by Olive Balla
Something small and furry darted out the opening, scampered across her feet, and disappeared into a pile of trash. She clamped a hand over her mouth, but not before she’d let out a small shriek.
Instantly, the door to the basement was flung open.
“Didn’t you hear that?” Mort said, his voice coming from the top of the stairs. “I’m telling you, someone’s in the house…maybe down in the basement.”
Terror clawed up Jillie’s throat, and her heart rate shot into the stratosphere, making her feel like she might pass out.
“Yeah?” Toby said. “Then why don’t you go down into that dark hole and check it out? Be warned, I think a bobcat’s made a nest down there.”
Mort said something Jillie couldn’t hear.
“I thought so,” Toby said. “Come on, we’ve got things to do.”
After one of the men slammed the basement door closed, Jillie’s knees gave way. She sat on the floor and took a deep breath.
A couple of minutes later, pickup doors slammed, an engine fired, and tires spun in the gravel.
Jillie hurried to the corner where she’d spotted the sleeping bag. Tightly rolled up and wrapped in a protective cover, the thing looked inviting. She hefted the bag by its nylon handle, shoved it through the window and then climbed through after it.
Once back inside the shed, she gathered her belongings. She kissed Mickey, stuffed him into her backpack, slung the sleeping bag over one shoulder, and headed for the door.
But again, the crunch of tires on gravel made her freeze mid-step. Vehicle doors creaked open then slammed shut. The cousins’ voices neared the shed.
“Why’d you turn around?” Mort’s voice sounded high and tight. “I thought we were going to find some women and party.”
“No choice,” Toby said. “It has to be done sooner rather than later.”
“But why the wild hair to move it now, after all this time?”
“Because that was your sweet mama on the phone. She said a policeman came out earlier asking questions about the kid and some old woman who’s missing.”
“So?” Mort said.
“Sometimes you remind me so much of your old man it’s not funny. Think about it, if the police don’t find the kid, they’ll be back. And they’ll leave no stone unturned. I don’t know about you, but I have plans that don’t involve doing hard time. And lest you forget, you’ll be right there with me.”
“Where are you going to put it?” Mort’s voice sounded resigned.
“I’m going to rent a storage shed as soon as the place opens this morning.” Toby laughed, an ugly sound. “Don’t worry, cuz, if someone finds out, it’ll be because you can’t stop flapping your gums to impress the girls.”
Mort mumbled something.
Toby laughed. “Come on. The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we can grab something to eat. Hurry up, before your gene pool gets back.”
After several nano-seconds of heart-stopping indecision, Jillie laid her backpack and the sleeping bag on the floor in a corner then slung a couple of burlap bags over them. She dropped to the floor in the opposite corner and pulled one of the bags over her head. A cloud of dust flew in her eyes and up her nose. She pinched her nostrils closed to keep from sneezing, breathed through her mouth, drew herself into a ball. With any luck, she’d look like another bag of mulch.
“This place is creeeeepy.” Mort’s voice coming from just outside the door sounded high-pitched.
Toby laughed. “Afraid of ghosts?” He made a whooo sound.
“Very funny. I’ll wait for you out here.”
“What’s this?” Toby’s voice drew closer as he poked his head through the gaping door and into the shed. “You been spending time here on your own?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Mort’s voice sounded like his throat was about to slam shut.
The door shushed across the dirt-covered floor as someone pushed against it.
“Well, well,” Toby said under his breath. “What have we here?”
“What’d you say?” Mort said from outside the shed.
“Just talking to myself,” Toby said. “Give me a minute.”
“Sure, take all the time you want,” Mort muttered.
“Ho, ho, I spy with my little eye…” Toby sang the child’s rhyme softly, his voice hanging overlong on the s to sound like a snake hissing. “Peek-a-boo, I see you.”
Jillie bit her tongue to keep from screaming as the sound of approaching footsteps moved across the shed and stopped in front of her.
