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  Keeper of the Key

  ***

  Barbara Christopher

  Was she going to shoot him?

  “Your flowers look nice,” he muttered, cautiously eyeing

  the tube she held.

  She shook this new cylinder a couple of times, then moved

  her thumb over a small rippled piece on the side. A wide, white

  river shot from the end.

  Caleb jerked back, but not fast enough. The streak caught

  him on the thigh then settled into a pale gold puddle on the

  floor. He swiped his hand over the area of his thigh that had

  been nipped. No pain, and no visible damage, even though the

  gun-like object put out a flame-like glow.

  With another push of the button, the woman doused the

  beam and glanced out the window. “Darn, the shed’s locked.

  You take the light, and I’ll get the keys.”

  She extended the tube, but he didn’t take it.

  “Look, if you don’t want to do the work, why don’t you

  just leave?” She shoved past him and out the door without once

  pulling out her other weapon. The silver tube still protruded

  from her front pocket, and she held the red and yellow one at

  her side in a tight-fisted, angry grip.

  “Miss Berclair?”

  “What?” she yelled as she whirled around to face him.

  He stepped off the porch and held out his hand for the

  tube, realizing that she’d called it a light. It must be some type

  of torch. “I’m supposed to take that thing, and you’re supposed

  to get the key.”

  She slapped the light against his palm. “I don’t have time

  for games, Mr. Harrison.”

  “I’m not playing games, Miss Berclair. I wish I were. This

  morning when I woke up, I left Raleigh, but I never expected

  to go so far.”

  “And just how far did you travel? All of five miles?”

  “And more than a hundred and sixty years,” he whispered

  to himself.

  I would like to dedicate this book to the members of River

  City Romance Writers, Deb Dixon, Carolyn McSparren, and

  my faithful critique partners, without whom I would have quit

  long ago. I would also like to give special thanks to my editor,

  Linda Kichline, for everything she has done for me.

  Keeper of the Key

  ***

  Barbara Christopher

  One

  Atlantis orichalc is a metal with the brilliance of the summer

  sun. When it’s pure as new fallen snow it has the power to

  change the past and form a better future. But beware, for the

  person whose greed outweighs the needs of others will find

  this precious metal of Atlantis to be deadly.

  ***

  Raleigh, Tennessee

  June 18 6

  When would it end?

  Caleb Harrison shoved the dresser forward in the wagon

  bed. He didn’t like responsibility. Didn’t want it. So why did

  he always end up giving his word? Why couldn’t people stay

  out of his life? No matter what he did, or what path he traveled,

  obligations challenged his resolve to stay a loner.

  He would always be accountable to the nuns who had raised

  him, yet he had had no problem leaving the orphanage. Now

  an obligation struck between him and his one true friend meant

  giving up his solitary life. Not for just a day, either. This promise

  would last a lifetime.

  As Luke Berclair’s godfather, Caleb never thought the boy’s

  survival would depend upon his becoming the child’s father.

  Caleb removed his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

  His horse jerked against his harness and reared his head,

  signaling that they weren’t alone. The odor that drifted on the

  breeze let him know that William Jacobs stood on the other

  side of the wagon.

  “What is it, Jacobs?”

  “Heard ya needed help. Ain’t no one else willin’, but I’m

  not sure I’m up’ta the work.”

  Caleb dusted his hat against his leg and let his gaze meet

  the drunk’s. William Jacobs scratched his scraggly beard with

  a grimy hand and squinted against the afternoon sun.

  “The Widow Berclair wants this dresser delivered today.”

  Caleb replaced his hat, turned his back on the man and checked

  the ropes that held the dresser in place. “Job’s yours if you

  want it.”

  As he waited for the man’s answer, Caleb watched the rain

  clouds gathering in the distance. He didn’t particularly like the

  idea of Jacobs riding to Berclair Manor with him. Eight feet of

  wagon didn’t lessen the odor of stale liquor, and the stench of

  dirty body, shoulder to shoulder, would be sickening. But he

  was right. Only a drunk in need of a drink would ride shotgun

  with a suspected murderer.

  He had a dresser to deliver. He always kept his promises.

  Bad weather or not, with the drunk’s help or without it, Rebecca

  would have her dresser today. And if they couldn’t find another

  way to save Luke, he and Rebecca would have a marriage to

  plan.

  “I don’t have time to waste, Jacobs. If we don’t move out

  soon, your return trip will be in the rain.” Caleb gathered up

  his rope and vaulted into the back of the wagon. “You coming,

  or not?”

  “What kinda pay ya offerin’?”

  He should have known the drunk would want his money

  up front. Caleb slung the rope over his shoulder and tugged a

  pouch out of his saddlebags. He removed a coin and flipped it

  toward Jacobs. The drunk snatched the money out of the air

  with more dexterity than Caleb believed possible.

