Treasure Built of Sand (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 6)

by S. W. Hubbard

  Chapter 23

  Sean drops me off at work on Thursday morning with a promise that he’ll call me as soon as he finds out anything about Sophia’s interview with the cops. I haven’t received any texts from her overnight, and of course, the text I sent her at eight AM has gone unanswered.

  I enter the AMT office to find Donna staring at the Chaco’s Auto Body calendar on the wall. Given that the picture still shows March’s Easter bunny, it’s unlikely she’s looking for a date. Her eyes are puffy with dark circles underneath, and she’s not wearing a lick of makeup. As my friend Maura is fond of saying, she looks like she's been dragged through the trash backwards. Only one person could be responsible for making her look this bad. I don't want to ask, but I have to. "Did you talk to Anthony last night?"

  Donna shakes her head. Then collapses onto the desk and lets out a howl. There's really no other word for it. She sounds like a raccoon protesting the arrival of the sanitation crew.

  "Oh my God, Audrey! I don't know what I'm going to do. I have to quit my job."

  I feel a surge of anger. “Over my dead body will I let Anthony force you to quit your job! Why do you listen to him?"

  Donna rolls her head from left to right but doesn't lift it from the desk. Is that a no? She makes some sort of unintelligible sound. I put my hands on her shoulders "Donna honey, lift your head and talk to me. What happened?"

  Donna keeps her head buried under her arms. Straining my ears, I still can’t understand the words emerging from this lump.

  “Oh, Audrey, Uhdunna a tubbla."

  "What? Just tell me what's going on."

  "Eee—tiiiii."

  I feel like I’m listening to a foreign language radio station. “Even time...? In town...?”

  Finally Donna lifts her tear-stained face. “It's Ty,” she shouts. “I've made a terrible mistake with Ty."

  A tingle of anxiety rolls down my spine. What could this mean? As far as I’m concerned, Ty and Donna are the perfect players on my team. They balance each other in temperament and skills. What could’ve gone wrong? “What kind of mistake? You said something that hurt his feelings? Ty doesn’t hold a grudge.”

  Donna’s gaze meets mine. She sits perfectly still and simply stares at me. Her breath goes in and out in raspy bursts and somehow that draws my attention to her chest. Her firm, round breasts move up and down under her tight knit top. The kind of top she always wears.

  The kind of top I’ve noticed Ty noticing.

  I feel queasy. “What did you two do?”

  “It’s all my fault.” Her voice quavers. “I was upset about Anthony setting Ray-Ray to watch the office and I told Ty the latest, and when I started crying, he put his arm around me, and I put my head on his shoulder and then, and then....”

  I raise my hand for her to stop. I don’t want the gory details. “Where did all this happen?”

  “At the Freidrich house. Yesterday. Don’t worry—I washed the sheets.”

  Count on Donna to clean up the physical mess. The emotional mess she saves for me. “How did you leave things with Ty?”

  Donna shrugs. “He had to go to his night class. I haven’t seen him or talked to him since. He texted me late yesterday to say goodnight. I don’t....” Donna’s lip trembles. “Oh, Audrey! I got carried away because I hadn’t been with anyone but Anthony for years. I don’t want to hurt Ty. He’s been so good to me. He’s been my rock, willing to defend me from Anthony. But I’m too old for him. This will never work.”

  What makes Donna think Ty is looking to get involved? As long as I’ve known him, he’s always juggled a couple different girls—never serious about any of them. But surely, he’d know better than to start a casual hook-up with a woman he has to work with every day. “What exactly did he say to you before he left for class?”

  “He said, ‘I’ll always be here for you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.’ Oh, ga-a-awd! I, I can’t do this right now. I can’t get involved with another man.”

  Hmm. That simply sounds like Ty being his loyal self. He’s spoken words to that effect to me many times. “That’s all he said?”

  Donna blushes furiously.

  Oh, geez—Ty’s always been very successful with the ladies. I don’t want to know what he says to make the magic happen.

  “He said stuff that made me think that he wanted to do it again. And I can’t. I don’t want him to think that I’m rejecting him because of who he is. But I can’t date him, Audrey.”