Chapter Forty-One
Cussing himself for a fool, Cleg pulled up another floorboard. He’d had the perfect chance to rid himself of The Shrike but had been too weak to carry through, just another lost opportunity in a lifetime filled with lost opportunities.
Like a woman possessed, Margo ran through the house, pointing here and there, ordering him to dig under any floorboard that seemed remotely loose. When Cleg made the mistake of commenting that it seemed to him old man Ross would have hidden the map someplace easy to get to, she’d threatened him with the hammer. Lucky for Cleg the house was old enough to have wood floors, or she’d have had him hammering through a concrete slab. Margo had even insisted he pull all the electrical sockets from the walls after announcing she’d seen a false socket hidey-hole advertised on television. But effort after effort came up empty.
The worst part was working through lunch. Other than begrudgingly allowing him a few sips of water, The Shrike hadn’t let him take a break. He’d nearly passed out from the exertion.
Then Margo spotted something shiny in one of the holes in the floor. She’d yelped that maybe it had been an actual treasure all along instead of a map, and dropped to her knees, her hands shooting like pistons in and out of the hole.
When the shiny thing turned out to be an old nail, she’d cursed the air a brilliant blue and called Cleg every name she could think of. But for an instant, the back of her bowed head had been right in front of him, within shovel’s reach.
It was like the heavens opened, clouds parted, angels sang, and a shaft of sunlight lit up the room. Just one good chop, and all his worries would be over.
But he’d vapor-locked at the crucial instant.
The Shrike stood and looked at him as if she knew what he’d been thinking. Her upper lip curled in disgust, and she yanked the shovel from his hands. “Useless. Bring me the thermos of coffee. It’s freezing in here.”
Like early morning dew in the hot desert sun, every tiny droplet of hope evaporated. He’d blown his chance, now he’d slog through who-knew-how-many-more-years before dying a miserable, unhappy lump of failure.
Tears of frustration and self-pity clouded Cleg’s vision as he walked to the pickup. He stopped every few steps to rest, his wheezing breaths grating in his ears. How he hated the sound of his physical weakness.
He’d been a strong young man—strong as an ox. Able to take any of the locals in arm wrestling. Able to work hard all day and never break a sweat.
But then he’d made the mistake of angering Margo-The-Shrike while she held a can of silver metallic spray paint. He didn’t even remember what he’d said wrong, but she pointed the can at him like a gun and emptied it into his face. Before he had time to react, he’d breathed in enough of the paint and toxic fumes to result in permanent lung damage and the need for oxygen twenty-four seven.
Without a word of apology, she shrugged and said, “Look for a silver lining, isn’t that what you always say?” She’d laughed. “Silver lining, get it? Now you’ll qualify for total disability. It’ll be nice to finally have a reliable income.”
Cleg retrieved the coffee canister from the pickup. His shoulders drooping, eyes downcast, and feet shuffling, he started back to the house.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jillie could almost feel Toby staring down at her through the burlap bag, as if he had x-ray vision. She held her breath, every muscle taut as she fought to keep from throwing off the sack and running from the shed
. Toby’s sudden chuckle made the hairs on her arm move.
“Hey, Cuz,” Toby’s voice sounded as if he stood directly over Jillie. “Do me a favor and back your truck up as close as you can to the shed door.”
Keys jingled then abruptly stopped as if thrown through the air then caught.
“My truck? Why not yours?”
“Low gas. Just do it.”
Mort’s response was cut short by the ringing of a cell phone. For a nanosecond, neither of the men moved. Then Mort whispered, “I gotta take this, it’s Maggot.”
“Of course you do.” Toby’s voice was filled with disdain.
“Yeah?” Mort’s words were followed by several seconds of silence. “I’m pretty busy right now, can it wait?” This was followed by a longer silence. “Okay, okay. I’ll be there in a few.”
“So? What does she want?” Toby said.
“I gotta go. She’s got a bee in her bonnet about something or other. You got a sledgehammer in your truck?”
“Yeah, on the floor behind the front seat. Why?”
“I need to borrow it.”
