Rock Bottom Treasure (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series)

by Hubbard, S. W.

  “Yes! I just finished my Core Warrior class. Do I look ten pounds lighter?”

  “Absolutely!”

  She gestures to the juice bar. “Shall we have a smoothie?”

  I follow her to the counter and we watch as the barista whirs scoops of fruit into frothy drinks. “I wish he’d add some gin to that,” Noreen mutters.

  “Your in-laws are gone now—are you celebrating or still self-medicating?”

  “Both,” Noreen says as we carry our drinks to a table. “Hank will be back three days from now.”

  “He’s still micromanaging Cordy’s taxes?” I take this opportunity to probe. “Don’t you think Hank, Diane, and Cordy have an unusually...involved...friendship for people their age?”

  “It’s complicated.” Noreen leans back in her chair and gazes up at the café’s hipster light fixtures. “Hank and Diane met Connie Dean at Kent State in 1969 when they were all freshmen.”

  “Connie?”

  “Yes, she was plain old Connie Dean from Nowheresville, Ohio, in 1969. But she and Peter’s parents arrived on campus in the middle of all the anti-war protests. The shooting happened their sophomore year. It was a wild time. They went to anti-war protests and rock festivals and dropped acid—the whole hippie nine yards.”

  I laugh. “Seriously? Peter’s parents are so conventional.”

  “They are now,” Noreen agrees. “Those four years of college were their one walk on the wild side. After graduation, they straightened out. My father-in-law went to law school and my mother-in-law taught social studies to support them until the kids came along. But Connie changed her name to Cordelia and became a rock and roll journalist with Bass Line.”

  I hitch my chair closer to the table. “Keep going. I love long family dramas.”

  So Noreen continues spinning the tale of Hank and Diane’s long relationship with Cordelia Dean.

  “Cordy and Peter’s parents stayed close friends after they graduated college even though their lives took very different paths. Hank and Diane settled in Palmyrton to raise their three kids while Cordy travelled the world following rock bands on tour and writing about them. But by the early nineties she was getting a little past her prime. She never bothered much with the accuracy of her quotes, and got in trouble with Bass Line when one of her stories got the publication sued.” I nod with interest, but of course I already know this.

  Noreen continues. “She started surviving on freelance record reviews and lived in a tiny apartment in the East Village. She’d come out to Palmyrton periodically to visit the van Neffs.”

  Noreen pauses to take a breath and a sip of her smoothie. “The kids loved her. Peter says she was the fun aunt, always willing to take them to arcades and go-kart tracks and other unsavory places his parents wanted nothing to do with.” Noreen wraps the paper from her straw around her finger. “And then in 1997, Peter’s whole world turned upside down. His mom got pregnant at the age of 45, and his little brother Teddy was born with Down Syndrome and multiple heart abnormalities.”

  “Oh, how tragic,” I murmur.

  “Peter says his mom changed overnight. She no longer had time to sew their Halloween costumes or bake cookies or go to the kids’ games and class plays. She visited doctors and therapists and specialists—just devoted herself one hundred percent to saving Teddy’s life. I know it sounds selfish and horrible, but the older kids were resentful. And Peter says his dad got depressed and retreated into his work. It was like Blair and James and Peter didn’t have parents anymore. They were orphans.”

  “I guess it’s not uncommon that the one kid with all the problems gets all the attention.” I say this, but what do I know? I’m an only child.

  “So Diane asked her old friend for help, and Cordy came out to Palmyrton and stayed with the family for weeks at a time. Peter says it was comical because Cordy couldn’t do any of the mom things like cook or sew or go to parent-teacher conferences. But she drove them to their games and fed them fish sticks and chicken nuggets and mostly provided a shoulder for each of them to cry on.”

  “That’s sweet. No wonder Peter is so fond of her.”

  Noreen nods, but she looks concerned. We seem to be getting to the crux of the matter.

  “Then Teddy had surgery that fixed the main issue with his heart and their mom could relax a little, so Cordy went back to her apartment in the city. But a year later, Peter’s family found out Cordy was about to go totally broke. When she had money, Cordy spent it on herself and her friends. But when she didn’t have money, everyone abandoned her.”

