|
 8.12.2000
12:19
The
Baby Hope Theft
A mystery in four chapters
The
winning Chapter 2 in our interactive mystery contest: Pascoag
By
CHRISTINE A. FRANCIS - About
the author
This is chapter two of The Baby Hope Theft, a four-part interactive mystery
on projo.com and in the pages of The Sunday Journal. Part one, by Journal staff
writer G. Wayne Miller, appeared on July 16.
Read
Chapter 1 | Contest
rules | Contest
entry | Characters
| The plot | Background
on Newport society
The story so far: Newport socialite Claire Benson Spencer has hired a
father-and-daughter detective team, Nick and Nancy Nolan of Foster, to find
the Baby Hope Diamond, apparently stolen during a small dinner party at Mrs.
Spencer's home, Bon Soir.
The potential suspects include Mrs. Spencer's son, filmmaker Charles
D. Baxter III; his girlfriend, Trinity Rep actress Gloria Rodriguez; Helen Washington,
Mrs. Spencer's personal secretary; Congressman Richard Lombardo, R-R.I.; Chips
Morton, second of Mrs. Spencer's three husbands; Lucy Hamilton, Mrs. Spencer's
dear friend; and Ted O'Hara, her butler.
This chapter is written by Christine A. Francis, of Providence, in the
voice of Nancy Nolan. What happens in chapter three is up to you.
 "Meow."
I woke up to a scrawny orange-and-white cat relentlessly pawing at my face for
his breakfast.
"Meow!"
Above my head, the ceiling sloped at a sharp angle and a mustard yellow stain
ran down the wall from the edge of an open skylight.
I noticed a clock nearby on the floor. 9:43 a.m.
It was coming back to me. I was supposed to be at Gloria Rodriguez's house in
17 minutes, and I wasn't going to make it.
I was in one of those East Side triple-deckers that have had no one but students
living in them for the past 30 years. I'd slept on an old futon on the living-room
floor and would still be asleep if not for the cat.
I gave the cat the remaining food from a half-empty Tender Vittles bag, called
Dad, and told him I'd meet him at Gloria's. He gave me directions and I hung
up fast. I didn't want to get into it with him right now.
I washed my face and grabbed a shirt and some shorts from a pile on the floor.
I could already feel the August humidity filling the former attic and didn't
want to spend the day in last night's long-sleeved shirt and jeans.
I sniffed a clear plastic bag of questionable bagels on the kitchen counter
and decided not to take the risk. I ran down three flights of back stairs and
stepped out to my car. At least it was a bit cooler outside. Upstairs I hadn't
bothered to say good-bye to anyone, as I was sure they'd prefer to sleep until
noon. As would I.
I really wasn't looking forward to this meeting.
First, I was late. When I called Dad to tell him I'd meet him there, I could
hear the annoyance in his voice. Or maybe it was more disappointment. I knew
he thought the world of me, but all it took was one little mistake to ruin my
image. Abandoning his usual relaxed pride, he'd look at me with that dismissive
skepticism and it was as if I were 8 years old again. It didn't matter how much
praise he routinely gave me, or how highly he typically spoke of me to others.
That look just killed me, and I knew it was coming.
Second, I didn't know if Gloria Rodriguez knew about me and Charlie. It had
been a short-lived romance. Just two weeks last summer. Maybe they weren't even
involved then. I just wished, heading to Gloria's house, that I knew one way
or the other if the woman knew I'd slept with her fianc .
Finally, I was in desperate need of coffee. I'd had about three too many beers
last night at Lupo's and decided to just crash in the city rather than risk
the drive back to Foster. I'd stayed with some grad-student friends in Providence,
and was lucky to find a bar of soap at the place this morning, let alone a functioning
coffee-maker.
Now I was zooming along Route 44 in my Civic. If there is a fast way to Pascoag,
I don't know it. At least the construction at the Apple Valley Mall was just
about finished, instead of that one-lane dirt-road nightmare I'd encountered
the last time I came out this way.
