all thoughts of a bath disappeared. My room had been ransacked; clothes were scattered all over my bed and the floor.
“Holy Hell—”
A trail of splinters led to my jewelry box, which had been smashed across the top of my vanity, splinters of wood gouging the top. Next to the bed, Nanna’s trunk stood open, the padlock and one of the hinges broken. My heart in my throat, I peeked inside. Thank heavens! Though the contents were strewn on the floor, the false bottom and Nanna’s journal were intact. That meant the thief hadn’t found my heirloom dagger.
Kip’s voice filtered up the stairs, startling me. Oh crap, the kids! The thief might still be in the house! I bolted down to the foyer, yelling for them to stay outside, but they had already inched into the living room. “Mom! Your treasures! They’re gone!” Randa waggled her finger at the étagère. The glass doors had been shattered in an effort to reach my crystal collection. All my beautiful Faberge eggs were missing, along with a number of other expensive figurines.
Randa looked up at me, comprehension dawning. “We’ve been robbed?”
Numb, I hustled them out of the door. “I want you to get in the car, lock the doors, and wait for me.” They obeyed without a word, edging out of the room while I took one last look before joining them. The front window was still intact, but the desk drawers had been tossed on the sofa. A bottle of ink stained the carpet next to the remains of the rolltop box in which I kept my fine pens. I had little doubt that the pens were gone, along with everything else. Thank God we’d gone camping; who knows what would have happened if we’d been home when the thief showed up.
Once I was standing next to the car, I fumbled with my cell phone and managed to reach Murray just as she walked through the door of her house. “He’s been here, Murray. He’s been in the house.”
“Em, get out of there now! I’ll call the station. Somebody will be over right away. I’ll see you in a few.”
The next ten minutes were a blur. I sat in the car with Kip and Miranda, waiting. They clamored, begging me to tell them what was going on, until I couldn’t hear myself think.
“Hush!”
Sudden silence.
“We’ll talk about it once the police get here. Right now, could I please have a little peace and quiet?”
Finally, Deacon Wilson and his partner pulled into the driveway. I hadn’t seen him since Daniel’s death. “Hey, Emerald,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.
“Hey, Deacon.”
“Murray radioed ahead; she’s on her way. What happened?”
I gave him the rundown and, gun drawn, he headed into the house. By the time Murray arrived, he was back. “I checked every room and closet; the house is clear,” he said. “I tell you, though, somebody sure did a number on your home. You’ve got one hell of a cleanup job ahead of you.” We reentered the house, where they started dusting for prints.
Murray took my key and checked the shed to make sure no one was hiding there. She returned with a thumbs-up. The padlock hadn’t been jimmied. She motioned to the table. “Sit down, Em. We aren’t looking at random destruction here. Whoever did this systematically emptied every drawer in your house. All the actual damage appears to be focused on locked objects: the trunk, the étagère.”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine what he wants. Everything I have of value is out in full sight.” Thinking of the empty étagère, I added, “Or was. And how did the thief get into the house in the first place? The front door was locked when I got home.”
“Does anybody else have a key to your house?”
“No,” I said glumly. “But this clinches it. Tomorrow, I call Safety-Tech and sign up for a home security system.”
Deacon left to file the report and to put out another APB on Jimbo. Nobody had seen him since the Roberts house had been hit; the poli
ce had assumed he had fled the area. Now, though, it seemed likely that he was lying low, hiding out. I explained what was going on to the kids.
Miranda shuddered. “The thief went through everything we have?”
“Is it Jimbo?” Kip asked.
“We don’t know for sure, but that doesn’t matter. You and Randa need to be careful around any strangers.”
I put in a call to my insurance agent, and he said he’d be right over but to make sure I didn’t disturb anything until he got there. I sent the kids out back to play for a while so Murray and I could talk. After they left, I dropped into the recliner and rested my head on my hands. “I dunno,” I said, “I feel like I’ve been catapulted into Bad Luck Central.”