  “Except for Peter’s parents,” I clarify.

  “Yes. Hank stepped in to help Cordy. The East Village was becoming gentrified and suddenly Cordy’s studio apartment was valuable. Hank engineered some complicated real estate deal where he bought Cordy’s apartment when her building went co-op, then flipped it for a big profit. He used the money to buy Cordy the house in Palmyrton and invested the rest to give her a little income.”

  Interesting. I wonder if Cordy got the full benefit of that transaction? “Cordy told me she’s lived in that house for twenty years. Is it only recently that she’s run short of cash?” I ask.

  Noreen nods. “Peter thinks it’s because she gives money to all her so-called friends. But I say she’s always done that. She refuses to show Peter her bank accounts, and I don’t blame her, really. She resents being treated like a child. And she’s not senile or anything.”

  Not senile, but certainly prone to live in a fantasy world. “So how did Peter find out about the back taxes in the first place?”

  “Hank was visiting Cordy one day and brought in the mail. There was an envelope from the tax assessor with FINAL WARNING printed on it. So Cordy had to confess she’d fallen behind on the property taxes.”

  So it was Hank that saw this so-called tax bill. Hank that created the financial crisis. “Peter never saw the tax bill himself?”

  Noreen tilts her head. “No...I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  Instead of answering her question, I ask another of my own. “Whose idea was it to move to North Carolina? Hank’s or Diane’s?”

  “It shifted over time,” Noreen explains. “Hank has always loved golf, and for years before he retired they’d spend a week in North Carolina in the early spring so Hank could get back out on the links. He was always talking about wanting to move there once he retired, but Diane resisted. She refused to leave Teddy behind—he lived in a group home for adults with developmental disabilities—and she said it would be too stressful for him to move. But Teddy died of a heart attack last year.”

  I offer my condolences. “But once Teddy died....?”

  “Total role reversal,” Noreen says. “After Teddy died, Diane was done with Palmyrton. She wanted a fresh start even more than Hank did. In fact, he seemed to drag his feet for a while. But after they found the perfect condo in North Carolina, they got motivated to sell their house and move. When the trouble with Cordy’s taxes cropped up in the middle of all that, Peter said he’d take care of it. Neither of us wanted to mess up their move.”

  I smile at my friend. “Because you wanted them to move.”

  Noreen bites her lower lip. “I did, Audrey. I wanted the space.”

  “And was Hank...appreciative...when Peter took over?” If Hank created the crisis, why would he want Peter to get involved? Unless father and son are working together.

  Noreen rolls her eyes. “When is Hank ever appreciative? He always thinks he’s the smartest person in the room and the only one who’s competent. Peter got involved for his mother’s sake, because she was ready to go, and Hank’s micromanaging of Cordy’s affairs was slowing down the process. But even once Hank was in North Carolina, he kept in touch with Peter about Cordy’s finances—always asking how Peter was coming along in finding the money Cordy needed.”

  “Hank said the responsibility was all on Peter?”

  “Oh, no. Hank didn’t see a solution—said the house would have to go into foreclosur
e. That Cordy should apply to move to those apartments in town for low-income seniors if she insisted on staying in Palmyrton. And that Peter and I should be prepared to help her pack up the few items that would fit into a much smaller apartment.”

  Now things are starting to make sense. Hank never intended that Peter should work to keep Cordy in her house.

  “And then that night when you came to our house for dinner—”

  Noreen smiles broadly. “It dawned on me that you could maybe help. And you did.” She sighs. “Just not enough.”

  So Noreen thinks Cordy needs more money to pay her taxes. Does Peter know the truth?

  “And when you told Hank the good news about my finding the Freeman lyrics, how did he react?”

  “I didn’t tell Hank.” Noreen chases a pulverized strawberry at the bottom of her smoothie. “I told Diane because she happened to call that day. And then, the next thing I knew, they were coming back to New Jersey for a visit.”

  I circle back to something Noreen said earlier. “What did you mean by ‘if Cordy insisted on staying in Palmyrton.’ Who suggested she live elsewhere?”