I turned up Stevie Ray Vaughan and flicked my cigarette ashes out the window
as the light changed to green. It was difficult driving a standard while smoking
but I'd mastered it. I wished the guy leering at me from his friend's pickup
was admiring my driving skills, but I doubted it.
I reviewed what I knew about Gloria Rodriguez as I drove along.
She was, of course, at Claire Benson Spencer's dinner party the night the
diamond was stolen. According to Mrs. Spencer, she and Charlie were together
all night.
She grew up in Central Falls, found herself an acting career with Trinity Rep,
and settled, for some unknown reason, in Pascoag. What I hadn't had time yet
to tell my father was that I'd made some calls to friends at Trinity for more
information. Evidently, Gloria's favorable reviews as an actress are deserved,
although I'm sure the fact that she is drop-dead beautiful doesn't hurt. She
is not a prima donna, and doesn't go for a special dressing room or private
buffet. She is pleasant to all the crew, and isn't prone to fits.
She is, however, extremely meticulous about things. At times, according to one
of my lighting technician friends, to the point of mania.
Evidently there was one incident where a prop curtain got trapped at an odd
angle in a doorway on the set. Gloria kept obsessing about it from offstage,
then, when she went on, she actually changed her scene to fix the curtain while
on stage.
More recently, during The Glass Menagerie, she kept complaining that
the colors of her shoes didn't match each other, and made the wardrobe people
find new shoes that matched before she could go on. I wasn't sure what these
stories had to do with diamond theft, but they were interesting to think about.
I flicked my cigarette butt out the window and imagined my father's voice. "How
can you seriously lecture me about eating meat when you smoke those things?"
He was right, but I wasn't about to admit it.
I was driving through Harmony headed to Chepachet. On my left the word FURNITURE
hung in bright red over what otherwise appeared to be a house. Across the street
another house claimed to be an Antique Store. Junk filled both yards, both porches,
and pressed against the glass from inside each building. I have driven by these
buildings countless times and have never seen them open for business. I wonder
if they are a front for something, abandoned, or just two of the most poorly
managed retail shops in Rhode Island.
I drove down through quaint Chepachet center and turned right onto Route 100
headed to Pascoag. It was only 10 a.m. but my bare legs were already sticking
to the vinyl seat. I cursed the long-dead air conditioning but was glad the
tape player still worked as I popped in some early Bonnie Raitt.
"You've got to give it up or let me go . . ."
I hadn't mastered simultaneous air-guitar and stick-shift yet so I kept one
hand on the wheel and one on the stick as I negotiated the right-hand turn into
downtown Pascoag.
The clich is true that if you blinked you might actually miss the tackle shops,
pet-grooming store and liquor stores that make-up the downtown Pascoag area.
As I drove past the biker bar and former mill houses, I started to speculate
as to why Gloria chose to live here. Would she feel as much at home at the Mad
Dog Saloon as she does at Trinity?
I reached into my front pocket and pulled out a crumpled scrap of paper with
my notes from this morning:
Right onto 107
Straight past downtown
Stay right at fork
Look for Slack Lane on right (just past cemetery)
1/4 mile down Slack Lane. #6
I found Slack Lane just beyond a cluster of mailboxes and pulled off 107
a little too fast, my rear tires skidding a bit on the dusty dirt road. I glanced
at my watch. 10:24. We were supposed to meet Gloria at 10 a.m. and I had no
doubt my dad was already here.
I checked my odometer and cruised the quarter mile along the potholed road as
quickly as my Civic could handle. It was one of those roads the residents like
to keep in disrepair, as it keeps out unwanted visitors. I could glimpse an
occasional house peeking through trees as I made my way to a simple pale yellow
sign with the number 6 painted on it.
I turned up the driveway, admiring the secluded feeling of the property and
glad to see so many of the old-growth trees untouched. My father's '66 Stingray
was unmistakable beside an equally impressive 2000 Explorer in Hunter Green.
Both were parked at the end of the driveway beside a modest but pretty Cape.