Murray nodded. “Have you done anything different lately? Are your protection charms up to date? Could another ghost be raising havoc?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t tell you this yesterday because I didn’t want the kids to hear.” I filled her in on what Mary Sanders had told me about the dragon. “We’re under a curse, and I’m really afraid of what might happen. I can’t get rid of the dragon, because it won’t stop the bad luck.”
“Let me see the statue. You’ve never really shown it to me before.”
I unwrapped the dragon and handed it to her. She held it for a moment, then abruptly gave it back. “I don’t like it. Weird energy, but I can’t pin it down. I have the feeling it’s smiling at me with a big old toothy grin, and it makes me nervous.”
“Yeah, I felt the same thing.” I put the dragon back in my purse and told her about the visions I’d had. “One was right on the money, and I’m betting that the other is, too. This doesn’t feel like a ghost, it feels… well, like chaos.”
“I think you’re right, and you’d better find an answer before it hurts you and the kids.” She guided me out to the porch. “Let’s sit on the swing. We don’t want to disturb anything before your insurance agent gets here.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea of how to go about breaking the curse.” A lump was growing in my throat as I talked. “This isn’t fair! All my jewelry’s gone, my Faberge eggs are gone, my house is torn apart! I’ve worked damned hard to get where I am.”
Murray rested her hand on my shoulder. “Robbery’s a violation, an invasion of privacy and personal space. You should think about talking to one of our victim’s aid counselors. Too much has happened; they can help you handle the stress.” She stood up. “I’m sorry babe, but I’m going to head out and write up the report. I’ve got a bunch of errands I have to get done before work tomorrow.”
I walked her to the door just in time to greet Mr. Johnson, the insurance agent, camera in hand. He handed me a sheaf of forms, and I got to work filling them out as he went through the house, snapping pictures. Twenty minutes later, he reappeared in the kitchen. “I’m done. If I were you, I’d get a security system.”
“Yeah, I’m going to. I imagine my premiums are going to skyrocket.”
“Not necessarily, but many more claims, and Applewood will start getting suspicious. File these forms tomorrow, and we’ll get started on your check.” He shook my hand, and I saw him to the door.
As soon as he left, I called Harlow. “Harl, I have to get out of the house. I can’t face looking at this disaster right now.”
She told me to come right over. I grabbed the dragon—I wasn’t about to leave it lying around where it might get stolen—and hounded the kids into the car. We’d clean up the mess later. When we got to Harl’s, Kip and Miranda disappeared outside; Harlow had all sorts of nooks and crannies hidden on her property, with tiny gardens tucked away behind boulders and bubbling fountains and statues placed strategically through a miniature hedge maze.
She met me at the door, maneuvering her wheelchair like a pro. I followed her inside to her study, gratefully dropping into the chair by the side of her desk.
“You look wiped.” She was wearing a pair of wire-frame glasses, very stylish.
“Where’d you get those? I’ve never seen you wear glasses.”
“I usually wear contacts, but my allergies have gotten worse since I got pregnant. I wear my glasses on days when my eyes itch. What happened?”
By the time I finished telling her everything, she’d poured me a glass of sparkling water and added a chunk of lemon in it.
I took a long sip and almost spat it out. “Yuck! What the hell is this stuff? It tastes like chalk.”
“Drink it,” she said. “It’s good for you. Replenishes your electrolytes.”
“It better be good for me, since it tastes so bad,” I grumbled, but finished the glass anyway. I didn’t know whether my electrolytes needed replenishing, but I sure could use a pick-me-up. I held up the dragon. “Research time again.”
Harlow reached for it, but I shook my head. “Nope, don’t you lay one finger on this baby. Let me tell you what I found out.” I outlined what I knew of Daniel’s history and the curse on the dragon.
She jotted down a few notes as I explained what had been going on, and I noticed that, sometime in the past few months, she’d managed to learn shorthand. “You turning into a whiz kid?”
She beamed. “I never thought of myself as being very smart, but you know, I’m beginning to think that I should go to college. Get my degree in history, maybe. I love the work I’m doing for the Professor. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a great idea,” I said, happy to see her self-confidence rising. Harl never considered herself very smart, even though she had a natural brilliance that hid itself under all that golden hair. She fired up her laptop.
