Letters in Time, Reiss Susan [read me a book TXT] 📗

desk. I couldn't let her see his letters, especially the last one. She'd know about the Lone Oak treasure. I didn’t want to look up to that cubbyhole. If I did, she would go right to it.

“All right then, give me the notes that you made today at the Maryland Room and I’ll stop going through your things,” she demanded with a snarly attitude that she had kept hidden until now.

“My notes from the library?”

“Yeah, the ones you made today. The ones you wouldn’t let me see. I know you found something. I know you found the key to the buried treasure.”

Treasure! I was right. That's what this was all about. I had to get this girl out of the house. I wasn't strong enough to fight her off. I needed the police. My brain kicked into overdrive. If I lied to her, she'd know. I remembered that the best lie was based on truth. I turned to look at her, my eyes boring into her. I made my voice as stern as I could.

“Stephani, what I found wasn’t important—”

“Don’t you lie to me.” She glared. “I saw you.”

I took a quick breath and began again. “You don’t know anything. The information I found today was about plantation life. TJ took me for a walk one day to his family cemetery. I was surprised that I shared a name with many of his female ancestors. I know Emma is—”

“Stop stalling. Spit it out. What did you find?”

"I learned about life on the plantation here for those women. How hard they worked, slaughtering pigs, smoking meats, making clothing for everyone, including the slaves. No wonder they all died young."

Her eyes narrowed. She took a deep breath and started to pace. She was weighing the truth of what I said. I hoped I’d passed the test. “The notes wouldn’t do you any good. You don’t have your glasses.”

She let out a shrill cackle like witches are supposed to do. "You are so gullible. I don't need glasses. I can see just fine."

“Then why do you wear them?”

“To make me look studious,” she sneered. “People take me seriously when I wear them.” She paced back and forth then stopped in front of me. "I don't know if you're telling the truth or not. I don't need those notes. I only need you. You're going to show me where that treasure is buried." She slipped her hand around the upper part of my left arm and squeezed.

Did the detective get it all wrong? Is Stephani the real treasure hunter? If her grasp of my arm was any indication, she could easily swing a shovel and kill somebody.

I had to free myself. I asked Stephani a ridiculous question about having dinner to distract her while I reached behind me for something to use to defend myself. My fingers found Uncle Jack's heavy metal stapler.

I closed my hand around it. I raised my hand to swing the stapler with all my might. She seized my wrist and drove it down on the corner of the desk. My fingers were shocked straight and I dropped the stapler. It clattered to the floor. Pain shot up my arm.

"Okay, no more." I said, sucking in air. "I'll do what you want."

Chapter Forty

“It is advisable to keep copies of all important letters, as a protection against possible misrepresentation, fraud, or malice.”

How to Write Letters

by Professor J. Willis Westlake, 1883

We stood there as if suspended in time: Her grip on my arm tightening. My body in her control. My breaths coming in shallow gulps. It was crushing to face the truth of how weak I was. The look of triumph on her face sickened me. Her lips stretched into a smirk that made me look away in disgust.

“Look at me!” She jerked my body hard. “Look at me, I said!”

I turned my head as she commanded and her scornful smile broadened. “That’s better.” In a singsong sweet voice, she said, “If you do everything I tell you, you won’t get hurt. That means, don’t even think about being brave or doing something silly.” She shrugged. “You won’t win. You’re a cripple.”

I wanted more than anything to slap that smug look off her face. But I knew she was right. The only one who could get hurt would be me. I'd have to wait for my chance… and take it.

She must have sensed my defiance and leaned closer. The smell of garlic and crab went up my nose. My stomach turned over. "If you try something, I can't be responsible for what might happen to you," she said with menace. “It wouldn’t be my fault if you fell and broke your other leg.”

She brought her face so close to mine that I could feel puffs of the air and spittle on my skin as she spoke each word. “That’s your worst fear, isn’t it? No more running, dancing, and all that stuff you used to do. And this time, it would be your fault.” She waited for a reaction, one that she could revel in.

I wasn't going to let her see how her words had struck at my core. Instead, I tried to look contrite and dropped my eyes so she couldn't see them burning with hatred. Hatred, born of weakness and fear.

That sickening sweet voice spoke again. "Now, you're going to find the treasure for me. After that, we'll see what happens. Now, move!" She jerked my arm. I almost fell. "You're pathetic," she sneered as