Jingle of Coins

  Chapter One

  A hush fell upon the clearing as Mitch turned to face the cast and crewmembers anxiously waiting his judgment on their fourth take of the film’s final scene. He studied them for a moment, then held up his thumb. “That’s a wrap, folks. Great job.”

  Word of the film’s completion spread, and individual cheers combined to form a crescendo that filled the mountaintop clearing. Mitch joined in the euphoria for a moment, then motioned to Emily Sane, his special effects supervisor. “Fantastic job on the special effects, Emily. I want you as a permanent member on my team. Interested?”

  Dumbstruck, she nodded.

  “Good. I”ll be in touch.”

  She watched him walk away, then threw her hands up and shouted, “Yes!” All those hours of sketching and creating special effects models had finally paid off with a job offer from the best director in Hollywood. Life couldn’t get any better!

  A loud whistle caught her attention. She looked up and spotted her assistant, Sam Davis, waving to her from across the clearing. Still smiling, she hurried over.

  “Is it okay to start packing up?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.

  “Yeah. I’ll give you a hand.” The summer sunshine felt good on her exposed arms as she pulled out one of the specially cushioned crates built to house the equipment. The crew’s camaraderie dwindled as the temperature rose, and when tempers flared over trivial issues, Emily ordered everyone to take a short break.

  She declined an offer to join the men as they sprawled in the shade, and instead wandered over to watch a swarm of multi-colored butterflies flit amongst the wildflowers that slow danced with the gentle breeze. Overhead, a solitary bald eagle swooped and soared above the semi-circle of trees that formed the backdrop for the final scene. Emily stood quietly, allowing her psyche to soak up the exquisite combination of color, light, and life.

  Most of her friends worked in rat hole cubicles in stuffy offices and never saw this kind of beauty. She took a breath of clean, fresh air and promised herself that she’d never take a job in a dreary office. Mother Nature was too beautiful to give up, even for the security of a nine-to-five job and steady paycheck.

  The crewmembers returned to their assigned tasks, and she reluctantly moved to join them. As she strode toward the prop trailer, a broken limb from one of the nearby Ponderosa Pines caught her attention. The gnarled branch would be perfect for her patio display. Keeping an eye out for snakes, she wandered though the copse of Indian Pink and Columbine wildflowers and leaned over to pick it up. The sound of twigs snapping alerted her to movement, and she whipped her head around in time to watch a small, furry animal emerge from behind a bush, then freeze into position at the edge of the trees. Her breath caught in her throat. A bear cub!

  “Hey, look, guys. It’s a cub,” Mike called out from behind her. “Maybe he’ll let us get close enough to pet.” He put down the equipment he’d been carrying and started toward the cub, hand outstretched.

  “No,” Emily screamed. “Don’t go near him.” Panic made her voice louder than normal. “For God’s sake, Mike, come back.” She raced toward him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the safety of the vehicles.

  “Hey, that hurts,” he said, rubbing his arm. “What’s up with you?”

  “Everybody, get in the cars, quick!” she ordered. “That cub’s mother is sure to be somewhere close by, and if she sees anybody near her cub, there’s no telling what she’ll do.”

  The sound of branches snapping followed by a hoarse roar filled the air. Moments later, a large black bear lumbered out of the woods.

  “In the cars, now! Don’t make a sound. Maybe she won’t charge.”

  Ten pairs of legs scrambled into three vehicles. Emily slammed the door, shoved Sam across the seat, and crawled to the rear of her rented Jeep Cherokee. Heart pounding, she watched the huge bear sniff the cub, then turn to glare at them.

  She glanced at the other SUVs, mentally ticking off the names of the crew. Everyone had made it inside. That, at least, was something in their favor.

  Turning her gaze back to the sow, she wondered if their luck would hold. The huge bear was formidable, sitting on its haunches, sniffing the air. The forest rangers had warned them to be careful; this time of year the woods were crawling with black bears and their cubs. As frightened as she was, Emily’s fingers itched to capture the image of the powerful animal on paper. She searched through the boxes in the back of the jeep until she found her sketchpad and pencil, and began to sketch the outline of the massive animal. Dark lines replaced blank space on the page as images of the mother and cub emerged.