“What for?”
“Who knows.” Mort’s mumbled response was followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.
Toby moved around the shed, jiggling implements and rustling bags while emitting an occasional chuckle. “Hmmm, seems Uncle Clot’s ‘toe sacks have heaped themselves into a pile. And my old sleeping bag has not only transported itself from the basement but has brought along a backpack for company.” He yanked the bag off Jillie’s head, pulling several hairs out by the roots in the process. “You must be the kid everyone’s looking for. I figured you’d be in Timbuktu by now. What’re you doing hanging around here?”
Jillie opened her eyes and stared down at the boots planted in front of her. “I’m not leaving without my sister’s ashes.”
“You think Maggot and Clot are going to have your sister cremated and then bring her ashes back here?” Toby chuckled. “I guess anything’s possible, Maggot being Maggot.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face, nearly touching her cheek. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Jillie jerked her head back, painfully banging it against the shed’s wall. As she rubbed her head, her gaze traveled up Toby’s unusually small hands and long arms. Then her breath caught in her throat as she stared into the face of the man she’d seen entering the trailer behind her—the trailer where the radio said that horrible old man had been murdered.
“Have we met before?” Toby said. “Seems I’ve seen you somewhere….”
Jillie lowered her gaze, a sudden buzzing in her head. “No, not that I know of.”
Don’t let on you know. If he killed one person, he’d kill another.
“I gotta hand it to you, kid, you’ve led everyone on a wild goose chase. And you had old lady Maggot chewing her nails out of fear you’d go to the police.” He bent over so his mouth was only a few inches from Jillie’s ear. “But I won’t tell her about your hidey-hole if you take me to your dearly departed daddy’s treasure.” He straightened and smiled. “And don’t try that it doesn’t exist line with me. After Digger married your sister, I did some research, more out of curiosity than anything. Turns out there are several stories from the eighteen-hundreds about treasure hidden here in New Mexico. I figured those stories were pure fiction, but I’m re-thinking that. There’s a couple of reputable sources claiming that over sixty-million dollars in gold bars is buried somewhere around the Manzano Mountains, just up the road from your place. I figure your old man found it.” Toby picked at a fingernail absently. “Pretty smart of him to squeeze it out bit by bit rather than spend it all out at once. But I’m not greedy, just a couple of bars should do it.”
As if her brain was stuck in an unending loop, Jillie repeated the only words it sent to her mouth, “I won’t leave without—”
“Your sister’s ashes, I know. Here’s a proposition, you just tell me where he hid the goods then you can wait here as long as you like.” A sly smile crept across Toby’s face. “Although you might be here a while.”
Jillie shook her head. “But I don’t know—”
Toby held up his hand in a shushing motion. “Don’t tick me off. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” He sucked air in through his teeth and jerked his head up at the sound of approaching footsteps. His eyes riveted on Jillie’s, he whispered, “Don’t move.” He pulled the bag back over her head.
“Who’re you talking to, Tobes?” Mort’s voice grew louder as he stood in the door. “You’re freaking me out. You haven’t been chatting with her again—”
Toby interrupted, “You’re hearing things.”
“Heads up,” Mort said. “Looks like I’ll be busy for most of the day, so I’ll take my truck.”
“Text me when you’re done. We have to get this done by tonight.”
As Mort’s footfalls grew faint, Toby pulled the bag off Jillie’s head. He pointed his index finger at her like a gun. “Stay right there. I’ll be back soon as I take care of some business.” He pulled the lock from its place on the door jamb and hooked it through the u-bolt. “We can’t have you running off before we finish our chat, now can we?”
The sounds of squealing hinges and the metallic sounds of a lock being forced into position echoed through the shed.
As the engine noise of both pickups faded into the distance, Jillie ran to the door and pulled at the knob with all her strength. But even though the wood looked rotten, it was still strong enough to hold firm.
