“Very funny,” Sean grumbles. “I’m trying to focus on what would make Ty more valuable than you to Cordy.”
We get serious and toss out ideas. “Donna is strong, but Ty is a lot stronger,” I say. “So maybe Cordy knows she needs someone physically powerful to do what needs to be done.”
“Ty can’t be intimidated.” Donna says. “I’m kind of a wimp.”
Sean pats her hand. “You’re not a wimp. You’re cautious and sensible.” He looks at me pointedly. “Unlike some people I know.”
“And love,” I remind him. “Here’s something,” my heart quickens with a flash of insight. “Ty knows nothing about rock and roll. He listens to hip-hop. He’s the youngest of us. And unlike Donna and me, he didn’t even hear those old rock songs by way of his family. Grandma Betty listens to gospel and jazz.”
Sean’s eyes light up. I can tell he likes my theory. “So if Ty helps Cordy search, she figures he won’t recognize the valuable thing when they come across it. That’s another reason to use Ty, not Gif. Then she can sell it behind Peter’s back.”
“Ooo,” Donna says. “I bet that’s it. When I was over there helping her go through the boxes from the attic, we’d find concert programs and ticket stubs and I kept saying things like, ‘Oh, my mom loves this band,’ and ‘I remember this song playing when we’d drive to the shore when I was a kid.’ And then once I said, ‘Let’s put this aside and ask Audrey about it.’ Maybe Cordy figures I know just enough to be dangerous to her plans.”
I sit back in my seat and a small smile spreads as I think of Ty wheeling and dealing at those art auctions. “And like a lot of people, Cordy has underestimated Ty.”
Sean and Donna both turn to me.
“So are you going to send Ty back to work there?” Sean asks.
“You think he’ll be willing to go?” Donna adds.
I drain my beer and signal to the waitress for our check. “He will if he thinks he can learn more about who hurt Charmaine.”
Chapter 19
ON TUESDAY MORNING, Ty paces around the office like a pit bull on a short chain.
“Lemme get this straight. You think that old bitch sent someone to hurt my sister, and now you want me to go over there and pretend to help her?”
“Sit down,” I command. “You’re only processing half the words I’m speaking.” Ty has spent the morning feeding Lo his breakfast and getting him to daycare, then leaving lunch and beverages for Charmaine so she can spend the entire day with her leg propped up. It’s only ten in the morning and he’s already frazzled.
After he grudgingly settles himself, I review in greater detail all that we know for sure, and all that we suspect. “The truth is, the cops are unlikely to find these guys unless we turn up some fresh leads. And, no, I don’t think Cordy sent those guys to hurt my staff. But I think she might suspect who was behind the attack.”
“This is so unfair.” Ty props his head with his elbows on his knees. “My sister is all banged up while those guys are walkin’ free. And on top of that, there’s goin’ to be a pile of medical bills even though Charmaine has insurance. Imma have to pay for those—it’s my fault she was there.”
“Well, here’s the thing. I think Cordy is willing to have you in the house looking precisely because she thinks you won’t recognize valuable rock memorabilia when you see it. If we can figure out what Cordy’s got that those guys want, we can get justice for Charmaine, and maybe even make some money for Another Man’s Treasure. And we’ll all—including Charmaine—share in that.”
Ty tilts his head and studies me through narrowed eyes. “If Cordy’s hellbent on selling this thing—whatever it is—without Peter knowing so she can hang onto the cash, how we gonna get a cut of the action?”
“Leave that to me. I just need you to do the search.”
But Ty isn’t having it. “Remember that deer we saw standing in front of the tall fence on the way to a sale last month? And you said he could jump over, but he wouldn’t because he didn’t know what was on the other side.” Ty taps his chest. “Well, I’m that deer. So you just go on and tell me what’s up, or I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
I might have known I couldn’t persuade Ty with a vague promise. “Look, this is just my theory. We’ve both met old people who resent being bossed around by their younger relatives. If we can position ourselves as allies who will help Cordy get the most for the discovery and hang onto her own money, she ought to show us some monetary appreciation.”