  A tap on her shoulder broke her concentration, and she glanced at her assistant.

  “Hey, look, they’re leaving!” Sam whispered in an excited voice. “They’re going back into the woods!”

  Emily stared at the retreating back of the mother bear. “Thank you, Lord,” she mouthed silently. Her prayers had been answered. They’d had a lucky escape, no doubt about it.

  Sam reached for the door handle, and she grabbed his arm. “Not yet,” she warned. “We have to wait to see if the sow doubles back.” Silently they stared at the edge of the clearing, searching for movement. Luckily, there was none.

  Ten minutes later Emily decided it was safe enough to risk leaving the vehicles. She eased out of the Jeep and motioned for the others to follow. “Okay guys. While we’re still in one piece, let’s load up the rest of the equipment and get the heck out of here before that bear comes back.”

  A few minutes later Sam appeared at the back of her Jeep, balancing three oversized boxes. “The trailer’s full, and we packed as much as we could in the other cars. Is it okay if we stick the last three transformers in your car?” He glanced nervously toward the woods. “You don’t you think the bears will return, do you?”

  Emily shrugged. “God, I hope not. Mama was definitely not happy we were here. I don’t want to stick around any longer than necessary.”

  Sam nodded in agreement. “Me, too. I want to get out of here as quick as I can. If we put the transformers in your car, that’ll leave enough room in the Tahoe for me. I’d ride back with you, but the guys wanna stop off for a couple of beers at that Salsa Bar on the way down. You don’t mind riding by yourself, do you?”

  She sighed. It was a three-hour trip back to Sacramento, and she didn’t relish the thought of driving down the steep mountain by herself. However, if she forced Sam to ride with her, she knew he’d do nothing but whine the entire trip. “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Thanks, Em. You’re the greatest,” Sam called out as he shoved the boxes into the back of her Jeep and rushed over to the Tahoe on their left.

  Once the last piece of equipment was packed and the other SUV’s started down the mountain, Emily cast one final look around and then climbed into her Jeep. Halfway down, with the worst of the hairpin curves behind her, she increased her speed to fifty-five. Suddenly, a bang reverberated inside the vehicle.

  What the—? Had she run over something? Her breath caught in her throat when the Jeep lurched to the left and veered out of control. Prickles of fear raced down her spine as she fought to steer the vehicle back onto the road.

  She clamped her fingers deeper into the grooves on the underside of the steering wheel and crimped it to the right, but her Jeep continued its slide toward empty space. Mind-numbing terror took hold, blocking out rational thought.

  A flash of gray caught her attention. A guardrail! She was saved! Her momentary relief vanished when she heard the sickening crunch of metal. She reached for the door and then froze when the front of the vehicle inched downward. The hood dipped, then sprang back. Once, twice, three times—it teetered back and forth like a child’s seesaw.

  The me
tal springs in her seat bit into her back as she pressed her body into the seat. Using her elbows and legs to brace herself, she pushed her weight back as far as she could and reached for the seat release. If she could just slide the driver’s seat back a few inches, maybe that would keep the Jeep from hurdling over the road’s edge. Metal creaked and groaned; the hood dipped again.

  No! Please, God, nooooooo!

  The vehicle pitched forward as the guardrail gave way, and the Jeep tumbled and plunged toward the gorge below. The cracking sound of treetop branches snapping like twigs filled her ears as chunks of wood, leaves, and pine needles flew in every direction. The front windshield exploded into a thousand-piece mosaic; slivers of flying glass gouged her face. Petrified, Emily clung to the steering wheel for a few precious moments, and when the car continued to careen down the hillside, she lifted her arms to protect her head and face. The terrified scream that rose in the back of her throat faded to a whimper as the SUV rolled over and over, then crunched to a sickening halt.