  Who he is? A black man? An ex-con? A poor kid raised by his grandmother? “You’d be embarrassed to be with him?” My voice has an accusatory tone, which is ludicrous because I certainly don’t think Ty and Donna should get involved romantically.

  “Of course not! But, my family—it’s not that they’re racist, but.... Oh, who am I kidding? They’re racist! Audrey, they’d freak if I came home with a black man. My Uncle Mario! My grandmother!” Donna rocks back and forth. “It’s not right, and I know I should stand up to them, but I can’t right now. I need my family to get me through this divorce. I can’t start a fight with them.”

  I’d like to point out that Donna’s family are the ones who encouraged her to marry Anthony in the first place and to stick with him for far too long, but that’s not what she needs to hear right now. She’s taken the hardest step in leaving her abuser. She deserves all the support I can give. Besides, even though my heart wants to scream that Donna would be lucky to have Ty, my rational mind, which always rules, knows that these two would be a disaster together in the long run. Donna wants kids, and Ty is nowhere near ready for that. And both of them are very close to their families. I can’t picture Grandma Betty and Uncle Mario ever sitting around the same Thanksgiving table.

  My mind keeps coming back to the same question. What was Ty thinking? What did he want from this encounter?

  “What do you want to happen?” I ask Donna.

  “I need to be on my own for a while, be my own person without any guy in my life.”

  “I agree.”

  Donna chews the edge of her thumbnail. “Yeah, but Ty and I have to see each other every day. This is so awkward!”

  Somehow, I’ve got to straighten this up or risk losing the two best assistants I’ve ever had. I glance at the Tyrolian cuckoo clock ticking loudly in the corner. “Ty will be here soon. Why don’t you go stock up on your favorite cleaning supplies and let me see what kind of mood he’s in?”

  Donna’s eyes widen in alarm. “You’re not going to tell him that I told you—”

  “Of course not.” I nudge her out the door. “But I think it’s best you don’t encounter him just yet.”

  No sooner does Donna leave than a text arrives from Ty.

  Hey. Whattup?

  Donna went off to Target to buy supplies. When will you be in?

  No answer.

  Not two minutes later, Ty strolls through the door. He must’ve been watching the office from across the street. He glances around the room as if he thinks Donna might yet leap out from under a desk.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Ty mutters. But instead of sitting at his desk and getting to work, he paces around like a caged tiger periodically checking his phone.

  “Something wrong?” I enquire, keeping my eyes focused on my Excel spreadsheet. Will he confess to me? The more I think about what happened, the more I’m irritated at Ty. He should’ve known better than to respond to Donna’s overtures when she’s in such a vulnerable state. But when do men ever think with their brains when another organ will give them the answer they want?

  “Nah. All good.” He looks at his phone for the tenth time. “Yo, I gotta go see this guy who wants to buy the master bedroom furniture at the Freidrichs’ house. Donna’s not planning on going over there today, is she? ‘Cause I got it all under control.”

  I bet you do.

  I keep my voice bland. “You go ahead and handle it. And line up your friend Zeke to help Donna with the sale this weekend. Donna has work to do on the website today. I’ll co
me pick you up at your house tomorrow when it’s time to leave for Sea Chapel.”

  A big grin splits his face, and Ty shoots out of the office. That reaction tells me he’s as regretful about yesterday’s liaison as Donna is. I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow when we’re in the car together and he can’t escape. By Monday when we’re all back together, things will have cooled off and we can all get back to normal.

  I hope.

  No sooner do I settle myself down from the Ty/Donna calamity than Sean calls and reports that Sophia left the police station at 4PM under her own steam. He hasn’t been able to find out what the Ocean County cops talked to her about, but at least we know she wasn’t arrested. He also says that a patrolman arrested Ray-Ray for a string of unpaid parking tickets. Sean will talk to him about his other activities. But Ray-Ray will be out of commission for at least a few days. I begin to relax and settle into my accounting when my phone rings.

  “Audrey? It’s Jane Peterman. Did Sophia spend the night at your place last night?” Her voice is thick and languid, as if these are the first words she’s spoken today.