I pulled up in my worn-but-loved '89 Civic, yanked on the emergency brake and
headed for the front door.
The house was well-kept, with a distinct feminine touch.
Flowers cascaded out of window boxes, and neatly painted turquoise shutters
and trim contrasted with the weathered shingles. A slate pathway was bordered
by robustly blooming ornamental hedges, which were themselves surrounded in
neat white gravel.
The few short stone steps to the front door displayed colorful bunches of impatiens
growing from pots placed in old wire clamming buckets. On the front door, a
wreath of sea heather surrounded a brass door-knocker shaped like a hummingbird.
Martha Stewart would be proud.
I knocked, and, a moment later, Gloria Rodriguez opened the door.
"You must be Nancy. Please come in."
She extended her hand and smiled. If she knew anything about me and Charlie,
it didn't show. I shook her hand as I stepped into the house.
"Please excuse me for being so late. I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
"No, not at all. Your father and I have been talking baseball."
My father is a huge Pawsox fan, and, I'm sure the conversation started because
of the gray Pawtucket Red Sox T-shirt Gloria was wearing. If I wore that T-shirt,
I'd look sporty. Somehow, Gloria still managed to look glamorous.
"Can I get you something? Coffee?"
I tried to mask my rabid desire for coffee with feigned nonchalance.
"A cup of coffee would be great. But only if it's no trouble."
"Oh, no. It's already made. Your father is in the living room. I'll bring your
coffee to you in there."
She waved me in one direction as she headed in the other and I turned to walk
into the living room.
It was the first time since I'd stepped inside that I'd really looked around
the house. I gasped. Every surface I could see was covered in glass. Actually,
it was covered in blue glass.
Blue bottles lined the window sills, and clear glass shelving provided support
for more rows to extend across the windows themselves. Glass-fronted curios
housed an assortment of shapes and sizes of blue glassware. Dishes, glasses,
serving pieces, and vases. Anything you could imagine was there.
An old hutch was filled with nothing but blue glass kitchenware looking to be
from the '40s and '50s. An elegant mahogany sideboard displayed what appeared
to be a complete set of antique Depression-ware glass. All the same pattern
in cobalt blue.
I was so taken by the glassware that I didn't at first notice my dad sitting
calmly on a couch near the center of the room. The expression on his face said
two things: "Isn't this glass collection insane?" and "You're late."
"Hey, Dad. Sorry I'm late. I set the clock at Deb's last night but I guess it
was set at the wrong time to begin with. Have you been waiting long?"
The part about the clock was not entirely a lie. I had tried to set it, but
gave up when my inebriated brain could not convince my dulled fingers how to
set the darn thing.
"Well, I've been here since 10, but Gloria and I have been talking about the
great game Jared Fernandez had last week against the Clippers. I suggested we
wait for you before discussing the party."
"The party" he referred to was of course the dinner party hosted by Claire Benson
Spencer. The dinner party held the same night that Mrs. Spencer's Baby Hope
diamond disappeared.
As I sat beside my dad on the couch, Gloria arrived with my coffee. I took a
rounded spoonful of sugar from a cobalt pressed-glass sugar bowl, and poured
cream from a matching creamer on the coffee table. I took a grateful sip and
placed it in one of the neat little blue glass coasters on the table.
"So, you're into glass." I said. Why avoid the obvious?
Gloria was now sitting in a chair across from the couch. She sort of smiled
and ducked her head.
"Yeah, it has sort of taken over the house, I guess."
"Do you mind if I ask why you collect blue glass?"
"No, not at all. I guess it started years ago with my grandmother. She had a
collection of beautiful blue bottles on her kitchen windowsill and I was fascinated
by them. My grandmother was very important to me, so when I was away at college
I kept a blue bottle on my dorm window to remind me of home. As I got older,
the collection just grew from there."
My father shifted in his seat to look around the room.
"To be honest, Gloria, you don't seem old enough to have collected this much
stuff!"
She laughed.
"I agree. I guess it was all the time I spent traveling with different productions.