  “I’d rather have that fancy neck piece yore wearing. It’d

  buy me a lot more whiskey than this here coin.”

  “You’ve got the dollar. That’s more than enough pay. Get

  your horse and tie him to the back of the wagon.” As he spoke

  Caleb caught the medallion’s chain, tucked it inside his shirt

  and covered the medal with his palm. A tingle radiated from

  the coin.

  A warning.

  Subtle, yet there. It felt the same as when his mother had

  given him his first lesson at the age of five. She had closed his

  fingers over the orichalc medallion and whispered, When the

  coin’s vibration is sharp, there is danger close. Remember

  this, my son. Someday it will save your life.

  Caleb wrapped the rope around the dresser and jerked it

  tight. The coin hadn’t saved hers. She’d lost her medallion the

  night she’d been murdered. Murdered by a man she’d thought

  was her friend. He’d forgotten the lesson until he’d seen

  Rebecca Berclair wearing an identical medallion bearing the

  symbols of good and evil—identical, yet different. Rebecca’s

  coin lacked the deep scratch that had marred the beauty of his

  mother’s.

  Now he wore the medall
ion. Rebecca wanted him to

  oversee it until Luke—her son, his godson—came of age. With

  the medallion came a promise. He would guard it as his mother

  had hers, to death if necessary.

  The Atlantis orichalc glowed brighter than fire. His mother

  told him it had powers yet to be tested and promised its keeper

  a life worth living.

  Rebecca and her late husband, Saul, had questioned him

  relentlessly about his past. Deep down he’d known the

  questions were a test, but he hadn’t known why, not until Saul’s

  death.

  At the funeral Rebecca spoke of far away places, secret

  time locks and passages that only a true survivor of Atlantis

  could travel through. She had handed him the medallion as

  they stood over Saul’s grave. Caleb, you have proved you are

  pure in heart. A true Atlantean.

  Pure?

  Although he hadn’t lied about his past, he hadn’t told her

  or Saul everything.

  Rebecca didn’t know the secrets he kept hidden. The time

  hadn’t been right for divulging them. Not until now.

  Once he delivered the dresser they would talk about his

  past and see if she still thought him worthy to wear the

  medallion…worthy to bear the responsibility of Luke’s future.

  A shiver rippled down Caleb’s spine. Another warning.

  He caught the chain and slipped it over his head. For a moment

  he gazed at the medallion.

  Hide it.

  A shiver of urgency followed the thought. He brushed his

  knuckles over the elaborate initials on the dresser then twisted

  the left letter until the “B” lay on its back. While holding the

  sleeping “B” in place, he turned the other knob in the opposite

  direction. He heard the latch click into place, curled his fingers

  over the raised letters and eased the front panel down.

  If he died on the trail Rebecca would know where to look

  for the coin.

  Still clutching the coin in one hand, Caleb brought the

  deerskin pouch to his lips, caught the drawstring between his

  teeth and worked it open. He added the medallion to the other

  coins, closed the pouch, and shoved it inside the secret

  compartment.

  He felt his lips twitch into a smile. Rebecca hoarded her

  gold and she didn’t trust banks, so at her request every piece

  he made had a secret storage area. Even the bed she slept on.

  And not just the usual bedpost-bank either. Oh, no. She’d

  wanted full-fledged secret compartments.

  Caleb worked the front panel back in place, sealed it and

  draped the quilt over the mirror.

  Jacobs pulled himself into the back of the wagon and

  squeezed in between the dresser and sideboard just as Caleb

  moved to the front to take his place. He snapped the reins and

  clucked the gelding into motion.

  ***

  Memphis, Tennessee, Raleigh area

  Present Day

  Becci rocked back on her heels and rolled her eyes toward

  the ceiling. Why couldn’t her aunt understand? They didn’t

  have a choice any longer. She’d spent the last of her savings,

  and it hadn’t saved the mansion.

  “Mary Rebecca Berclair, don’t you roll those eyes at me.

  Just sit down at this table and listen. And please, child, listen

  with an open mind.”

  “There...is...no...gold.” Becci Berclair pounded her fist

  against her thigh to accentuate each word.

  “Eat your dinner and stop fussing, dear. Besides, I told

  you—it’s not gold, it’s orichalc.” Lilly ran her finger over the

  fading flowery writing in the journal and read, “‘Eli has given

  us one of the medallions. We are saved. The beautiful golden,

  orichalc coin holds powers beyond belief.’ That’s what it says

  right here. The coin helped Mary Rebecca, and it will help us.”

  “I don’t care if we find a dozen books claiming there are a

  dozen coins of gold or orichalc. Whatever it’s called, there is

  nothing powerful and nothing of value in this house.”