“Hold on.” She brought up a browser and began to tap away, her fingers flying over the keys. Within a few minutes, she sat back and pointed to the screen. “Here we go. Information about Daniel’s family that may explain why he had the dragon.”
I leaned over her shoulder, glancing at the URL. We were looking at some history site I’d never heard of. “Where’d you find that?”
She handed me a steno pad and pen. “The Professor sponsored me for membership on a couple web sites focusing on antiquities and archaeological digs. The sites aren’t public access, you have to be a member, and the dues are exorbitant.”
“You sure get around,” I said, chuckling. Yet another elite sector of society to which Harl owned a key. “So, what does it say about Daniel’s family?”
She scrutinized the web page. “His grandfather was an archaeologist, of sorts.”
“What do you mean, ‘of sorts’?”
“You know, back in the thirties they would go on expeditions, rob graves, and call it archaeology. Despite their unsavory methods, those ‘intrepid adventurers’ made some important discoveries.” As facetious as she sounded, I knew Harlow was dead serious. She scrolled down the web page, then tapped the screen.
“Okay, here we go, an entry for Terrance Barrington.” She paused, deciphering the various charts and entries. “Terrance was Daniel’s grandfather, and he was an independent archaeologist. Apparently, during 1935 he led a secret expedition into the outer reaches of China near the Mongolian steppes, where he found a cache of artifacts. He kept his favorite pieces and sold the rest on the open market. On a list of what he kept, one piece is listed as a dragon carved out of jade, dating back to the Ming dynasty! ”
Bingo! “That’s my dragon,” I murmured, leaning over her shoulder. “Whatever happened to Grandpa Terrance? Daniel’s father and mother met rather nasty ends.” Come to think of it, so had Daniel.
After printing out the information about the dragon’s discovery for me, Harl plugged in a few more words and another entry came up. She turned the screen so I could see better. “Terrance fell overboard during an expedition in 1937, and before they could throw him a life preserver, the sharks got him.”
“Sharks?” The dragon didn’t play around; that much was for sure.
She leaned forward, grimacing as she read. “Yeah. His crew tried to save him, but the gr
oup of sharks tore Terrance limb from limb. Says here in the ship’s log that the water was so slick with his blood and bits of flesh that the crew couldn’t eat meat for days.” She looked up at me, blanching. “Ugh.”
Daniel’s family had been plagued with more carnage than a turkey farm on Thanksgiving. “Let’s see, Terrance was eaten by sharks; Daniel’s mother was struck by lightning; his father got axed to death; his wife and twin boys drowned. Daniel himself was the victim of a hit-and-run. Does it seem to you that this particular line of the Barring-tons were destined for disaster?”
“Just a minute.” Harl pulled up a second browser, and we were off to a London-based site, this one a genealogy site belonging to a church. She ran her finger down the charts. “Here are the records for Terrance’s side of the family. Terrance’s wife died in a tsunami in Hawaii. They had three sons, Trenton, Harcourt, and Charles. Trenton wandered into the path of an oncoming train. Charles… it just says he died accidentally when he was thirteen. Harcourt, Daniel’s father, was murdered, but you already know the details about that. Harcourt was the only one of the three who had children.”
“Can you find any information on Daniel’s sister? Is she still alive?”
“Here. Look for yourself.”
I studied the charts. Harcourt and his wife Molly had two children. Daniel was the youngest; his sister Deirdre was four years older. Deirdre had gotten married and had borne a stillborn daughter. Her husband was listed as dead. Again, an accident. He’d died on the same day Deirdre gave birth.
“Jeez, Louise!” I said, realizing the scope of what we were looking at. “One tragedy after another. Nobody seems to have lived past the age of fifty-five. His entire family was wiped out. No wonder Daniel was so depressed.”
Wincing, not really wanting to see the line of bizarre deaths continue, I followed the family tree down to the bitter end. Three years after her daughter and husband died, Deirdre’s death had been listed as accidental, with a notation in parentheses that read, “Suicide?” Which left Daniel the last of his line. And now, he had joined his ancestors.