The Rose Ransom (Girls Wearing Black: Book Three) (34 page)

God, who wants to live
forever if it’s like that
, Jill thought.

At school, the discovery of the
second clue provided a jolt of energy to the Rose Ransom contest. Suddenly it
was interesting again. Maybe it could be solved after all.

Tributes to kings, both born
and elected
…

Those first lines immediately
sent the class on a race to the classic sites.

“Our presidents are like kings,”
went the argument. “They weren’t born kings. They were elected.”

The Washington Monument, the
Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, presidential libraries—the Thorndike senior
class hit all the great tributes to American royalty in and around DC, and when
they came up empty, they broadened their search.

Parker Blake got a group excited
about presidential tombs. “They join their inspirations in dust,” he said.
“It’s clearly a reference to death. The answer is a tomb. Probably the tomb of
a famous president.”

They hit Lincoln’s Tomb, Grant’s
Tomb, Monticello, and Arlington National. To encourage sharing and
collaboration, Jill created a web page where people could track who visited
which tomb, and in a matter of weeks, every presidential burial site had been
touched, without any sign of another clue.

The first lines of the clue
exhausted, students turned to the last line.
657 claims to the eternal
.

Every house and building in the
greater DC area with 657 in the address was examined. When all the addresses
were exhausted, students turned to history, and everyone became experts on the
events of the year 657. The Jenson family even hired a medieval scholar to come
to Thorndike and consult with students about emperors, kings, and popes of that
age.

They came up empty. And then someone
had the idea that it might have something to do with phone numbers and everyone
went down that rabbit hole.

“We’re all going to L.A.
tomorrow, have you got your ticket yet?” Mattie said.

“L.A.? Why are you going there?”

“The 657 area code! It’s Los
Angeles! Can you believe it?”

“I….well, it isn’t typical for a
Rose Ransom clue to be so far away, but--”

“There’s nothing in the rules
that says it can’t be!” Mattie squealed, “and Jenny’s family has a house in
Beverly Hills! It’s gonna be awesome!”

Jill politely declined the
invite, giving an excuse that she would continue her own research into the clue
at home. In truth, she didn’t want to leave town out of fear that she might
miss Tarin if he ever decided to show his face again.

That night, her father, who had
been in Seattle on business, returned home for the first time in weeks. Twenty
minutes after he was in the door, Jill was regretting that she hadn’t gone to
L.A. with her friends.

“You know what’s happening here,
don’t you Jill?” he muttered. “It’s clear as crystal to me what’s going on.
I’ve been on the phone with plenty of other parents. None of us can remember a
Rose Ransom with clues that were this hard.”

He had the smell of airplane
travel still on him, peanuts and stale air and Bloody Mary mix.

“I don’t want to talk about
this, Dad.”

“You need to sit your ass down
and listen to me,” Walter snapped. “I had my reservations about this Nicky
Bloom thing, but I trusted that you knew what you were doing. Now I think I’ve
let it go too far. If the immortals are angry at Nicky Bloom, you know who
they’re coming for next, don’t you?”

“The immortals aren’t angry at
Nicky Bloom,” Jill said, feeling depressed as she said the words. Her father
was right, of course. But what could she say to him?
Yes, Dad, Nicky was
mixed up in an attempt to kill Melissa Mayhew and Renata found out. Yes, Dad,
they kidnapped her so they could kill her, and they already came looking for
me. Bernadette Paiz was here, in this house, but you don’t remember it because
you’re a weak minded fool who had his memory erased. Lucky for all of us I was
able to fend her off.

Yes, Dad, I know everything
about Mom, about what you did, and some day soon I’m getting her out of here
and leaving you to deal with the aftermath.

She felt her blood pressure
rising. Her father had been absent so long Jill had almost forgotten how much
she hated him. Looking at his face, at the sour milk color of his skin, at the
nasty patches of stubble growing in because he hadn’t shaved today, smelling
the vodka and tomato juice on his breath, hearing his whiny, impotent voice—

“I can’t do this right now,”
Jill said. “I’ll be in my room.”

