LITMIR.BIZ

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where to find me.”

      As she went out the front door, Joshua heard a bump, a resounding curse, then a strange whirring noise. He looked down the hallway, shock rocking him as he saw the frail, white-haired man in a motorized wheelchair making his way slowly down the hall.

      Sarge. He appeared to have aged fifty years in the last five. He stopped short of the living room and turned his head from side to side. “Claire?”

      It was at that moment Joshua realized that Sarge was not only thin and frail, but blind, as well. He shot a quick glance at Claire, wanting to know what had happened to the vital, strong man Joshua had loved like a father. But of course, she couldn’t answer his unspoken questions. Not here…not now.

      “Hello, Sarge,” Joshua said.

      The old man’s face lit with obvious pleasure and he gasped in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. Come closer, Joshua boy, so I can smell the rascal and know it’s really you.”

      Joshua laughed and walked over to Sarge’s chair, then leaned down and gave the old man a hug, his heart aching as he felt Sarge’s thinness. He didn’t miss the fact that Sarge’s arms didn’t raise to return the hug.

      “Ah, don’t smell no rascal, only smell fancy cologne and grown-up man.”

      Joshua laughed again. “There’s a little rascal left,” he replied.

      “Cookie, put some coffee on, me and the boy got some catching up to do. Joshua, wheel me into the kitchen. They got me this damned fool chair with a motor, but it just makes me run into things at a faster speed.”

      Joshua set the tin box they’d dug up on the coffee table, then moved behind the chair and pushed Sarge toward the kitchen. Claire walked in front of him and he knew by the straight set of her shoulders that she didn’t intend to be a welcoming hostess.

      The kitchen was just as Joshua remembered it, a large airy space with floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the east. Many a morning he and Sarge had drunk coffee while morning light filtered in through the windows.

      There was no chair in the place at the table where Sarge had always sat, and it was here that Joshua pushed him up against the table.

      Joshua took the chair across from Sarge as Claire busied herself making a pot of coffee. Samuel Cook, ‘Sarge’ as he had been known for as long as Joshua could remember, had been a robust, strong man who had looked and acted half his age when Joshua had left Mayfield.

      Regret swept through him as he gazed at what Sarge had become. He wasn’t sure what had put the old man in the wheelchair and stolen his sight, but he felt he never should have stayed away for so long.

      “You still making a killing with those games of yours?” Sarge asked.

      “Yeah, business is booming and the games are doing better than I ever dreamed.” Joshua’s gaze slid to Claire, who had her back to them. Her long hair rippled down to the center of her back, sparked by the sunshine dancing in through the windows.

      “Who’d have thought it, that a grown man could spend his time playing games and make a fortune.” Sarge shook his head. “In my day, kids didn’t have Play Stations and Nintendos to pass the time.”

      “It’s a different generation, Sarge,” Joshua replied. It was still hard for Joshua to believe that he’d managed to parlay the fantasy stories he’d made up to sustain himself through a tough childhood into a financial empire of sorts.

      Just a month earlier, Business magazine had done an article on him and his company. The article had been entitled, “Joshua McCane: The Man Behind the Magic,” and had chronicled his meteoric career from his first little company, begun in a rented space above a health-food store four years ago.

      DreamQuest Games now had its own building on twenty-five beautiful acres in California. Joshua employed two hundred men and women who worked at producing and marketing the fantasy games both children and young adults had embraced.

      He glanced at Claire, surprised to see her staring at him. As their gazes met, she quickly looked away and grabbed the sugar bowl and creamer for the table.

      “Mind if I wash up? My hands are dirty.” Without waiting for her reply, he stood and walked over to the sink.

      Claire moved aside, but not before he smelled the floral scent of her perfume.

      The scent had a touch of honeysuckle to it. Instantly he remembered those summer nights when he and Claire had made out on the porch swing with the sweet scent of the nearby honeysuckle wafting in the air.

      “When did you get into town?” Sarge asked, as Joshua turned on the faucet and shoved those memories aside.

      “Late last night. I ran into Claire this morning out by the old Dragon Tree.” He finished washing his hands and turned off the water.

      “Were you out there digging for the ten thousand bucks, too?” Sarge asked.

      Joshua took the hand towel Claire proffered and dried his hands. Her gaze was cool, disinterested, but as she took the towel back from him he noticed that her hand trembled slightly. So, she wasn’t as unaffected by his presence as she wanted him to believe.

      He sat back down at the table. “I was drinking a cup of coffee this morning at the diner and reading the paper. I saw the clues for the treasure hunt, and you know I’ve never been able to resist a puzzle.”

      “I guess Cookie didn’t find the treasure, otherwise she wouldn’t be pouting now,” Sarge said.

      “I’m not pouting,” Claire stated as she poured three cups of coffee. “I’m just listening.” She set one of the cups of coffee in front of Sarge. “Twelve o’clock,” she murmured. “And no, I didn’t find the money. All we found was an old tin box.”

      “With a photo inside,” Joshua added. “An old photo of a couple who look exactly like Claire and me.” He took a mug of coffee from her, surprised that as their fingers touched he felt a responding surge of heat sweep up his arm.

      She jerked her hand back as if she felt it too and the scowl on her beautiful features deepened.

      “Well, that’s strange,” Sarge exclaimed. “You say the people in it look like you and Claire?”

      “They could be our twins,” Joshua replied. The photo in the old tin box wasn’t the only thing strange around here, he thought.

      He wanted to know what had caused Sarge’s blindness and his descent into a wheelchair. How long had Sarge been sick, and had Claire been dealing with it all on her own? He wanted to know when things had gotten so obviously bad.

      What he found stranger than anything was that the woman he’d finally come here to divorce still had the ability to fill him with a white-hot desire and a deep yearning for something he couldn’t identify.

      “How long are you staying?” Sarge asked as he carefully brought his cup to his lips to sip the fresh brew.

      “I’m not sure.” Joshua leaned back in the chair, his gaze once again falling on Claire.

      He’s leaving as soon as he finishes his cup of coffee, Claire wanted to say. He’s getting back on whatever plane or train or bus brought him here, and he’s never coming back again.

      He smiled at her, as if he read her thoughts, then directed his attention back to Sarge. “I don’t have any definite schedule. I just decided I needed a little time away from work. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

      “Damned right,” Sarge exclaimed. “Making money is nice, but there’s other things important in life, too. You’ll stay here,” Sarge added firmly.

      “Oh, I don’t…” Joshua began.

      “I’m sure Joshua will be more comfortable at the Red Inn,” Claire interjected quickly. She assumed he was at the Red Inn since it was the only motel in town.

      “Nonsense,”

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