  “One of the reasons Hank and Diane chose North Carolina for their retirement is that it’s cheaper than New Jersey. Hank suggested to Peter that Cordy should consider moving to a cheaper locale.”

  “Move to North Carolina with Hank and Diane?” I ask, astonished.

  Noreen laughs. “Oh, God no—Cordy hates the heat. Peter and I joked that she could move to North Dakota. That’s cheap and cold!”

  I want to ask Noreen if Peter ever had any direct contact with the Palmyrton property tax collector. It’s starting to seem possible that Peter never knew there is no longer a lien on Cordy’s house. But I don’t want to make an outright accusation. Not yet. Instead, I tack in a different direction.

  “Is Cordy more Hank’s friend than Diane’s?” I ask.

  Noreen purses her lips as she contemplates the question. “The only time I’ve ever seen all three of them together is at holidays and big family celebrations. And at those times, the kids are more engaged with Cordy than Hank and Diane are. Cordy was never part of Hank and Diane’s personal social circle. I mean, she wouldn’t have fit in at their country club cocktail parties and their golf and tennis outings.”

  “They’re ashamed of her?” I ask. How mean! Seems to me Diane’s Talbot’s-clad lady friends could use a good dose of Cordy’s funk.

  Noreen frowns and pokes the dregs of her drink with her straw. “No, I think the disinterest cut in both directions. Cordy made fun of them for being so stodgy and straight, and they made fun of her for being so flaky and freaky. It was all in good fun. Until....”

  Noreen’s voice trails off, and I wait patiently for her to resume. Eventually she begins to speak again, stopping and starting as she chooses her words. “Diane and I have always gotten along fine, but I wouldn’t say we’re really...close...emotionally. She’s so brisk and bright and cheerful—she never revealed any deep feelings to me. But after Teddy died, there were a few days when, when, like... her mask slipped. She confided in me about how she fell apart after he was born. About how Hank was simply incredulous that he could have had a hand in creating this less-than-perfect human being, and that he’d been absolutely no help to her whatsoever when Teddy was a baby. She told me how Cordy had saved their family by completely dropping her own life in the city and coming out to Palmyrton to take care of them. Diane said she owed Cordy a debt of gratitude that she could never repay.”

  Noreen pauses. Meanwhile, I’m thinking—a debt of gratitude, but not a debt of dollars and cents to the tax man.

  Noreen reads my mind. “When this tax bill came up, Diane wanted Hank to simply pay it and be done with it. But Hank got all outraged. Said Cordy was extravagant and irresponsible and if he bailed her out this time, it would never end. And ever since, Hank has been sarcastic and critical of Cordy. Peter has noticed it, too. That’s another reason why he stepped in—he doesn’t want Hank hurting Cordy’s feelings and destroying their friendship after all these years.”

  “Mmm—that would be a shame,” I agree.

  What the hell is Hank up to? Does this tax scam have something to do with turning a profit on real estate? Isabelle says Burleith is an up-and-coming neighborhood. Is Hank trying to pull another real estate flip like he did with Cordy’s Manhattan apartment years ago? Maybe Hank has been profiting from Cordy and passing it off as financial assistance.

  “Did Cordy want to leave the city?” I ask Noreen. “Seems like it would be a real culture shock for a free spirit like her to go from the East Village to suburban Palmyrton.”

  Noreen puts her hand on her chest. “Personally, I don’t think she did want to leave. I’ve heard her make comments about the life she left behind when she had to move to Palmyrton.”

  Had to move. Did Hank force her?

  I feel a little guilty that I’ve pumped my friend for information without her awareness. I shift the conversation to a matter we can discuss without guile. “Are you still set for your adoption agency appointment?”

  “I hope Hank will be gone by then,” Noreen says as she gathers her gym tote bag to leave. “I guess one upside to his preoccupation with Cordy’s finances is that he’s forgotten all about our baby woes.”

  Chapter 30

  “HONEY, I NEED YOUR advice.”

  Sean is in the middle of dinner prep when I walk into the house after my facial and visit with Noreen. I pour myself a glass of wine and pick chunks of avocado out of the undressed salad on the counter.