Ty cocks one eye-brow. “How’s that gonna fly with your friend, Peter?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” I say, projecting confidence I don’t actually feel.
Ty studies me for a long moment. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll do this for you, but I need you to do something for me.”
“Sure. Anything.”
“I need some time off on Thursday.”
“Another art auction?”
“I got an art auction next week, but I already switched days off with Donna, so that’s covered.” Ty looks away from me. “I got other bizness.”
“Like what?”
Ty turns his back and heads to the supply closet. I pursue him across the office and plant myself in his path. “What other business?”
“I gotta see a guy about my father. I think he knows what my old man is into.”
“Ty, no! Just tell the police and let them handle it.”
“Oh, the way they’ve handled Charmaine’s case so far? They can’t find the car that hit her. They can’t find the woman who drove away. They can’t find my father without Sean’s help. Those cops can’t find their asses with both hands!”
“You can’t see everything they’re doing. They care about solving this case,” I assure him. “Give them a chance to do their job. Besides, don’t you agree now that what happened to Charmaine is more likely because of Cordy? It’s good news your dad isn’t involved.”
“You gotta theory, not proof. I’m not lettin’ my old man off the hook that easy.” Ty paces back toward my desk. “I don’t see you turning everything over to the cops.” Ty’s chin goes up. “Why don’t you tell the police you think someone’s trying to swindle Cordy and let them handle it?”
“That’s different. I have no evidence any crime has been committed.”
“I got no hard evidence on my dad, either. That’s why I hafta go see this guy.”
I grab his hand. “Ty, I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to get caught up in your father’s messes. How will that help Charmaine and Lo?”
Ty gives me a brusque hug. “I hear ya. Just trust me. I’ll go to Cordy’s tomorrow. You give me some time off on Thursday. And by next week, everything will be straightened out.”
Shortly after Ty leaves, my phone rings. I’m about to let it turn over to voicemail when I see the name on the screen: Isabelle Trent.
Isabelle is Palmyrton’s foremost real estate agent and she throws more business my way than anyone else. I always take her calls.
“Hi, Isabelle.”
“Audrey, darling,” a whooshing sound in the background tells me Isabelle is calling from the comfort of her BMW between showings of houses. “I have to ask you an eno-o-o-rmous favor.”
If anyone else said those words to me, I’d be nervous, but over the years I’ve become an expert interpreter of Isabelle-speak. “Enormous favor” means she’s about to throw some work my way, but probably not in a super high-end house.
Without pausing for a breath, Isabelle continues. “A darling older woman I know—the mother of an old friend—has had the most devastating year. Her dear husband passed away over the summer, and now she’s been diagnosed with cancer. My friend is moving her mom to Houston for her treatment—the son-in-law’s a doctor there—and I told her, ‘Just pack your bags and go,’ and I’ll take care of selling your house.”
I perk up. Although I’m sympathetic to the poor woman’s misfortunes, an estate sale where no one is arguing
about what should stay and what should go and how much I should charge is ideal. And it sounds like a rush—this can fill the hole in my schedule left by last week’s cancellation. “And you need me to clear it out,” I say.
“Yes, darling. The house is quite cozy...”
“Cozy” is Isabelle-speak for small, dark, and cluttered.
“...and I’m going to need to stage it to get the best price.”
That means I sell hundreds of pieces of old furniture and bric-a-brac, and Isabelle replaces it all with ten brand new curated items, thus convincing potential buyers the house is actually bright and spacious.
“It’s in an up-and-coming neighborhood...”
“Up-and-coming” means a run-down street where young people desperate to get a foothold in the over-heated Palmyrton real estate market are willing to buy. Hmmm—this sale may be a bust.
“It’s one of the better houses on the street, but unfortunately it’s directly across from a terrible eyesore. I’ll have to install shades on the living room windows so buyers don’t notice the view.”
