A Call to Charms Page 3

  I could move or get stronger locks on my door. But what if he followed me or forced his way in while I was coming or going? A pit-bull would take care of that problem. But what if he shot the poor dog? A gun. I definitely needed a gun. One bigger than his. He had the Dirty Harry kind, I would get the Terminator model.

  I leapt to my feet and ran into the living room. I was ready to arm and defend myself when it dawned on me I had no idea where to buy a gun, and even if I figured out how to purchase one, I didn’t know how to shoot. Besides, hadn’t I read somewhere that nine out of ten times a gun was turned on its owner?

  Okay, what was plan B? I looked around and the envelope lying on the coffee table caught my attention. Could that be my solution? Considering I had no job, —and probably couldn’t get one in a three-hundred-mile radius—a homicidal ex, and nothing to tie me to Chicago, maybe it was.

  Hmm. It sure seemed like a good idea, and it wasn’t as if I had a lot of time to come up with something better. Gil would get out of jail tomorrow, and if I were still around, he’d either kill me or measure me for a dog collar. And my hair didn’t look good in a poodle cut.

  Once he was out on bail, he’d be free until the trial. Furthermore, there was no guarantee he’d be convicted. Mr. Boswell wouldn’t testify, which meant it was my word against his. An unemployed sales clerk versus a well-respected, high-powered attorney.

  I chewed my lip, and then nodded. It was the only solution. I would claim my inheritance and disappear into the wheat fields of Kansas. I hadn’t gotten to finish reading my aunt’s letter, but the attorney’s message had been plain. I was her beneficiary. All I had to do was show up. I just hoped her estate would be enough to get me started in a new life.

  It wasn’t as if I had a job or a family or a life... Why should I turn down the chance at a fresh start? Even if I didn’t know the aunt who had left me her estate, I’d be crazy to refuse any kind of inheritance, especially since I no longer had a way to make a living.

  Yep, I’d throw a few things in a suitcase, hop in my car, and not look back. No, wait a minute. I couldn’t leave right now. To begin with, I wasn’t in good enough shape physically or mentally to start a long drive, and second, my scheme would work better if I tied up some loose ends before I left. For once in my life, I had to curb my impulsivity, think the situation through, and have a comprehensive plan. This was my only chance, and I had to do it right, or I was screwed.

  I glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was already eight o’clock. There wasn’t any time to waste. I wanted to be on the road by six the next morning, well before there was any chance Gil would get out of jail.

  What should I do first? Find a computer. My laptop had fried a few weeks ago, and I hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet, and my cell didn’t have enough data left on the plan to surf the web.

  Normally I would have gone to the library, —no matter what little town or big city my mother had moved us to, the library had always been my place of refuge—but I wasn’t sure if it was open this late. And even if it was, it was too far. Time was at a premium and there was a neighborhood cybercafé only a couple of blocks away.

  Having a strategy spurred me into action. I grabbed my purse, stuffed the packet from my aunt inside, and hurried out of my apartment. It was raining when I reached the street, and, of course, I didn’t have an umbrella.

  Oh well, my clothes were already ruined from being dragged across the floor. I had a moment of regret for my black patent leather Manolo Blahnik pumps as I splashed through the first puddle, but somehow the thought of my imminent death put wrecking my shoes into perspective.

  I was thoroughly drenched by the time I entered the E’s To You café, and the teenage girl behind the register glared at me as I dripped on her floor. Shooting her an apologetic look, I headed to the ladies’ room. There I used their extra roll of toilet paper to dry myself, scraped my sopping wet hair into a ponytail,—wincing as the brush pressed against my tender scalp—and dry-swallowed three Advil from the supply I kept in my purse.

  Now that I was presentable, I returned to the café. There were only two other people in the place—the clerk and a boy in a Blackhawks jersey leaning against the counter flirting with her. Once I’d taken care of the formalities required to use a computer, the lovebirds and I ignored each other.

  I settled into the molded plastic chair in front of the monitor and reached into my purse for the packet from my aunt’s lawyer. When I opened my aunt’s letter it was no longer iridescent, and the ink appeared ordinary and two-dimensional, but the bold handwriting remained the same as the first time I’d looked at it.

