Land Sakes (20 page)

“Okay,” she said and moved into high gear. “I'll tell Minnie to warn the staff not to let on we were here.”

So it was settled. Mrs. Winchester asked the maid to pack her things, and I called Percival to tell him to bring the car around.

We left about 10:00 and drove the rest of the night. From Twin Falls Percival said we would be crossing the Snake River Valley, but it was too dark to see anything. I tried to sleep but couldn't because Mrs. Winchester was out like a light and snoring to beat the band. We were traveling a mountain road with woods on either side, and there was construction along the way, but we were making good time.

It was still dark when we stopped for breakfast in Pendleton, Oregon. I made a beeline to the ladies' room, and Mrs. Winchester was right behind me. It was so early that we were the only customers, and Mrs. Winchester agreed that we should eat inside.

In less than an hour we were back on the road. With the coming of daylight, I could see we were traveling through hilly country with wheat farms and cattle.

Farther along, I saw a sign—Yakima Valley. That's where they grow all them fruits and vegetables we pay two prices for. Well, it was all beautiful country, but I couldn't enjoy looking, because the caffeine in that coffee had Mrs. Winchester wide awake and talking up a breeze.

“Esmeralda, how will we know if those people are following us?”

“We probably won't know.”

“Aren't you excited?” she asked.

“Excited? No. If them following us took the safe, they probably thought your jewelry was in it. Since I'm the one carrying the jewels, I'm the one they'll hit over the head.”

“Oh, Esmeralda, don't let them hit you over the head. Just hand the jewelry over to them.”

“Don't let them? Mrs. Winchester, they won't be asking my permission to hit me over the head!”

She didn't have an answer for that, so we rode along for some time, not saying anything more about it.

When she did say something, it was on another subject. “I keep thinking about that song those people sang, ‘Dem Bones.' How does it go?”

“It's easy. You start at the bottom: The foot bone connected to the leg bone; the leg bone connected to the knee bone...” I had to sing it to remember the words, and not wanting to blast her eardrums, I kept down my volume. I got to the chorus, and she joined in. Her voice was not a lot better than mine. “Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk aroun'; Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk aroun'—”

We wound up laughing our heads off.

“Let's do it again,” she said, so we started at the top and sang down from the neck bone to the foot bone, then really belted out the chorus. Percival kept looking in his rearview mirror to see what was going on. We were having the time of our lives.

Mrs. Winchester laughed. “Once we get to the Wedge
wood in Vancouver, maybe they'll ask us to sing in the Bacchus Lounge.”

“Only if we can pass the hat,” I said, and we laughed some more.

“We're supposed to reach Vancouver late this afternoon. The Wedgewood is one of my favorite hotels,” she said. “They have good security, but I suppose criminals could find us.”

She actually sounded a little wishful, like she hoped they would find us. I tell you, Mrs. Winchester was loony, all right, and didn't have an ounce of common sense, but I was beginning to understand her. I had come to believe that she was one woman who could care less about money. She was out for excitement, and you couldn't much blame her for that, seeing as how she didn't have much of a life.

As for me, I'd had all the excitement I needed for one lifetime. In my book, what she was calling
excitement
might very well turn out to be life-threatening danger, and it could happen tonight, tomorrow, or whenever we least expected it.

20

To Mrs. Winchester's delight, we arrived at the Wedgewood in time for the cocktail hour. I was pooped, I tell you, and could have hit the hay right then. Percival probably felt the same way.

The doorman who greeted us was wearing a cutaway coat and a short stovepipe hat, which made him look like a character in one of them TV plays about England the way it used to be. So this was Canada. Here I was in a foreign country when, until this trip, I had never been outside of North and South Carolina. Never in my wildest dreams had I ever thought I would travel so far from Live Oaks.

Mrs. Winchester headed straight for the bar, but I took my time gawking at the lobby. It was so classy that I would not have been surprised to see Queen Elizabeth holding court in there. All the furniture was antiques straight out of some palace, chandeliers of cut glass, oil paintings, and big flowered carpets such as a queen
might have. Whoever furnished that place sure didn't spare the shekels.

Finally, I moseyed on in the lounge and found Mrs. Winchester guzzling her martini. I ordered a ginger ale to keep her company, and we talked a bit about how grand everything was. Then I saw hanging on the wall of this Bacchus Lounge a canvas of a young man wearing a crown of vine leaves and not much else and holding a bunch of grapes and a glass of wine. Mrs. Winchester said he was Bacchus, the god of wine and revelry. Given my druthers, I'd sooner see a naked woman's picture hanging up there—the kind they had in them Wild West saloons—than a Greek god people worshiped.