I was living in at least fifteen different cities each year for a few years.
Hunting for blue glass gave me something to do in a new place and before I knew
it, I had all this. Luckily, the recent steady work at Trinity enabled me to
buy this house as a home for me and the glass."
We all laughed.
"Well, Gloria," my dad said, "since we've started so late we should probably
get down to business, so we don't take up your whole day."
I took another sip of coffee and refrained from giving him a dirty look.
"Can you tell us what you remember about the night of Mrs. Spencer's dinner
party?"
"Okay. It started at about eight. Mrs. Spencer's dinners always start at
eight. There were supposed to be eight people, but I think there was some problem
with one of the guests, so there were seven of us."
"What do you mean by 'problem?' " I asked. I clearly recalled Mrs. Spencer saying
her eighth guest had canceled.
"I'm not exactly sure. Mrs. Spencer said that a guest had canceled, but Charlie
whispered something about 'canceled' being Newport-speak for being un-invited.
Later, after dinner, I overheard Congressman Lombardo make a comment about the
missing guest. Something to the effect that he'd get his just desserts, even
if he didn't get his dessert. I guess he was making some sort of joke, but I
wasn't really following the conversation."
"Did you ask anyone, Charlie maybe, to explain why the eighth person was not
there?" my father asked.
"No," she answered. "It didn't seem to be any of my business. I don't typically
listen in on conversations not meant for me, but it was a small group and not
a very lively one, so I was a bit bored. It didn't seem that remarkable then,
just typical Newport social-trashing."
Gloria seemed especially comfortable talking about high society for a girl from
Central Falls. I guessed her acting training helped with that. I wondered what,
if anything, could get her to shed the facade and bring out her less genteel
roots.
"You talk about Newport society as if you are an outsider." I said. "Is that
how you feel?"
"Well, I'm not exactly an insider!" she snorted. "I mean, I love Charlie, and
Mrs. Spencer has been like a mother to me, but it is very clear that I am not
a part of the 'inner circle.' "
"What do you mean?" I probed.
"Oh, you know, Nancy," she said. "You have to be practically off the Mayflower
to fit in down there. Not only that, but my being Hispanic . . . come on!"
I smiled at her to show I understood. The cynicism in her voice at least let
me know she was human. My dad was getting restless with this line of conversation,
I could tell.
"About the dinner, Gloria," he interjected, "Mrs. Spencer said that you and
Charlie left the table together at one point."
"Yes. Like I said, it was a pretty lame group and we were bored as hell, so
we ducked out for a second to get some air."
My dad was not one to beat around the bush.
"I have heard that Charlie has a problem with cocaine. Are you sure the two
of you did not actually leave to 'liven' things up that way?"
Gloria turned red and stood up.
"First of all, Charlie does not have a cocaine problem. And second, the fact
that I'm from a tough area doesn't make me a drug user. I don't like your questions
and think I need to ask you to leave!"
My father could be as diplomatic as he was blunt.
"I'm very sorry, Ms. Rodriguez. Please sit down. You understand that I am working
for your future mother-in-law to find her most prized possession. In order to
do this, I must ask difficult questions of everyone who may have had access
to the diamond. I did not mean to offend you or pass judgment on your fianc
. I am just trying to find the truth."
Gloria seemed to relax a bit. She sat down again and took a deep breath.
"Charlie did have a problem but he got help. It's not a problem any more."
I decided things might go better if I were to ask the next question, so I changed
the subject.
"Do you know of anyone that might have reason to steal the diamond?"
She looked at me. I could see the acting skills within her working to regain
her composure.
"I honestly don't." She said. "Everyone at the party was either family, like
family, or so wealthy they wouldn't even need it. I do hope you find it. It
was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I have ever seen."
I realized that my dad and I were now officially playing good cop/bad cop. I
was the good cop. He saw another opening and dove right in.
"You say you've seen the diamond?" he asked. Her face froze. It was just a split
second before she recovered, but you could see it.