  DEAR NIECE,

  IF THIS LETTER IS IN YOUR POSSESSION, TWO EVENTS HAVE COME TO pass. I HAVE DIED, AND YOU ARE AT THE POINT IN YOUR LIFE WHEN YOU HAVE A NEED TO KNOW THE TRUTH ABOUT YOURSELF. NO MATTER WHEN I DIE, YOU WILL NOT READ THIS LETTER UNTIL THE SECOND CONDITION IS MET. I WILL EXPLAIN WHAT I’M ALLOWED TO SHARE. THE REST YOU MUST DISCOVER ON YOUR OWN.

  FIRST, YOUR REAL NAME IS ALEXANDRIA RAVENSCRAFT. I HAVE ENCLOSED YOUR ORIGINAL BIRTH CERTIFICATE. YOU WERE BORN IN ECHO SPRINGS, KANSAS ONE MINUTE AFTER MIDNIGHT ON NOVEMBER 1 TO NATHANIAL AND MIRANDA RAVENSCRAFT. YOUR FATHER WAS MURDERED THE NIGHT BEFORE, AND AS SOON AS SHE WAS STRONG ENOUGH YOUR MOTHER TOOK YOU AND RAN AWAY, CHANGING HER NAME TO MELANIE GREEN AND YOURS TO LEXIE GREEN.

  UNBEKNOWNST TO HER OR YOU, I HAVE KEPT TRACK OF YOU BOTH—HOW I WAS ABLE TO DO THIS IS ONE OF THE THINGS I AM NOT PERMITTED TO CLARIFY. GIVEN YOU ARE READING THIS LETTER, IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO ASSUME YOUR TRUE IDENTITY AND PURPOSE IN LIFE, AND TO COME HOME. TO ASSIST YOU IN THIS, I HAVE PROVIDED YOUR BIRTH CERTIFICATE, A SOCIAL SECURITY CARD, AND A LIFE INSURANCE POLICY IN YOUR REAL NAME.

  DO NOT TELL YOUR MOTHER ABOUT THIS LETTER OR INFORM HER OF YOUR WHEREABOUTS. IT WOULD PUT BOTH OF YOU IN GRAVE DANGER. YOU MAY RELY UPON MY ATTORNEY, ALTHOUGH HE IS SOMEWHAT NAÏVE, AND TRUST YOUR COUSIN, ELISSA MORNINGSTAR. ALL OTHERS IN ECHO SPRINGS YOU MUST JUDGE FOR YOURSELF.

  AS YOU HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN, YOU ARE A SPECIAL PERSON DESTINED TO HOLD MANY LIVES IN YOUR HANDS. I HAVE SENT YOU ONE ADDITIONAL ITEM. IT HAS GREAT POWER, BUT CAN ONLY BE USED ONCE AND ONLY FOR THE true PURPOSE. FOLLOW YOUR INSTINCTS.

  ALL MY LOVE,

  AUNT PANDORA

  After rereading the letter ten...or a hundred times, my mind began to accept its contents. My name was Alexandria Ravenscraft, not Lexie Green, I was born on November first (not the fifth), and most importantly, my father was Nathanial Ravenscraft, not Jack Green, a man I had been struggling to remember my entire life.

  My mother had always told me my dad died in a car accident when I was three, and that he loved me very much. She claimed to have destroyed all the pictures of him when she was crazy with grief. Now I wondered if a man named Jack Green had ever even existed.

  Mom had always practiced what I called flexible facts. I wasn’t sure if she deliberately lied to me or if her reality was just so elastic she thought she was telling me the truth.

  I had to fight the urge to whip out my cell phone, call my mother, and demand some answers. But even if my aunt hadn’t warned me not to share any information with her, I knew I couldn’t tell her my location. She’d be the first person Gil contacted, and he’d have no trouble getting her to spill the beans. He could be incredibly charming, and she was susceptible to handsome, no-good men. Turns out, I was more like her than I had thought.

  There was also the little matter that since Gil was a hotshot defense attorney, I had no doubt he’d be able to get a hold of my mother’s phone records, as well as mine. I didn’t want him hurting her because he thought she knew more than she did.

  As Aunt Pandora instructed, it was better for her if she genuinely had no idea where I had gone. It wasn’t as if she’d be worried if she didn’t hear from me. We were far from close. Heck. I hadn’t seen her in over three years.

  Once things settled down, I’d buy a disposable cell and call her. But for now, I’d let sleeping mothers lie and maintain ra
dio silence.

