Carolina Isle (Edenton 2)
“So all this with Brompton was to make me jealous?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I knew from the first that R.J. would treat me as a woman, not as a porcelain doll like you do.”
David fell back against the bushes and laughed. “And I thought I knew what you wanted. Miss Pommy—”
“Used to intimidate me because she holds the money, but not anymore. When I get out of here I’m going to …” She pulled the map from the pack. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to make some changes in my life.”
“I hope you keep me in it,” David said softly.
“Maybe,” she said, looking at the map.
“Let me show you—”
“I can read a map.” She shoved the folded paper into her bra, then looked at him. “Stay here and be quiet. Listen for a helicopter.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling.
Ariel took a bottle of water from his pack, looked out between the bushes, then on impulse, leaned down and kissed him. “You don’t ever leave me behind again. Understand?”
“Never again,” he said. “Forever.”
“You got that right,” she said, then stepped up into the open.
David’s map was easy to follow. She kept the water on her right, and when she saw a huge tree with half of it burned away by lightning, she put the map away. The rock looked solid, but when she tiptoed along a ledge with her arms spread out, she found a cut that overlapped itself. As she slipped through the narrow opening, she saw why Nezbit kept himself so thin. Most adults couldn’t fit between the rocks, but Ariel, at just a hundred and five pounds, could.
It was so dark inside the rock, she could see nothing. As she felt her way around, her heart was beating rapidly. A hidden place like this was a den snakes would love. When her hand touched an old-fashioned lantern, she sighed in relief. Next to it were matches. She knew how to light it—thanks to years of watching Little House on the Prairie.
Holding the lantern aloft, she looked about the cave. It was tiny, about six feet by eight, with a stone floor and a roof that seemed to go up to infinity. Against the far wall was an old wooden fruit crate with things inside it. She put the lantern down and sat down by the crate.
Inside the crate were what looked to be the contents of a safe. Inside a plastic bag were two old, mildewed passports of Ray and Alice Erickson, age fifty-five and fifty-six, ownership papers of a forty-eight-foot sailboat, and a last will and testament. Beside the packet of papers was a jewelry box, a big thing made of mahogany, with lots of little drawers and two handles on the side.
Ariel lifted the lid, surprised it wasn’t locked, but then who else could find the place besides Fenny Nezbit? And David, Ariel thought.
The jewelry chest was nearly empty, only two pairs of earrings inside, but the velvet lining showed the imprint of many other pieces of jewelry.
Legends, myths and, ultimately, a murder, all caused by the contents of a woman’s jewelry chest.
Leaning back against the wall, Ariel opened the last will and testament and read it. Ray and Alice Erickson left everything to their son and daughter, to be split equally between them. There was a codicil attached and it told everything. Two people had retired after years of running a successful jewelry store, sold everything they owned, and bought a sailboat. They apologized to their children for their seeming irrationality, but they were sick of working six days a week. They said they planned to take the best of the jewelry with them, as they had one last deal to make in Saudi Arabia.
“They never made it,” Ariel whispered, folding the will and putting it back in the bag. It seemed that they’d wrecked their new sailboat and their treasure had been stolen and gradually sold by Fenny Nezbit.
Ariel wondered if he’d killed Mr. and Mrs. Erickson. “No one will ever know,” she said aloud.
She put the last two pairs of earrings in the bag with the papers and shoved it down the back of her trousers. As she took a step toward the opening, she heard a sound. She leaped the next few feet to the door and looked up. It was a rescue helicopter!
Stepping to the edge, she waved her arms and the pilot saw her. He turned around and another man, the copilot, used a bullhorn to ask, “Are you injured?”
“No!” Ariel yelled and shook her head, then she pointed to her right with both her arms. The injured people were that way.
“We have all the others,” the man said through his horn. “Go to the ground and we’ll pick you up.”
Ariel said, “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes” all the way down. She slipped once, then took a deep breath and went down more slowly.
The helicopter landed and she ran to it, ducking against the wind of the blades. “Are you Ariel Weatherly?” the copilot asked and she yelled, “Yes!”
She scrambled into the backseat. Part of her wanted to cry in relief and part of her felt elated. Exhilarated.
The copilot turned to her and pointed down. On the ground below them was an ambulance. R.J. was standing by a police car, a twin on each side of him, each holding one of his hands. Four big North Carolina policemen were helping two handcuffed people into the cars: Larry Lassiter and Eula Nezbit. David, Sara, and Gideon were missing, but Ariel figured they were being treated for their injuries. She leaned back against the seat and smiled as King’s Isle was left in the background and they headed toward Arundel.