Chapter 20
Igather up cleaning supplies and several large trash bags.
The door to the den creaks open, reminding me of my dream. I hold my breath, expecting a real skeleton to appear.
Last night with Keston by my side, it didn’t look creepy. Now, with the blackout curtains blocking the sunshine, shadowy shapes lurking in the corners, and a ticking noise resounding somewhere in the house, I’m reconsidering my plans to dive in.
This looks like a Stephen King story about to be told. With me as the na?ve main character.
I step gingerly along the narrow path between the piled-high boxes made by Keston last night.
Unfortunately, pulling open the curtains is a no-no. Dust sits like a second skin on what I thought was brown fabric. Who knows what color they are underneath the grime?
I have a new plan. I’ll take one box at a time out to the porch and open it there, where it’s bright and cheery and dust-free.
And hopefully donkey-free too.
The only problem is that the chests with the carved lids that look the most promising are way too heavy for me to carry or even drag to the porch.
Something tells me I need to start with them to unearth the most promising ancestral goodies—clues to the hidden treasure.
I cross my arms and tap my foot. Time for Plan B.
A loud braying noise catapults me almost out of my sandals.
I smack a hand on my forehead. “Not again!”
“Hee-haw!”
I march to the front door ready to do battle.
One turn of the knob and I’m staring into the donkey’s face.
“Arrrrh!” I scream scudding backwards. “What are you doing in our house?” Technically, it’s the porch, but close enough.
The donkey bares its teeth in a smile. I must be in shock because I notice specks of blue on its coat and a faint stripe running down its back. It’s quite pretty in a wild animal way. Plus, it smells of fresh grass and sunshine. With a slight musky undertone.
“What in God’s name are you wearing on your head? Is that my . . . hat?”
My beautiful hat, which Keston bought for me the first day we went to town, is perched between the donkey’s pointy ears. Silky ribbons trail to the ground, as if waiting to be tied under its chin.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I grab my phone out of my back pocket as I step back into the hall.
“He’ll never believe me. Don’t move.” I glare at the donkey.
I quickly snap a couple of shots to send to Keston while keeping one eye on the animal still standing on the porch like a visitor waiting to be invited in.
The donkey gives me its left profile and preens, buck teeth bared wide.
“What should I do?” I text to Keston.
Maybe now he’ll finally realize the problem and do something.
My phone pings. Keston’s response is three laughing-on-the-floor emojis.
I stare at them aghast. Does he not understand the severity of this situation? Am I overreacting? I don’t think so. I doubt anyone in St. Nicholas has a donkey hanging out on their front porch.
“She looks cute in your hat,” he texts back.
“We need to contain her somehow. She’s wearing my hat and looking at me.”
“What do you have in mind?”
I think for a moment. “Can we call animal control?”
A rolling eye emoji. “The entire island will laugh at us.”
“Hee-haw,” the donkey brays at me. Like it’s saying, “They’d laugh at you.”
The hat tilts precariously, ready to slide off the black mohawk hair.
“Kes, how do I get her off the porch at least?”
“I’ll come home soon. Can you close the door and ignore her for now?”
“I’ll try.” But I feel bad he’s coming home just for this. My fingers ache typing out the next words. “I’ll handle it. You don’t worry about me.”
Meanwhile, I’m worried about me.
“You sure? I don’t mind. I can pop over there in no time.”
I shake my head as I type out, “No, I’ll be okay.” I hope I sound convincing. Optimism is not my forte.
“Call me if you need me, babe. I’m not far away. Or I can have Dex shoot over there.”
Oh, my goodness. I’d look like a diva. Making a big commotion over nothing. I assure him I’ll be fine.
I slide the phone into my pocket. Bite my bottom lip with determination.
“It’s you and me, Trixie,” I address the donkey, whose ears perk up even taller than usual. “One of us must go. And it won’t be me.”
She gives a mournful bray.
“I’m not falling for it,” I say sternly.
Another long crying noise escapes its mouth. She looks pitifully at me. Her white-tipped tail swishes then hangs limply.
“I’m sorry. But you’re a nuisance. And I want my hat.”
Before the donkey can defend itself, my phone pings again.
Keston has sent a cute donkey emoji and a heart with a text message.
“I’m sorry you’re dealing with this situation on your own, babe. Try to ignore her. Or better yet, embrace her. What we push away the hardest is what we attract the most.”
What the hell does that mean? Is he referring to Trixie?
Or to Tabitha? Or both?
I text back, “You want me to embrace it? Are you mad?”
“It’s a donkey, not a weapon of mass destruction.”
“Sometimes I really don’t like you.’
“That’s okay, I always love you.”
I send a rolling eyes emoji and drop my phone on the window ledge.
Okay, CJ, you’re on your own. With fingers pressed to the sides of my face, I take deep breaths.
“Trixie,” I call out like she’s a friend.
The donkey blinks.
It has a stubbornness I admire.
“How are you with hauling boxes to the porch?”