  Having decided not to telephone Mom, I opened the six-by-nine manila envelope. As my aunt had promised, it contained a birth certificate, social security card, and a small life insurance policy—the kind you can get for babies. I also noted that Alexandria’s, I mean my address on the insurance policy was in Echo Springs. I guessed it was Pandora’s house.

  The last item in the envelope was a flint arrowhead attached to a rawhide string. I hesitated, then slid it over my head. When I slipped it under my blouse, it nestled between my breasts. I was surprised the sharp edge didn’t prick me, but after a moment, I couldn’t feel it and was able to ignore its presence.

  The Advil must have kicked in about then because my head felt much better as I turned to the computer. Thank goodness for the Internet. It didn’t take me long to access the Kansas DMV and find out that the birth certificate and insurance policy would be enough proof of my identity to get a driver’s license in the name Alexandria Ravenscraft. How my aunt had known I would need to change my identity and disappear was the million-dollar question.

  I also found maps to get me from Illinois to Kansas, but none of them showed a town by the name of Echo Springs. Googling Echo Springs didn’t help either, there was no mention of the community anywhere online. I sat stunned for a moment. I was moving to a town so small it wasn’t even on the map. A shudder ran down my spine at the image of me trading in my Chanel suit and Prada purse for overalls and a pitchfork.

  Mentally I slapped myself. If I were going to survive this next phase of my life, I’d have to stop being so superficial and keep focused on the crucial issues. Like, say, staying alive.

  Before I left the café, I asked the clerk if she knew where I could find the nearest pay phone. She had no idea, but for twenty bucks loaned me her cell, telling me I had exactly ten minutes. I moved out of her earshot and dialed my aunt’s lawyer. Mr. Mayer answered the phone on the first ring and seemed to be expecting my call.

  Although I was grateful that he didn’t ask questions or attempt to chat, I found it strange that he acted as if he knew I’d be phoning him and what I’d have to say. Still, with everything else that had happened to me that day, I probably shouldn’t have been rattled by his behavior.

  Shaking my head and focusing on what was important, I asked how to get to Echo Springs. Mr. Mayer told me once I got to Kansas, I was to take Interstate 70 west to U.S. Route 283 south and turn west on State Route 4. From there I was to drive about thirty miles, and just before reaching a city called Buffer, turn right onto an unpaved road with no street sign. I would cross a bridge over the Ricochet River, and my new hometown was about ten miles past that.

  When I inquired as to Echo Spring’s population, he said it hovered at a little over ten thousand, which surprised me. Wouldn’t you think a community of that size would be on the map?

  Before I could ask any more questions, Mr. Mayer hung up, and I knew that ready or not, it was time to return to my apartment. If the police were mistaken, and Gil had already made bail, he could be waiting for me there. If that were the case, I had just wasted my last evening on Earth scouring maps of Kansas, when I could have been chowing down on Chicago’s famous Carson’s ribs or Oberweis ice cream.

  My luck held, and I made it back to my apartment without encountering my rabid ex. Thank goodness that although Gil had broken the thumb lock, the deadbolt still worked. And as soon as I got inside, I turned the key and fastened the chain.

  I also pushed the couch and a bookcase against the door for good measure, but I still couldn’t make myself get into the shower. With scenes from Psycho flashing through my mind, I settled for a sponge bath. But even then, I didn’t get entirely naked.

  Afterward, I put on flannel pajamas and my heaviest bathrobe. Just when I started to warm up, another surge of chills set my teeth clattering. Clasping a mug of hot chocolate, I started making notes of what I would need to accomplish before leaving the next morning. I ended up with two lists. What I wanted to take with me and stuff that had to be stopped or destroyed.

  With the last one in mind, I revved up my shredder. Into it went every scrap of paper in my apartment. Okay, not the roll of toilet paper, paper towels, or cash, but everything else except the contents of my aunt’s packet.

  I alternated shredding and using my cell to stop my mail, shut off all utilities, cancel my lease and pay my bills—which pretty much drained my checking account. I had no investments, retirement funds, or CDs, just a small money market account I’d empty at an ATM on my way out of town.

  With all the clerical business taken care of, I smashed my cellphone. I’d read enough mysteries to know how easily it could be traced.

  Next, I moved on to the problem of what to take with me. Living in a furnished apartment and not being much of a cook, there were few household possessions to worry about, but my wardrobe was a different story.