"Yes. Mrs. Spencer wore it to a dinner party a few weeks ago."
It was painfully obvious she was lying.
"Gloria," I said. "Mrs. Spencer told us that she hardly ever wears jewelry anymore."
"And the last time she wore the Baby Hope," my dad added, "there was an armed
guard at each door of her house and a front-page article in The Journal. You
did not see that ring on Mrs. Spencer, Gloria, so where did you see it?"
Gloria started examining her tennis bracelet as if she'd never seen it before.
I could see her lower lip trembling.
"Please Gloria," I asked. "We are not the police. Just tell us where you saw
it so we can return it to Mrs. Spencer."
She looked up at me.
"It was before it was stolen, almost a year ago. Charlie showed it to me."
"What do you mean, Charlie showed it to you?" my father asked.
"We had just started dating and I guess he wanted to impress me, so he took
me upstairs one day and said he wanted to show me something. He made me close
my eyes and put out my hands and when I opened my eyes there was the diamond
in my hand."
"Did he take it from the safe?" I asked.
"I'm honestly not sure. I think he went into Mrs. Spencer's closet for the diamond,
but I stayed outside."
"Does Mrs. Spencer know that Charlie showed you the ring?"
"No. Absolutely not. Charlie made me swear not to tell anyone that he'd shown
it to me. In fact, the other day Mrs. Spencer made a comment about what a shame
it was that I had never seen the diamond and now it was gone."
Just then we heard the roar of the engine as a motorcycle pulled up to the end
of the driveway. A split second before the door opened it hit me that I was
not only going to encounter Gloria this morning, but I was also about to see
Charlie.
Our romance, if you could even call it that, lasted for barely two weeks
last summer. I had been staying with friends in a rented house just off Spring
Street in Newport, and Charlie, I now knew with the clarity of hindsight, had
been looking for a low-class fling.
I couldn't really blame him. I think I'd get tired of the squeaky-clean prep-school
types he'd normally been linked with as well.
We'd met on the beach and went out to the clubs at night. I really thought he
was just a "regular" guy summering in Newport until he made a comment about
his mother one day and I finally realized who he was.
I'm not sure if it was my realization that we were from different worlds, and
the extreme self-consciousness that resulted from that realization, or that
the relationship had just run its course, but it ended soon after that.
Gloria's earlier comment about seeing the ring made me think he met her after
we were together, which gave me some relief. Still, I hadn't seen him in a year
and was not prepared for this.
Charlie came through the front door.
"Hey, Gloria, are you ready? Don't forget th -- "
Obviously, he didn't expect us to be there.
His years of prep-school upbringing and training in the social graces of Newport
kicked in immediately. He walked over to my father and extended his hand.
"You must be the detective my mother hired to find the diamond. I'm Charles
Baxter. Please call me Charlie."
"A pleasure to meet you, Charlie. Nick Nolan. This is my daughter Nancy." My
dad shook Charlie's hand and gestured to me. I had not told my dad about my
fling with Charlie and I was glad.
I stood and shook Charlie's hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Charlie."
He was as amazingly good-looking as I'd recalled. I looked into his eyes and
honestly could not tell if he remembered me or not. I'd like to think he couldn't
forget, that he was a better actor than Gloria. But he looked pleased to meet
me, nothing more. I was crushed and relieved at the same time.
"Pleased to meet you, Nancy."
Charlie turned and kissed Gloria on the cheek, then sat in the armchair beside
her and across from me.
"Please excuse me for intruding. If Gloria told me you'd be here this morning,
I'd forgotten."
My dad got in another zing. "We are running a bit later than planned."
I took another sip of coffee to calm myself. It was cold. This did not seem
like a good time to ask for a new cup.
"We are just asking Gloria some questions about the other night," my father
continued. "If you have a minute, perhaps we could ask you some questions today
as well and save the trouble of meeting with you again later?"
"No problem." said Charlie. "As long as we are done by 11:30. Gloria and I are
meeting some friends at the club at noon."