  “What? No! You mean she never came home?” My relief that Sophia wasn’t arrested is replaced by worry that her melodramatic threat might have been taken very seriously by someone in the church yesterday. Would Trevor’s killer go after Sophia?

  “Well, apparently not. I went to bed early with a crushing headache and now that I’m up, I see that the dog pooped by the back door, which means Sophia never let him out last night. Of course, she’s not answering my calls or texts. She never does.”

  Paco’s elimination accidents don’t seem to me to be the most reliable indicator of Sophia’s presence. “Did you check to see if her bed had been slept in?”

  “Well, who can tell? That bed hasn’t been made in weeks.”

  “Jane,” I bark. “Do you know what happened at Trevor’s funeral yesterday? Do you know that your daughter spent two hours alone talking to the police?”

  She sighs. “My phone does seem to have blown up with messages, but I can’t deal with all that so early in the morning.”

  God, Jane could star in one of those bad parenting reality shows. Just when I thought I could stop worrying about Sophia, Jane makes me feel like worrying about the kid should be my full time job. I give Jane a quick summary of the scene at the funeral.

  “Ugh,” she groans. “Sophia just isn’t happy unless she’s the center of attention. This is what I get for choosing an actor to be her father.”

  “What if Trevor’s killer really was at the funeral. What if he was spooked by what Sophia said? Your daughter could be in danger.” How can someone with an Ivy league degree be so dense?

  “You don’t know my daughter like I do. This is all a ploy for attention. And no one we know murdered Trevor.” She says this as if she thinks the coroner is just as prone to exaggeration as her daughter.

  “Well, someone crushed his throat and threw his body in the ocean. He didn’t do it to himself.”

  Jane sighs as if I’m pestering her with tiresome details. “Maybe he sold some of his meds to an unsavory character who killed him.”

  Arguing with Jane about whether Sophia is in a murderer’s sights is pointless. We just need to find the girl. “Have you called her friends?”

  “Friends? Now that school is back in session, all she does is complain about how she has no one here to hang out with.”

  “How about that boy who works at Elmo’s?” I suggest.

  “I don’t have his number.” Jane says “his” as if a dishwasher’s ten digits would contaminate her iPhone. “I suppose I could call the restaurant. Do you think they’re open yet?”

  “I’m sure there’s someone in the kitchen by now. Try that.”

  I hang up with her and tap my pencil on the desk. If Sophia never returned to Sea Chapel at all, could she be with Fly, another lost teenage soul? How can I find out his real name and track him down?

  I know! Palmyrton High School has a full-time resource officer, and Sean knows the guy. Fly seems like the kind of kid who’d be well known to the cop who patrols the halls of the school. I trade messages with my husband, and within ten minutes I’m talking to the high school cop.

  “Ah, my man, Fly. What’s he done now?”

  “Nothing. I met him yesterday at the funeral of his friend, Trevor Finlayson, and I’m just wondering if he’s seen another girl who was at the church.”

  “I saw on the attendance report that he skipped school yesterday. Glad to hear he was in church, not hanging out behind the Burger King.”

  I know from Sean that the weed-choked empty lot behind the fast food restaurant is the first place the cops go when they’re looking for drifters, runaways, or drug dealers. I feel my stomach curdle at the idea that Fly might have taken Sophia there. “He didn’t strike me as a bad kid...just a little lost.”

  The cop’s gruff tone softens. “Frankie’s all right. He needs a goal. And an old man to kick him toward it. I haven’t got today’s attendance yet. I’ll go find out if he’s here and get back to you.”

  Suddenly, the office feels oppressive to me. Ty, Donna, Sophia, Ray-Ray, Fly—they feel like they’re all crowded around my desk, staring at my spreadsheets and scrolling through my emails. I don’t have my car since Sean drove me to the office, so I decide to walk a few blocks to Caffeine Planet for lunch. I can sit at one of their outdoor tables and use their free wi-fi to do anything I’d be doing here.

  Even though I know Ray-Ray is at the Palmyrton police station, I keep a sharp eye on my surroundings. But my street is quiet, and no one pays attention to my journey. Cool breeze, warm sun, a cascade of falling leaves—my spirits begin to lift as I stroll toward the center of town.