  There wouldn’t be room in my Camaro for all of it. When I bought the car used for under five thousand dollars, I had thought I had gotten a real bargain. Now I wished I had gone for one of the minivans I used to make fun of as I sped past them.

  I knew it was silly and petty, but I cried as I stood in my closet and saw all the clothes, shoes, and purses I would have to leave behind.

  While I was growing up, my mother had done all our shopping in stores that sold clothes right alongside the produce and kitty litter. Even as a teen, I’d known I’d rather have one really nice outfit from an upscale shop than five cheap ones from Wal-Mart, but I could never convince her of that fact.

  Working at Crystal’s Closet, I got a deep discount, first choice when merchandise went on sale, and the wonderful feeling of never having to wear second-rate clothes again. Since I’m not pencil thin, dressing in well-made, fashionable clothes helps me to feel good about myself, which was why figuring out what to leave behind was such torture. I loved each garment, shoe, and handbag as if they were my children, but I knew I would have to choose.

  Besides having limited car space, I had a bad feeling most of my wardrobe wouldn’t be appropriate for my new hometown. I ended up with three suitcases, a garment bag, and a cosmetic case. I left all but one of my favorite cocktail dresses, guessing there wouldn’t be too many fancy parties in my future. I also left most of my designer suits, to have more room for pants, jeans, sweaters, and tops.

  But the most heart-wrenching possessions to abandon were the shoes. The high-heeled Ann Taylors, pointy-toed Donna Karans, and strappy Stuart Weitzmans seemed to scream out to me when I closed the closet door on them. The designer purses wept more quietly.

  After I put my luggage by the door, I grabbed a pair of scissors and went into the bathroom. It took me a few minutes of rooting under the sink until I found the box of hair color I had purchased a couple of years ago. I had never gotten up the nerve to try it, but now I had no choice. I would see if blondes really had more fun, whether I wanted to or not.

  An hour later, my hair was the color of honey and barely brushed the top of my shoulders. Although I had done the best I could with the cut, I could only hope Echo Springs had a good hair salon.

  After I disposed of the contents of my shredder and the packaging from the hair dye down the trash chute in the hallway, I couldn’t think of anything else that needed doing. Sighing, I opened the bottle of Dom Perignon I had been saving for a special celebration. The end of my old life seemed a worthy occasion.

  Normally, if I downed a whole bottle of champagne, I would have passed out, but not tonight. Questions swirled through my mind. How did my aunt keep track of me? How did she know I would have to change my identity? What did she mean by her statement, I would hold many lives in my hands? When she talked about my need to know the truth about myself, did she mean because of Gil’s attack? But how could she know that would happen? And if she wasn’t referring to my ex, was someone else trying to harm me? And, perhaps the biggest mystery of all, who had murdered my father, and why?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  From Fear to
Eternity

  Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Groggily I hit the snooze button without opening my eyes. My head was pounding, and it took several seconds for yesterday’s events to surface from the depths in which my subconscious had tried to bury them. When I recalled what had happened, my lids flew open, and I winced when the sunlight pouring through my bedroom windows seared my retinas.

  Wait a minute, what was the sun doing out at five a.m.? Why wasn’t it still dark? Moving my head was agony—no doubt, a combination of yesterday’s repeated encounter with the floor and having chugged an entire bottle of champagne—but I turned it enough to peer at the clock radio on my nightstand.

  The digital display read seven-forty-five, my usual wake-up time. Shit! I must have forgotten to reset the alarm. So much for an early start.

  I crept out of bed, downed a couple of Advil, and crawled into the shower, angry with myself for messing up once again. When had I turned into my mother—drinking too much, missing important deadlines, and bumbling through the days?

  Forgoing makeup for the first time in ten years, I donned blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and my old Keds, then peered into the full-length mirror. Dressed like this, with my wet hair and bare face, I looked like a teenager. Too bad I felt like an octogenarian.

  Still, I needed more of a disguise. While packing, I had run across an oversized trench coat that had been part of my Halloween costume last year. The coat, along with a floppy rain hat and pillows belted around my waist, made me resemble Buddha.

  Briefly, I brooded over the perplexing question of why it is almost impossible to appear skinnier than you are, but looking fatter is a snap. Then I shrugged and got to work on the next phase of my escape plan.

  Having experienced an unsettled life with my mother, I had learned early on the art of moving without leaving any trace behind. Of course there was one huge difference this time. Mom and I were usually one step ahead of the bill collectors, not fleeing a homicidal maniac.