She was headed for the stairs
when he cut her off.

“Jill Wentworth, I am done with
this defiance! I don’t know what’s gotten into you this year but I have had
enough! You hear me!”

He looked like he might hit her.
Go on Dad, try it
, she thought.
You drunk, flimsy, squishy excuse for
a man. One swipe at me so I have a reason to take you out. One swipe.

Perhaps taken aback by the venom
in his daughter’s gaze, Walter stepped away.

“I’m only going to ask you one
more time,” he said, quietly. “Go sit on the couch. You and I need to talk
about who you are supporting for Coronation.”

“Is that an order, Dad?”

“You bet your ass it’s an
order.”

A flurry of responses spun in
her mind.

You don’t get to order me
around. I’ve been guiding you like a puppet for three years now. I am not my
mother. I am not your slave!

She said nothing. The moment was
too hot.

Calm down, Jill. He isn’t
worth the effort. You need to hold it together for just a little bit longer.

Long enough for Tarin to show up
again so they could talk about the second clue. Long enough to overhear Renata
say something worth hearing.

Long enough to figure out the
command that is holding your mother hostage.

And then, a thought occurred to
her that was so late in coming she was embarrassed at her own stupidity.

Does
he
know the command?

Jill had looked for the command
that enslaved her mother in giant databases, on paper records, on voicemails
and faxes and emails. Her mind had been so focused on the idea of an official
record of the command that she had never considered that Walter might have an
unofficial record in his mind.

He might know the words that
could set his wife free.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go sit
on the couch. We can talk about Coronation. But for the love of God, if we’re
gonna do this, let’s do it over drinks.”

It was as if she said the magic
word. Walter’s whole face brightened. His body relaxed.

“I wouldn’t do it any other
way,” he said.

Walter ambled to the bar with a
practiced motion, but Jill beat him to it.

“Let me make the drinks,” she
said.

“Oh, I don’t know about--”

“I’ve been living with you long
enough to know exactly what you like,” Jill said, already grabbing the martini
shaker and dropping ice cubes inside. “Vodka martini, dry vermouth, twist of
lime.”

“Yes, but there’s an art to it,
you see. You’ve got to get just the right--”

Jill was already pouring vodka
into the shaker.

“Okay, but, yes well, I suppose
that looks good,” Walter said. “Now make sure you don’t go too heavy on the--”

Jill splashed some vermouth into
the mix and closed the lid.

“Yes, that’ll be a bit dry,
but...”

Jill handed him the shaker,
saying, “Mix it how you like it.”

A big smile came over Walter’s
face. “Well, I’m glad to see they’re still teaching the important skills at
Thorndike. You’ll never get anywhere in life if you can’t make a good martini.”

Walter shook his drink and
poured it into a glass.

“And what about you?” he said.
“The same?”

“No, Dad. I prefer gin.”

Walter clapped his hands
together once. “Then I have a treat for you!” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

As Jill expected he would,
Walter went into the parlor to open the case where he kept his best gin locked
up. As soon as he was gone, Jill grabbed a water bottle and emptied it into the
martini shaker.

“Here it is! You’re gonna love
this!” Walter said as he bumbled back to the bar. He was holding a half-empty
bottle of gin with a picture of a Viking on the label. “Got this in Norway,” he
said. “It’s surprisingly sweet. This is gin for a sophisticated woman, such as
yourself.”

He handed the bottle to Jill as
if he were giving her a trophy.

“Thanks Dad,” she said, and
poured some into the shaker.

“Now, now, don’t be shy,” Walter
said. “You’re a Wentworth, after all.”

Jill tilted the bottle, filling
the rest of the shaker with gin.

“Vermouth?” Walter said.

Jill shook her head and closed
the top.

“That’s my girl!” said Walter,
patting her on the back.

A quick shake, and Jill poured
herself an exceptionally watered-down gin martini.

“I know it’s hard for you. A
girl with your smarts. And I remember what it was like to be young,” Walter
said.