  I reach Caffeine Planet by twelve-fifteen, just as the lunch rush has begun. Taking my salad and iced tea outside, I nab the last sidewalk table. Sitting there, I encounter a parade of people I know in Palmyrton: Joan, the librarian; Mr. Swenson, my lawyer; two former clients; Beverly Masterson from the Rosa Parks Center; and Bill, my father’s favorite chess partner. In addition to all the people passing by, a steady stream of customers enters and leaves Caffeine Planet through the door right beside my table. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to get serious work done, but I pull out my iPad and try to at least send some emails.

  I’ve fired off invitations to the Sea Chapel sale to several of my best customers when I hear the extra chair at my table being dragged out. I glance up to let the person know they’re welcome to move it to another table and see yet another person I recognize: Trevor Finlayson’s mother, Jeanine.

  I smile and make a “feel free” gesture toward the chair, assuming she won’t recognize me.

  I’m wrong.

  She sits down at the table. “You were at my son’s funeral with Sophia Peterman, weren’t you?”

  “Uhm...ye-e-es.”

  “Who are you? Why did you let Sophia create that scene?” Her hands grip the edge of the tiny table and she leans so close I can see the clumps in her mascara. “Hasn’t my family suffered enough?”

  I hold my hands up in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea Sophia was going to do that. I barely know the girl. She asked me to come along for moral support because she’d never been to a funeral before.”

  “But who are you? Someone told me you were in Sea Chapel when Trevor’s body was recovered.”

  I explain my presence and how I got to know Sophia. “She says that Trevor was terrified before he died. She seemed to think it had something to do with a group of kids from Bumford-Stanley.”

  Jeanine tosses her head in exasperation. “And you believe that? Do you know why Sophia was expelled from Bumford-Stanley?”

  “Expelled? I thought she just left for more academic freedom.”

  Jeanine picks up my spoon and taps the table for emphasis. “Sophia booby-trapped a girl’s locker with a firecracker. It exploded in her face. The poor child needed eye surgery, but Jane acted like it was a silly prank.
The girl’s parents wanted Sophia arrested. The headmaster got both sides to settle on expulsion. After that, I told Trevor to stay away from Sophia. That’s why she’s cooking up these crazy stories.”

  I’m appalled by Jeanine’s story. Certainly, Sophia never struck me as mean-spirited or vindictive. But as Sean points out, I’m not always the best judge of character. “Still, I think Sophia genuinely cared about Trevor.”

  Jeanine’s lips press together in a tight line. She takes a deep breath to steel herself to keep talking to me. “Sophia was drawn to Trevor’s craziness. So was that boy, Fly.” Jeanine rakes her fingers through her hair. “I loved my son, but I’ll tell you this—he was different from the moment he was born. He cried for hours on end as an infant. He pitched terrifying tantrums over the smallest disturbance in his surroundings. His father and I were taking him to psychiatrists by the time he was three. So many different diagnoses! Schizoaffective disorder, bipolar disorder, oppositional defiant disorder. No one knew what was wrong with him or how to make him better. And after Trevor’s father died, his grandfather, that spiteful old man, refused to help me pay for Trevor’s treatments. He thought I should send him to military academy or boot camp. A child!”

  Jeanine leans back in her chair. “I’m shot, drained. I can barely force myself out of bed in the morning. And just when I think things can’t get any worse, they do. I cried a river of tears when I thought Trevor had killed himself. But it didn’t really surprise me that he’d commit suicide.”

  Jeanine’s voice gets louder, more agitated. “Then the police say no, someone murdered your son. And they come to my house and question us as if my husband Ken had something to do with it! And now that showboating little bitch Sophia is trying to make trouble for our friends by telling the police lies about the kids Trevor went to school with. I’m in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

  “I’m sorry for your troubles,” I say softly. “The police have to follow up every lead. But whatever Sophia told them, they won’t believe it unless there’s solid evidence to back it up.”

  Jeanine studies me through narrowed eyes. “You said your husband’s a cop?”