I checked my watch. 11:14. Only 16 minutes left of this awkward situation.
I glanced at my dad but he seemed to be totally unaware of my discomfort. I
felt all my detecting skills fly out the window as I fought to just breathe.
I suddenly realized I hadn't even washed my hair that day. I wished I'd worn
a clean T-shirt. The one I was wearing was borrowed from Deb and had "They Might
Be Giants /The Living Room" printed on the front, and a hole in the right armpit.
I kept my right arm low as I replaced my coffee cup.
"So, Charlie, Gloria was just explaining to us how you showed her the Baby Hope
last summer."
No one could accuse my dad of not earning his 50 grand.
I could see Charlie's knuckles tighten on the arms of his chair. He looked quickly
at Gloria, who was again suddenly very interested in her tennis bracelet. Her
lips resumed their earlier trembling.
"It . . . just . . . came out. I'm sorry. Really, Charlie, I did not mean to
say anything. I told . . ."
It suddenly occurred to Charlie that he'd better take control of this situation
before it got worse. Although I could see his initial anger at her, he rearranged
his face into a relaxed, mischievous grin and shrugged his shoulders as he cut
her off.
"Well, you caught me. I have the combination to the safe. Had it since I was
a kid. I used to sneak in the closet before my mom went in to get her jewelry
for a party. She has so many damn clothes, she never even noticed me in there.
It took me a few times watching, but then I got it. I've known it ever since."
"And your mother has no idea you can open the safe?" my dad asked.
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't. There was one time, a few years ago, she almost
caught me. I was trying to get one of her necklaces," he looked over at Gloria,
"to show a friend. Mom came upstairs and caught me coming out of the closet.
I claimed I was looking for a sweater to loan my friend." Again, he glanced
at Gloria. "She seemed to believe me."
Gloria had regained her composure again.
"It's really silly anyway. Why would Charlie steal a diamond from his own mother?"
Good question. I was hoping my father had some ideas, because all my brain was
saying was "Get me out of here."
My father looked at me, then looked back at Charlie. Then did it again. I looked
over at Charlie and I knew why. He was staring at me with an odd look on his
face.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked.
"I think we may have mutual friends." I lied. I decided I'd better end this
now and looked at my watch. "Wow, it's almost 11:30. We'd better get going."
I could tell my father was annoyed but I stood up and extended my hand.
"Thank you for meeting with us Charlie. Thanks Gloria. And thanks for the coffee."
I shook both their hands and headed for the door.
My dad stood up and thanked them as well.
"I may be calling if I have more questions. Charlie, where is the best place
to reach you?"
"Either here at Gloria's, or at my cell phone. Here's the number." He handed
my dad a card.
My dad put the card in his pocket.
"Thanks again," he said, "I'll be in touch."
"Good luck finding the diamond," said Gloria.
As I left the house, I turned and looked back toward the glass-shelved windows.
Gloria was adjusting one of the bottles to another position. Light filtered
through the glass and sparkled like diamonds. Blue diamonds.
As soon as we were alone outside, my father let loose. "What the heck is going
on with you today? First you're late, then you rush us out of there before we
can even ask Charlie any questions. What's your problem?"
"Look, Dad, I'm sorry. I can't get into it right now."
I really wanted a cigarette badly, but I didn't dare start that lecture, too.
"Nancy, you're supposed to be the brains behind this operation but sometimes
I wonder what you are thinking. It seemed like you were not even paying attention
to Charlie's confession about the safe combination in there. We could have gotten
more out of him, I'm sure. What about that eighth party guest? We didn't even
get a chance to ask him about that."
"Dad, can we talk about this at home? I really need some food. I haven't eaten
yet today."
My father opened his mouth, glanced at Charlie's motorcycle, then at the house
and closed it again. After a moment he said, "Okay, I guess we should talk at
home. I need to get some gas on the way home, so I may be a few minutes behind
you."
I got in my car, did a three-point turn and headed back down the driveway and
along the dirt road. Once on the paved road heading south I waited to confirm
there were at least two cars between me and the Stingray before lighting a cigarette.