  Warm, sticky blood poured from cuts and gashes, blurring her vision. Unable to move, Emily remained pinned inside the crumpled heap. As she drifted back and forth between the realms of consciousness and pain-induced oblivion, she thought she saw a shimmering haze in front of the car. “Please, God,” she begged. “Don’t let me die.”

  A rhythmic beep triggered Emily’s journey back to the world of conscious thought. Forcing heavy eyelids open, she tried to focus blurred images into distinguishable shapes. Her brain refused to cooperate, so she gave up and slipped back into oblivion. At the edge of her consciousness, something called, urging her to come back to the world of the living.

  Awareness eventually returned. Emily tried to moisten dry lips with her tongue and touched something cold and hard wedged inside her mouth. Frightened, she struggled to raise her hand and glimpsed tubes and wires stuck to the skin of her forearm. There was also a peculiar odor. It wasn’t unpleasant, just different. Where was she? Her pain-wracked brain refused to make the connection. All this meant something, but what?

  Warmth circled her fingers, and a woman’s face loomed into view. "Emily, you’re in a hospital, in the intensive care unit. Everything's fine. Don’t try to talk; you have a breathing tube in your throat. You must lie still. If you understand, blink once."

  Wetness flowed from Emily’s eyes as the realization of those few words hit home. She…was…alive!

  The face smiled, and gentle hands wiped away her tears. “That’s good. Everything’s going to be fine. Lie back and rest."

  The next time Emily woke, an older man stood beside her, dressed in white, his gray hair a stark contrast to his ruddy complexion. "I'm Dr. Goodson, your neurologist.” He shined a light in her eyes, then opened her hand and placed two fingers against her palm. "Squeeze my fingers.”

  She concentrated on forcing her fingers to work, unsure if they did.

  “Good.” He patted her hand, then shined the light into her eyes once more. “Try and get some rest,” he said as he dropped the flashlight into a pocket and picked up her chart. His voice faded into the background as he stepped away from her bed.

  Too weary to move, Emily closed her eyes. Days passed in a blur of sleep and longer periods of awareness. When the doctor finally took the breathing tube out of her throat and she took her first sip of cool water, Emily knew she was going to make it.

  Chapter Two

  "Damn, damn, damn!" Tears flowed from Emily’s eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. Frustrated, she threw her paintbrush to the floor. Until this moment, she’d refused to believe she’d never paint or sketch again. The truth she’d fought so hard against was real; the proof lay in front of her, and it hurt. Sob after sob shook her slender shoulders as she grieved for her loss.

  Her doctors and therapist warned her that until she accepted the fact that she could never paint or sketch again, she would never move forward. For four months, she’d struggled against the inevitable, disbelieving her neurologist’s findings and seeking other opinions, but with each confirming diagnosis, the tiny flicker of hope she determinedly clung to finally died. Her life as an artist was over. Finished.

  Never again would she hold a paintbrush between her fingers and feel the joy of watching an idea spring to life on a piece of canvas. No longer could she sketch images from memory and fill a piece of paper with beautiful drawings. Those pictures, like the hopes and dreams she once had, would now remain locked inside her mind, a prisoner of the past, barred from coming into fruition by a terrible quirk of fate that shattered her life into a million pieces in the span of an instant. Oh sure, she could scribble her name, but that was it.

  Through a haze of tears, she made a quiet circuit of the room, touching first one painting, then another. Finally, when her tears and sorrow subsided, she felt strangely at peace. Taking a deep breath, she turned to take one last look at her life’s work, then quietly closed the door.

  Rational thought eventually returned. For the first time in months, Emily looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw not the face of a victim with cruelly shattered dreams, but a living, breathing woman, whose future lay ahead, not behind.

  It was time to get on with her life. As she sorted the stack of bills piled on the coffee table, Emily realized she couldn’t hide out in her apartment forever; she needed to think about finding a job. She had her accident settlement, but it wasn’t enough to support her for an extended length of time. It was time to think about another way to make a living.