  His sandy eyebrows shoot up as he pushes the salad out of my reach. “Ah, the second sweetest words I could ever hope to hear.”

  “After ‘I love you’?”

  “After, ‘You’re right. I’ll do it your way’.”

  I stick out my tongue at him and launch into the story of Cordy’s nonexistent tax lien. “Should I tell Peter and Noreen that Cordy doesn’t actually owe any money? Or should I tell Cordy herself? And how do I explain why I was nosing around on the property tax record website?”

  Never one to give an impulsive answer, Sean chops an entire red pepper and methodically wipes the board before he replies. “Are you positive Peter is unaware of this?”

  “No, I’m positive Noreen thinks Cordy still owes money. And I’m positive Hank has to know the truth. Peter,” I raise my hands, “I’m not sure.”

  “This is awkward.” Sean tugs his right earlobe. “Our friend’s father is cheating an old woman and our friend may or may not be in on it.”

  Awkward is an understatement. I know how family loyalties work. Within the Coughlin clan, the siblings criticize Terry for being irresponsible or Brendan for being stuck-up, but let an outsider say those things and—look out. So despite whatever tensions might exist between Peter and his father, I don’t expect him to welcome my accusation of paternal deceit. “I think this will strain our friendship, but I don’t see a way around it,” I say.

  “You could just butt out,” Sean suggests.

  “And let a defenseless old woman think she’s about to lose her house?”

  “No good can come from confronting Peter and telling him you think his father is up to something sketchy. Tell Cordy directly,” Sean advises. “And I’m sure you can use some BS about Donna and her new condo to disguise your relentless curiosity.”

  “You’re right dear. I’ll do it your way.”

  I ARRIVE AT THE OFFICE feeling relaxed and happy. Sean and I made love this morning for pure pleasure. The November “window of opportunity” has passed, and it’s too early to start “saving up” for December’s window. I can put pregnancy worry out of my mind for the next two weeks.

  But my happiness doesn’t last.

  Today is the day Ty is going to follow up with some guy about the source of his father’s income. To pursue the possibility that Marvin Griggs’s side hustle, whatever it may be, is somehow responsible for the attack on Charmaine.

  I take a few cleansing breaths
. You can’t control this, Audrey.

  All my insistent text messages have elicited only one reply: I’m fine. Chill.

  I try to chill by throwing myself into my work. Since we’re putting together the Elspeth Leonard sale on short notice, Donna is super busy with ads, signs, and social media. I head over to the house alone to put the finishing touches on organization before the sale on Saturday.

  When I arrive, I park right out front. There’s no longer a benefit to concealing our presence here. Once the sale starts on Saturday, Cordy and her visitors will be aware of our presence. So I decide to use the key to Cordy’s house that I found at Elspeth’s as an excuse to pay a visit in the afternoon. I walk out the front door of Elspeth’s house, cross the street, and head around to the back door of Cordy’s house, her preferred point of entry.

  Looking through the kitchen window, I see no sign of Cordy at the table. Is one in the afternoon still too early to pay a call to this night owl?

  I knock and wait. Eventually, I hear footsteps on the other side of the door. When it swings open, Ariel stands on the threshold.

  “What do you want?” She wraps a long, stretched out cardigan around her tall, stringy figure. But her frail appearance does nothing to soften the harshness of her words.

  I wonder if she has any therapeutic beads to cure a miserable disposition?

  “Hello, Ariel.” I keep my tone pleasant and upbeat. “I need to see Cordy. Can you tell her I’m here, please.”

  “She’s busy.” Ariel doesn’t budge.

  I pull out my phone. “I can call her and tell her I’m here.”

  Ariel scowls and allows me to enter the hallway that runs from the back to the front of the house. “She’s upstairs working on her memoir. She won’t be happy about being disturbed.”

  I hold up a Tupperware container from Elspeth’s freezer. “I’ve brought her some banana bread. And I have something to return to her.”

  “You can give it to me.” Ariel holds out her hand.

  I step around her and bellow up the stairwell to the second floor. “Hello, Cordy—It’s Audrey Nealon. I’ve got something to give you.”