Panic roiling in her stomach, her eyes fell on the metal tools. The shovel would have been her first choice if the handle hadn’t been broken off. But maybe she could use the hoe to dig a hole under the door frame, then use the shovel handle as a lever. Her science teacher once said with a fulcrum and a long enough lever, she could move the earth. And all Jillie needed to do was force the door open enough to get through. She grabbed the hoe and hurried to the door.
Her internal clock anxiously ticking the minutes away, she brought the hoe down onto the floor just in front of the door’s frame. But the sound of metal striking metal, accompanied by an arm-numbing jolt, meant the floor wasn’t made of dirt as she’d assumed. She threw the hoe onto the floor and bit her lip to keep from crying out in frustration.
The toolbox again caught her attention. Its hinges appeared to be rusted into globs, so it most likely would squeal like a dying animal when she tried to open it. But she was running out of options.
She dragged the surprisingly light box a few inches from the wall and bent to study the lock dangling from the lid. Fully expecting to have to spend precious minutes banging away at the thing with the shovel blade, she nearly exclaimed out loud to find it unlocked.
Please, God, let there be a tire tool or jack in there.
Mentally crossing her fingers, she opened the lid. The surprisingly well-oiled hinges opened without a sound.
But hope evaporated at the sight of what appeared to be the most realistic-looking Halloween skeleton she’d ever seen. Gaping eye sockets stared out from an amber-colored skull, the left side of which had been crushed. Tufts of straggly, dark hair rested on a small stained pillow; arm and leg bones nestled on top of faded fabric that had been neatly folded alongside the torso.
You haven’t been chatting with her again…
Jillie dropped the lid as if it were red hot. The resulting clang still echoing in the small space, she ran to the farthest corner, squatted on her haunches, and began rocking back and forth.
She’d been eating on top of a dead person…had read Beth’s book, drawn pictures of wild flowers, and sipped water while sitting on a dead person.
Jillie’s stomach heaved, and something sour shot up her throat. Panic took control, and she ran to the door where she feverishly pounded against the splintery wood until the muscles in her arms cramped. Then she dropped to her knees and clawed at the floor, ignoring the pain radiating up her arms from torn fingernails. Finally, exhausted, she slumped against the do
or and sobbed until she could sob no more.
She was still there some time later when tires again crunched on gravel. The tiny hairs at the back of her neck moved, and her breath caught in her throat. A vehicle’s door creaked open and then slammed. After an interval of several minutes, footfalls approached the shed.
Without thinking, Jillie snatched up the shovel handle. She took a position in front of the door, her legs slightly bent at the knees and weight balanced on the balls of both feet as she’d seen a martial arts professional do on television. Gripping the pole in both hands as if it were a sword, she aimed its broken, pointed end at the door and waited.
Chapter Forty-Three
With Margo’s command to get his ass to the Ross farm ringing in his ears, Mort drove well under the speed limit. He’d probably pay for that bit of rebellion, but at that point he just didn’t give a rip. Once he got his hands on the treasure, he’d take off and never look back.
He pulled into the Ross drive and parked behind Cleg’s pickup. Leisurely, he turned off his engine, exited his truck, and sauntered toward his parents.
Cleg stood leaning against the side of the house, a shovel and hammer on the ground at his feet. With one arm against the wall at shoulder level, his head bowed and his face a rich magenta color, he gasped and wheezed. “I got to sit down.”
Maggot stood facing her husband, her arms slashing through the air like the blades of a high-powered fan. Her voice loud enough to travel through steel plating, she jutted her face into Cleg’s and shouted, “Worthless. It’s not even ten yet, and you’ve already conked out.”
“Yo.” Mort stepped onto the porch. “I’m here. What’s so important?”
Maggot whipped her head toward him. “You bring a sledgehammer?”
“Yeah.”
“Bring it into the house.” She sneered and jerked her head toward Cleg. “Worthless there can’t swing a hammer worth a flip, let alone a sledgehammer.”
Mort sucked air in through his teeth then said, “What’re we—”
“Just do as you’re told.” Maggot strode toward the back door. “Move it,” she hollered over her shoulder.