Isabelle always advises it’s better to buy the worst house on a street rather than buy next to the worst house on the street because you can fix the house you own, but you can’t fix your neighbors’.
“Where exactly is it?” I’m wary, but a house would have to be really bad for me to bite the hand of Isabelle, who feeds me so well.
“150 Locust, in Burleith. The owner is Elspeth Leonard. I can meet you there later today if you want to see it before you commit.”
Talk about coincidence! The house is right across the street from Cordelia Dean. All the streets in the Burleith neighborhood are laid out in a grid pattern with alleys running behind the backyards. I’ll be able to park in the alley behind Elspeth Leonard’s house while I set up the sale. I can keep an eye on Cordy’s house without Cordy knowing while Ty works there. And, I’ll fill the pre-holiday hole in my sale schedule.
Win-win.
“I’ll take the job. Can I start this week? I’ve got a cancellation to fill.”
“Start tomorrow, darling. My friend and her mother are packing up a few personal mementoes right now. They fly to Houston in the morning.”
Chapter 20
AFTER ISABELLE DROPS off the key for Elspeth Leonard’s house at the end of the day, it’s time for me to pick up Lo from Charmaine’s apartment for my turn babysitting. Sean and I have agreed to take him for the night, and drop him at daycare in the morning, giving Charmaine a chance for a good night’s sleep.
Cheerful music blasts from the apartment when Charmaine’s friend opens the door. Charmaine sits with her leg propped up, while Lo stands in front of the TV bopping up and down. He holds his hands out to me. “Momma can’t dance. You dance, Audee!”
Dancing isn’t my strong suit, but I make a valiant effort to do a little two-step with Lo while Charmaine laughs at our antics. “This child loves music. I’m going to sign him up for piano lessons next year.”
“I play drums!” Lo yells, creating an unholy din on his toy drum set.
Charmaine hands me typed instructions: Things Lo will eat, things he won’t eat, things he’s not allowed to eat, screen time rules, bedtime, day-care drop off. “I really appreciate you keeping him overnight, Audrey. He’s so excited to play with your dog and eat your husband’s pancakes.”
“We’re happy to have him,” I tell her. “Come on, little man. Ethel is waiting to play soccer with you.”
Lo gives his mother a kiss and follows me toward the door, but when the song blaring from the TV changes, he stops in his tracks. “Wait! This is my favorite song!” He spins around to face the TV, where two dancing dump trucks fill the screen. They wave their front tires and flash their headlights to a catchy tune. Lo knows all the words to the song.
Dig it, Dig it, Dig it
Move it out, dump it in
Do it all over again.
An orange backhoe joins the conga line on the screen, while a purple pile driver pounds out the beat.
Dig a heap, dig it deep
Lo sings along with the song as he mimics the movements of the animated vehicles. In a nod to gender equality, one of the trucks has long eyelashes above its headlights and a pink outline around its grille. The cartoon is silly but undeniably charming.
“Shake your booty, Lo!” Charmaine calls, and Lo swishes his hips in time to the music. “Sorry to hold you up, Audrey, but there’s no way to stop that boy when this song comes on.”
“The cartoon is really cute. What’s it called?”
Charmaine waves her hand at me. “Girl, where you been? This is Boom, Trucka Lucka—it’s bigger than Sesame Street ever was.”
Have I heard of it? Our nieces and nephews are no longer toddlers, so I guess this new hit has passed me by. Another indication that I’m out of touch with my peers who are parents. The song ends, and I successfully propel Lo out of the apartment and into my car.
But all the way home, I have an earworm.
Dig a heap, dig it deep.
When Sean arrives home for dinner he finds Lo and Ethel and me snuggled on the couch reading the books Charmaine has packed for the overnight.
Cozy time ends immediately.
“Sawn!” Lo squeals, running headlong into Sean’s legs. My husband picks the toddler up and swings him overhead.
“Whee!” Lo screams with delight. “Horsey ride!”
So Sean loads Lo onto his shoulders and they prance around the house, Ethel barking at their heels.