  Thankfully, she could still afford to keep a roof over her head. Earlier, faced with months of physical therapy, Emily followed her doctor’s suggestion and relocated to an apartment outside San Diego, three miles from an authorized clinic. San Diego was definitely not Hollywood or Los Angeles, but it wasn’t the worst place in the world to live. Once therapy ended, she’d start a new life. Thousands of businesses thrived in the heavily populated city; it wouldn’t be hard to find a temporary job until she decided what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

  Her only impediment would be that, because of her intensified hearing, she couldn’t work around loud noises. Instead of becoming deaf from her head injury caused by the accident, Emily’s hearing actually intensified to a point where background noises, like the hum of a computer running, caused excruciating pain. After several unsuccessful attempts to alter normal hearing aids, her audiologist’s lab eventually came up with a specially designed pair that did the opposite of what they were supposed to do—they filtered mechanical noise to an acceptable level instead of amplifying it. Emily’s insurance company screamed when they got the bill—the set cost five times what regular hearing aids did, but they were worth it, because when she wore them, Emily didn’t suffer migraines from hearing noises other people didn’t.

  She winced as a police car screamed past and clapped her hands protectively over her ears. When a second and third car followed, she fumbled in her purse for her hearing aids, clamped her fingers around the tiny pieces of plastic, and shoved one into each ear.

  Ah, blessed relief. Emily wandered into the compact kitchen in search of a soothing cup of tea. As she waited for the water to boil, she sat at the kitchen table to make a list of possible occupations. Absorbed in her task, she didn’t realize she had company until the rapping became insistent.

  “Just a second, I’ll be right there.”

  "Want some cookies?" her neighbor asked as Emily peered over the guard chain.

  The tantalizing scent of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air and she nodded. "Sure, come on in.”

  Rosie strode into the room, settled her ample frame on the sofa, and passed the plate. "Here, help yourself. They’re still hot.”

  Emily reached for a warm, gooey, cookie. “What’s going on?”

  “I needed a little peace and quiet, and thought you might want some company for a few minutes.”

  “Now’s really not a good time. Sorry, but I’m busy.”

  “No problem." Rosie dragged her f
ingers through her short, black hair. “The kids are helping my husband put together a model; they’re probably driving him crazy by now.” She grinned mischievously. “With those three, too much togetherness is not a good thing. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Tonight is our weekly ‘Girls Night Out.’ Wanna go?"

  Shaking her head, Emily opened her mouth to decline, but Rosie held up a hand. "Before you say no, let me finish. There's only five of us. You need to get out of this apartment and take a break from worrying. It’ll be a fun way for you to meet some of the women in the building. They’re a hoot. We're going to dinner at the Indian Casino’s new seafood restaurant, and then we’ll probably play the slot machines for a little while. How about it?" She grabbed the plate of cookies and waved it under Emily’s nose. “If you say yes, I’ll even give you another plate of my famous ‘Death by Chocolate Cookies.’ What do you say?”

  "Hummm. Slot machines? You know, I’ve always wanted to try the one-armed bandits.” Emily thought about it for a moment and then agreed. “All right. What time do we leave?"

  "Great! Meet me downstairs at six.” Rosie brushed cookie crumbs off her shirt. "I’d better go. Tony's already grumbling about having to babysit the twins tonight. If I don’t get back soon, he might reconsider his offer.” She patted Emily’s shoulder. “I’m glad you decided to come. You’ve been cooped up in here way too long.”

  “Don’t forget to bring a couple extra bucks for the slot machines," Rosie called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hall.

  Emily smiled and leaned against the door. Dinner with the girls might be fun. She hadn’t been out in a while. The only down side would be she'd have wear her hearing aids to tone down the noise. She reached up to touch the miniaturized devices and sighed. Wearing them reminded her that she wasn’t completely healed, and never would be. She hated being dependent on them, but unless she wanted to endure ringing in her ears and blinding headaches for days, she had to wear the blasted things.