Why does something so bad feel so good?
As I smoked, I thought about Gloria and Charlie. They didn't seem like the especially
affectionate couple that Mrs. Spencer had described, but I guess my dad and
I were not exactly creating a cozy atmosphere. Charlie was always like that,
though. Very attentive and affectionate in private, but cool and indifferent
in public. He's such a player, he could be hiding anything.
And Gloria? There was something odd about that girl. I couldn't quite put my
finger on it.
As I headed back down through Chepachet center and right onto 102, I realized
my dad's Stingray was no longer behind me. He must have stopped for gas. I hoped
he wouldn't still be mad at me when we got home.
I was getting bored with the folksy blues I'd been listening to, so I put on
WBRU. They were playing a catchy pop tune by Smashmouth. I sang along and bopped
around in my car until I was just about home. I decided I'd make a big garden
salad for lunch as a peace offering to Dad. Maybe I'd even fire up the grill
for burgers. Veggie-burgers for me.
I parked and walked towards the house. As I opened the door, the phone began
to ring.
I
picked up on the second ring. "Hello."
"Hello?" the woman's voice sounded like a whisper. "I'm trying to reach Nick
Nolan. Do I have the right number?"
"Yes," I answered. "You've dialed the right number. This is his daughter, Nancy.
Can I help you?"
"Perhaps. This is Helen Washington. I am the personal secretary to Mrs. Claire
Spencer. I understand you work with your father, Ms. Nolan?" Her voice was so
faint I could hardly hear her.
"Yes, I do. Ms. Washington, can you speak up? It's difficult to hear you."
"I'm afraid I cannot. And I cannot stay on the phone much longer. I am wondering
if I could meet with you and your father tomorrow?"
I knew we were meeting Lucy Hamilton for afternoon tea on the East Side tomorrow.
Considering my track record for mornings, I suggested we might be able to make
it to Newport by 4:30.
"Oh no, not in Newport. You said you'd be on the East Side? How about 4 p.m.
in Providence?"
"That sounds fine. I'll need to check with my father, of course. Is there a
number where he or I can call you back this afternoon?"
"No, no" she whispered emphatically. "I'll call you back. When do you expect
him in?"
"Any minute now, actually." I said.
"I will call back in 20 minutes. I must go now."
I heard her hang up before I could say "good-bye."
Still mulling over this strange conversation, I walked out onto the back porch
to survey the garden.
Something was wrong.
It
took me a minute, but I suddenly realized that the garden was bare. I mean,
there was greenery, but it was bare of all fruit, vegetables or flowers. Any
tomato, onion, pepper, bean, squash or flower had been stripped right off the
plant.
I looked to my right and saw something odd at the end of the porch. As I walked
down to get a closer look, I noticed an enormous pile of squashed and chopped
garden remnants in a big dusty pile just beyond the end of the porch. It looked
like someone had taken a hoe and boots to them.
So much for lunch.
What had originally caught my eye was even more bizarre. Written out on the
porch floor with a combination of string beans, flower stems and tomato scraps
were the words "GIVE UP HOPE."
Instinctively I turned and looked around the yard. There was no one else there.
I looked back at the words. Either a wayward fatalist had suddenly taken offense
at our garden or someone was sending us a message about our search for the diamond.
I preferred the former but suspected the latter. No one had ever threatened
us before. I didn't know whether to be scared or flattered.
I heard the Stingray pull into the driveway on the other side of the house.
Taking care not to disturb anything, I walked back up onto the porch and through
the back door. I couldn't wait to tell Dad about the strange call from Helen
Washington and the even stranger message out back.
My stomach growled loudly. I realized I still hadn't eaten.
I wondered if I could salvage a tomato from that pile.
What happens next? It's up to you. See
the rules for this interactive writing contest. Deadline
for entries for Chapter Three -- to be written by a reader -- is Tue., Aug.
29 ; the winning chapter will be published Sep. 10
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