They were in the parlor, Jill on
the couch, Walter in his chair. It only took a few minutes for Walter to down
half his martini. How many martinis would it take before he was ready to have
an honest talk about his wife?

“It’s a cruel trick that nature
plays on us,” Walter continued. “When you’re seventeen you’re as strong and as
vibrant as you’ll ever be. Your mind is sharp. So much sharper than it is when
you’re my age.”

Walter spoke slowly. His eyes
were glazing over.

“But you’re not so smart that
you can just go out on your own, buck tradition, and back whoever the hell you
want in the Coronation contest! Coronation is serious business. People dedicate
their whole lives to it. Galen Renwick has been planning on this for his
daughter for as long as I can remember.”

“Nicky Bloom is winning, Dad.
She’s ahead by more than five million dollars.”

“But where is she now? Five
million dollars ahead and hidden at the end of the hardest Rose Ransom anyone
can remember!”

Jill took a sip of her water and
gin concoction. Seeing his daughter drink gin from his private stash
immediately calmed Walter down. “How is it?” he asked.

“It’s really good,” Jill said.
“I appreciate you sharing it with me.”

“Here, a toast,” Walter said,
raising his martini glass. “To recognizing when we’ve fucked up and owning our
mistakes.”

Jill looked at her father. He
was right on the line. Part of him was here, still lucid and aware of what was
going on. But after a couple Bloody Mary’s on the plane and half a glass of
vodka, another part of him was starting to slip away.

“I can drink to that,” Jill
said.

They clinked their glasses
together. Jill raised hers slowly to her lips. There was so little gin and so
much water she figured she could chug it down and not feel anything. But she
took a small sip, careful to act how she would if the glass was full of hard
liquor.

Walter, on the other hand,
tossed the rest of his martini back in two big gulps.

“Can I get you another?” Jill
said.

“Yes, please!”

Jill kept Walter talking and the
martinis flowing. By nine o’clock, he had downed four of them. Jill led him on
a circular tour of all things Coronation. They talked about Kim. They talked
about Nicky. They talked about the first two clues. They talked about Kim
again.

And in between, at every moment
when their chat might have become contentious, Jill moved the conversation back
to the liquor.

Oh wow, Dad, this gin is the
best I’ve ever had.

Would you like a different
vodka this time?

Seriously Dad, it’s a sin to
enjoy a drink this much.

That was all it took. Walter
couldn’t keep up. When the clock struck ten, he was too drunk to remember what
they were talking about. All he knew was that he was happy.

“It’s so good to talk like
this,” he said. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. You and me, Jill. We
don’t have to be enemies.”

“So we’re good now, right?” Jill
said.

“You tell me,” said Walter, his
speech slurring together.

“I feel good. This was a nice
talk.”

Walter smiled. “Come here,
Babyface,” he said, using a pet name Jill hadn’t heard since she was in second
grade.

In a moment that made her equal
parts sad and repulsed, Jill went over to her father and let him give her a
hug.

“We should be like this every
night,” Walter said. “When you and me are on the same…I mean, you and I. You
and me? Us?”

“I understand what you’re
saying, Dad.”

“It’s magical,” he said,
sounding like he was choking up a little. “Magical.”

Now or never, Jill.

“Dad, I need to ask you
something.”

“Yes, anything,” Walter
whispered. There was no mistaking it. Jill’s father was so moved by the moment
he was beginning to cry.

“It’s about Mom,” Jill said. “Do
you think she’s happy?”

Walter wiped tears from his
cheeks, then he sat still for a minute.

“Dad?”

Walter reached for his empty
glass and held it up for Jill. “One more,” he slurred.

Jill took the glass. “Let’s talk
about Mom first. Don’t you worry that all she ever does is sit in her room and
work? Don’t you want more for your wife?”

“Your mother,” Walter said, his
head tipping sideways, “is living the life she’s meant to live.”

He closed his eyes.

“Dad?”

His chin fell to his chest.

“Dammit,” Jill whispered. She
touched him on the shoulder. “Dad, wake up.”

Walter’s head circled up and his
eyes popped open. “Your mother doesn’t want to be happy,” he blurted out.