Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(5)

“Yes, of course I remember. I grew up on your stories. I was always thrilled. I repeated many of them over and over to you in the hospital, hoping maybe they’d help you wake up, but you couldn’t. I hoped you would at least hear them and know you weren’t alone.”

“Yes, I heard you, Pumpkin, and I thank you now. As you know, Nate was smart, but like I told you, he wasn’t so smart there at the end. Ah, what a long time ago that was. I don’t think Nate’s here, and I have looked for him.”

She wanted to ask him where he was, but instead said, “Nate Elderby—yes, I remember, he was a big-time lawyer. I heard Grandmother tell one of her friends his second wife was a sexpot who married him for his money, a good thing since the sexpot, Miranda, had the IQ of lettuce. I remember she laughed about him and his wife, but you never said a word. But why are you asking me about him, Grandfather?”

“Did you know Nate never called me Methodist until nearly the very end, right before he went out fishing on Dawg Creek and got himself drowned? I remember what he said the last time I saw him: ‘Methodist, it’s no good any longer, you know it. I have to get out, or it’s over for me.’ Three days later he was stone-cold dead.”

“Why are you telling me this, Grandfather?”

“It’s important, Pumpkin. He failed with the wrong client and knew they would try to get back at him. He wanted to leave the country, wanted to leave as a rich man, very rich. He wanted his share.”

Rebekah said, “His share of what?”

“His share of the treasure from that story I told you, the story we called the Big Take.”

How did Zoltan know about the Big Take? Rebekah waited, but he said nothing more. “You mean that adventure story you kept telling me about the treasure you and Nate managed to steal from the evil sheikh’s caravan because he was going to use it to make war against his people? I remember you changed it, embellished it, every time you told it to me so I wouldn’t forget. Are you saying it’s true, Grandfather? The Big Take really happened?”

“Yes, the gist of it was true. I knew at the time you didn’t believe what I told you was real, only another story to entertain you. But remember how I swore you to secrecy? Of course you do, you’ve kept all my secrets ever since you were a little girl. I wondered if I shouldn’t have told you, you were so young. It was my legacy to you, yours alone, and there was time enough, I thought, to let you know it was true. Ah, the best-laid plans. I remember you talked to me many times about the Big Take story when you visited me in the sanitarium, and I know you had no way to know it was real. You’d joke, say instead of a sheikh’s treasure, maybe it was a cask of ancient Spanish doubloons or maybe trunks of Nazi gold. I couldn’t tell you what it was, that it was all too real, since I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, could only lie there. Ah, but I’d already told you where it was.”

“You mean the poem from the story? That was real, too?”

A long moment of silence, then, “Ah, yes, the poem. Do you remember it?”

“You had me repeat it so often when we were alone. It was one of our special secrets, for only you and me, but you never told me what it means, Grandfather. Is that why you gave me the poem, had me memorize it? You thought someday I’d understand?”

“Yes, it is my gift to you, Rebekah. It’s time for you to have it. It’s been over twenty years, enough time has passed so there will be no questions. And what is the treasure, you’re wondering? No, it’s nothing ancient from a faraway land, but trust me, you won’t be disappointed. When you fetch it, you’ll know why I kept it secret, and how much I love you. But you will need someone to help you, someone you trust, someone who will believe the Big Take is real. Do you really remember the poem? Tell me, Rebekah.”

Rebekah opened her mouth to recite the poem, looked at Zoltan’s face. And stopped. She wanted to believe her grandfather was speaking to her, but she couldn’t. She’d promised her grandfather never to say the poem to another soul. Why would he want her to now that he was dead? Slowly, she shook her head. “No, Grandfather, I won’t, I can’t. If it’s really you, you say the poem to me.”

The air felt chilly suddenly, enough to make gooseflesh rise on Rebekah’s arms.

An old, distant voice said, “Be careful, Pumpkin. I feel a wolf in the fold, close to you. Be careful.”

The fan went still. There was only silence and the dim light of the lamp.

“He’s gone,” Zoltan said, her voice hoarse, but now her own again. “Give me a moment.” She closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I’ll be right back,” Zoltan said, and rose. Rebekah heard her soft tread, then the overhead light came on and flooded the room.

Zoltan walked back to the sofa, leaned down, lightly touched her fingertips to Rebekah’s cheek. “Your grandfather, he was strong this time, Rebekah. He was here, and all that he was in life came through. Why couldn’t he speak directly to you? I don’t know. Amazing you already knew about this Big Take and you remember the poem you memorized as a child.”

“Yes, and as you heard, he never told me what the Big Take was, and still didn’t, for whatever reason. I don’t even know if it’s real.”