While Mrs. Winchester was busy getting high, I sipped my ginger ale and looked around at all the dark wood in there. By no means was it fake, not pressed sawdust. No telling how many trees they chopped down to panel that watering hole. Would you believe, they covered the chairs and couches in there with red velvet! Drunks spill drinks, throw up, burn cigarette holes. I guess when you've got money to burn you don't have to be practical. Naugahyde would have been my choice.

It smelled good in there. Maybe they sprayed sweet-smelling stuff or maybe it was fragrance from all those big bouquets of mixed flowers that were everywhere. Now, if I was rich that is one thing I would have—fresh flowers all over the house.

Between drinks, Mrs. Winchester let me in on her favorite toast. “One martini and I am able; two martinis at the most; three martinis I am under the table; and four martinis I'm kissing my host.”

Well, if you ask me, she could hold three, maybe even four martinis—it was the fifth and sixth that got her really looped.

It was some time before Mrs. Winchester had her fill, so she was not too steady on her feet as we went up to the penthouse to freshen up.

It amazed me how each of these fancy hotels was so different. The Wedgewood put me in mind of England or Greece—not America, like Opryland did. A fire was burning in the fireplace, making the living room nice and cozy. Big doors opened onto a terrace, so I walked out there and had a great view of the city. I took a good look-see before I came back inside.

There were four rooms in the suite. In the bedroom I checked out the safety deposit box and debated about putting the jewelry in it when we went to supper. There was a king-size bed in there and a studio couch in another room.

Mrs. Winchester was checking out the penthouse bar, and I had it on the tip of my tongue to tell her to lay off the booze until supper, but I thought better of it. Instead I just shook my head at her. She got my drift and muttered, “Okay.”

I went in one of the two bathrooms to take a bath and found that the tub had them jets that shoot water on you. Decided I'd try it, and, land sakes, was that ever nice! I could have stayed in there hours on end.

After I got dressed, I went in to see if Mrs. Winchester was ready to go downstairs. She was zonked out on her
bed, snoring like a lumberjack. “Mrs. Winchester, it's time to eat.”

Hardly rousing, she mumbled, “You go on,” and rolled over.

I waited around a little while, thinking she might wake up and change her mind, but she didn't, so I went on down to the restaurant.

Percival was in there, sitting alone at a table. When he saw me come in by myself, he stood up and motioned for me to join him. The waiter led the way and seated me.

“Mrs. Win
chus
ter not coming down?”

“I guess not. I left her sleeping.”

“Good. It'll give us a chance to talk.”

I was hungry, and Percival looked like he was about to drop, so I encouraged him to order a four-course meal. I didn't know if I could handle four courses, but to keep him company I ordered all four too. I chose an appetizer of crab, ginger, and cilantro spring roll, which had cucumber and a few other things. Percival said we should order tomato soup and goat cheese for the second course, and for the third, I picked the beef tenderloin.

While we waited, we started in on the crusty brown bread served right out of the oven with creamy butter.

Percival sipped his wine. “Miss E., what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About our being followed. Do you think we've outfoxed them?”

“It's hard to say. I hope so. At least when we get on that boat they can't follow us.”

He frowned. “I don't know about that. If they found
out early on that Mrs. Win
chus
ter was going on a cruise, they might have booked passage too.”

The waiter served our appetizers, and I asked Percival what he thought they wanted.

“Money. It's all about money. Maybe the jewels, maybe they want to take Mrs. Win
chus
ter hostage for ransom.”

“Percival,” I said, “you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but do you think it's possible that Mr. Winchester has hired somebody to kill his wife?”

He thought about that a long time before answering. “I don't know. You hear a lot about that kind of thing these days. I'm reading a book now about unsolved homicides, and most of them are cases of spouse murders.”

“I sure hope that's not the case here. I'm praying nothing happens. But Percival, I would feel better if you were going on the cruise with us.”

He smiled. “I'm too much of a coward to be of any help. No, I won't be going with you. I have to stay here with Desi and Lucy and the Rolls.”

The waiter brought our soup. Percival looked too tired to eat.

“Do you ever get tired playing this role of chauffeur?” I asked him.

“Tired? Dead is more like it.” He nibbled the cheese. “I have no more life than Mrs. Win
chus
ter has. The only thing I have outside of driving the car and tending the dogs is reading my books.”

“Why do you keep on doing this, then?”

He was reluctant to answer. “The pay is good. I guess a lot of people would think the perks are great. As for
myself, sharing Mrs. Win
chus
ter's luxurious lifestyle is not worth the price I pay. No matter how prestigious the job may seem, I'm still a servant at her beck and call.”

As the waiter filled Percival's wine glass then removed our dishes, I looked across the table and tried to think of something that might help Percival. “After all these years—it's nearly ten years, isn't it?” He nodded. “Well, after all these years, it would seem to me that the reasons you had for changing your name and everything are no longer good reasons. You've established yourself as a good citizen. Couldn't you leave, take back your rightful name, and live a better life?”