  Aunt Lilly just wouldn’t give up. Becci sighed. She didn’t

  blame her. For the briefest moment she, too, had hoped the old

  journals they’d found would unlock the secret to the riddle of

  Berclair Manor.

  She immediately recalled the riddle’s words. Gold glows

  bright in the house of Berclair. Fortune shines on the true of

  heart, and love strengthens the powers of The Coins of Good

  and Evil.

  Legend said The Coins of Good and Evil were hidden in

  the house. Hidden? Sure. Her great grandfather, Matthew

  Berclair, had spent his entire life trying to decipher the legend.

  He’d even pointed out that there had to be more than one coin

  since the riddle spoke in plural. He’d passed the only thing of

  value he owned, the house, to his only living relative, his

  grandson, her father. Her father had mortgaged the place to the

  chimney top, not because he was looking for the Berclair

  fortune. Oh, no. Every spare cent he had went for his weekly

  poker game and his bottle of booze.

  “The journal talks about hiding places. I know we’ll find

  them. I just know we will.”

  Becci closed her eyes and eased into her chair. He aunt

  had fixed the meal and she’d best not waste it.

  Nothing really mattered any more. Not her plans for the

  nursery, not her job as an aide in the prenatal unit, not even the

  house. Besides, she’d bet her life savings, if she hadn’t already

  spent it, that the original Mary Rebecca had squandered every

  golden cent.

  Becci tossed her long braid over her shoulder. She and

  Aunt Lilly had been through this over and over since they

  inherited Berclair Manor.

  Once she sold the place, maybe her life would settle and

  she could go on about her business. After all, she had a wedding

  to plan and no time to waste. “Aunt Lilly, we’ve done everything

  but tear down the walls looking for that stupid treasure, and I

  don’t intend to do that.”

  She jumped up, shoved open the screen door, and scraped

  the remains of her half-eaten dinner into the small dish beside

  the step. A scrawny gray tabby peeked out from the stack of

  newspapers in the recycle bin.

  “Come on, Pepper.”

  At the mention of his name the kitten tumbled out of the

  bin and fell into his water dish. He daintily shook each tiny

  paw and cautiously made his way to the food. Becci stepped

  back to give the skittish feline room.

  The image of the first time she saw the shivering ball of

  fur came to mind. She couldn’t turn her back on a stray. Never

  could. But they had no trouble leaving her alone when they

  regained their health or found someone else to give their

  affection to.

  Becci dropped the fork on her plate. This stray would leave,

  too. At least she hoped so. She couldn’t afford another mouth

  to feed, even if that mouth belonged to an orphaned kitten.

  “Why not?” Lilly snapped before the door closed behind

  Becci.

  “Why not what?” Becci asked as s
he rinsed her plate and

  put it in the dishwasher.

  “Tear down the walls. When you sell that’s what a developer

  will do. And since you won’t even talk about my plan....”

  “Aunt Lilly...”

  “Just listen, Becci. I don’t want this place destroyed either.”

  Becci groaned and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling again.

  “Okay. What’s your plan this time?”

  “It’s the children’s sanctuary you want to open.”

  “We’ve been over this before. The bank turned down my

  loan.”

  “Well, how about the nursery? You know the one I’m

  talking about—the inexpensive place for new mothers to leave

  their babies.”

  “I can’t get the money I need to open either the safe-haven

  or the nursery.”

  “Yes, you can. There’s this company, Ascomp Incorporated.

  Michael thinks they might have a solution to our problem.

  They’re offering ongoing aid for organizations run by

  minorities. He thinks there’s a chance your newborn nursery

  qualifies.”

  “You’re listening to Michael? My fiancé, Michael Ascott?”

  When her aunt nodded, Becci huffed in disbelief. Aunt Lilly

  hated Michael. She even went out of her way to insult the man.

  And the day Becci showed her “the ring,” she left in a rage, the

  back door slamming at her heels. “I thought you couldn’t stand

  him.”

  “I can’t. Nor do I trust him, but he gave me the name of the

  company and...well...I called a Mr. Latham. He’s the CEO or

  something like that. He wants to look the place over next week.

  I said we would have it ready for his inspection.”

  Becci cupped her hand to her nape and massaged the tense

  muscles. She might as well give in. Once her aunt got a notion

  to do something, an entire football team couldn’t stop her.

  “What do we have to do?”

  “Michael came by while you were at work the other day

  and discussed his plans. This Latham guy wants to take a tour

  of the house and have you explain where you plan to put

  everything. Michael suggested we give the company a party,

  of sorts, in a couple of weeks. Michael’s sure they’ll give you

  the aid you need. He’s also inviting a couple of antique dealers

  who might be interested in buying some of the old furniture.”

  Lilly shut the journal that lay on the table in front of her.