Briefly, my eyes prick with tears. Sean will make such a good father. Why can’t this happen for us?
Then I shove the self-pity aside and start preparing Lo’s dinner: buttered noodles, apple slices, and half a peeled cucumber. He’s in an all-white food stage.
“Hey, it’s time for the horse to come back to the stable and eat some oats,” I shout when I have the plate prepared.
Lo zooms into the kitchen. “I’m not the horse, I’m the cowboy!”
Flushed and sweaty, Sean sits beside Lo at the island. “Trigger needs a drink.”
I hand him a beer and ask about his day.
“We got lucky. A lead came into the tip line,” Sean says. “A woman was deleting old photos on her phone and she found some that she took at the McMurtry estate sale.”
I spin around. “A picture of the car with the license plate!”
“Not that lucky. Photos of a black and chrome floor lamp.” Sean waits for my reaction.
“Yeah, people take pictures of stuff all the time. They want feedback from a friend or relative before they buy. Why did she call the tip line with that?”
“More milk, peeze!” Lo bangs his cup on the counter, and Sean jumps to do his bidding.
Once the milk is poured, he resumes his story. “Just as she was about to delete the lamp photos, she realized what was in the background.”
“I remember that lamp! It was upstairs in one of the bedrooms.” My voice squeaks higher in excitement. “The dresser Charmaine carried out to the curb was in the same room. You got a photo of the woman who bought it!”
“Yep! A total stroke of luck. The woman who took the picture has been following the news of the accident because Charmaine was so nice to her. She said she remembered Charmaine because she went out of her way to find a lightbulb, so they could test if the lamp worked. Her husband told her she was crazy to call the tip line, but she did it anyway because the news story in the Daily Record said Charmaine had been carrying a dresser from the second floor. And it said we were asking the woman who bought the dresser to come forward.”
“Charmaine is my momma,” Lo pipes, trying to make sense of the conversation going on over his head.
“That’s right, buddy. How about a few more of those cucumber slices?” Sean flies a cuke spear into Lo’s mouth.
“I’ll never say another bad thing about the Daily Wretched!” I pledge. “So, you’re going to circulate the woman’s picture in the media and ask if anyone recognizes her? Are
you sure it’s the woman who left the scene?”
“The lab cleaned up the photo and the hardware on the dresser in the photo matches the hardware of the dresser smashed in the hit and run. So we’ve put her face out to the press and social media. We made it clear she’s not a suspect, just a witness. It’s circulating right now.”
I grab my phone. “I’m going to look for it on Facebook.” A little scrolling and I find the photo under a “have you seen this woman?” headline. Immediately, I recognize her. “Yes! Yes, that’s the woman who bought the dresser.” I study her face, not sure what I expect to see. Signs that she’s a homicidal maniac?
She’s totally average. Neither fat nor thin. Wavy brown hair. The only distinctive thing about her is the colorful silk scarf draped around her neck.
“What are you thinking?” Sean asks.
“People who buy furniture at estate sales fall into three categories.” I tick them off on my fingers. “Antique hunters, and this was no antique. Crafters who can transform items with nice lines into something special, but this piece was clunky and dated. And poor people looking for something sturdy at a low price, but she didn’t try to negotiate. When she bought the dresser, she told me she wanted it for her baby’s room. But she didn’t look like the kind of woman who needed to scrounge for old furniture for her baby’s nursery. She’s wearing an arty scarf. She was driving a new, clean SUV. And she didn’t even look pregnant, so why would she be so hellbent on getting that particular dresser? She had months to shop for a better one.” I wag my finger at Sean. “She doesn’t fit any of those profiles.”
Sean grins at me. “So you think she’s guilty based on her estate sale buying habits, eh?”
“Mark my words—she’s more than a witness. I think she helped set up the hit and run.”
I look at Lo, now happily eating a cookie after finishing all his fruits and veggies. That woman nearly made this child an orphan.
Chapter 21
Rock Bottom Treasure (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 7) Page 14