Treasure Borrowed and Blue (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series)

by Hubbard, S. W.

  Selwyn takes one look at Ty’s stern face and heads toward the chairs in the living room. He reminds me of Sean’s youngest nephew, who puts himself in time-out when he knows he’s been naughty.

  Ty and I follow and sit across from the Carnahans’ old friend.

  “What’s up with Nancy?” Ty stretches out his long legs and rotates his ankles after a long day on his feet. “I spent a lot of time talking to her last week, and I don’t think she’s senile. We talk about politics and TV shows and sports and she’s sharp as a tack. She only talks crazy when it comes to her daughter. It’s like she goes into a fantasy world whenever she talks about Bec.”

  “Nancy is in denial about Bec being gay, even though Bec and Les are totally open about it,” I add.

  Selwyn sighs. “Poor Nancy hasn’t been the same since the accident.”

  “The climbing accident when her son died? What do you know about Richard’s death?”

  “Both Bec and Richard were very athletic kids. Les encouraged them both, but Nancy was always trying to get Bec interested in more feminine pursuits. Dolls...crafts...fashion.” Selwyn bites his lower lip. “When Les and Richard started mountain climbing, Bec insisted on coming along. Nancy never seemed to worry about the boys, but she begged Les not to take Bec. She was sure the girl wasn’t strong enough to keep up, that she’d get hurt. But Les told me Bec was a natural. The best climber he’d ever seen. Fearless and sure-footed, but not reckless like some of the young men on the trips.”

  “Nancy didn’t approve of Bec’s interests even when she was a little girl?”

  Selwyn considers my question, then glances away. “Nancy had very fixed ideas of what activities were appropriate for girls. Both kids won sports scholarships to college—Nancy was very proud of that. And both kids kept climbing—on their own, together, and with their father. And Nancy never stopped worrying about Bec.

  “Then came the trip to Mt. Ranier. Of course, Nancy begged Bec not to go. And of course, Bec ignored her mother.

  “From what Lester has told me, Mt. Ranier is a technical climb. That means you need ice axes and ropes and all sorts of equipment. And there’s a danger of avalanches and of falling into crevasses.”

  I shiver.

  “The climbers are all roped together as they make the assault on the summit. If one slips and falls he must shout a warning, and everyone else on the line must immediately dig in with an ice ax. That’s what prevents the whole line from falling. But...” Selwyn shakes his head...”even though they were highly trained, when the first man slipped, Richard panicked. He fell, and started pulling Bec down. Lester lunged to save her. Bec managed to dig in. Richard was killed. Les was terribly injured. Bec survived with barely a scratch.”

  “Lester told me he couldn’t grab them both. His first impulse was to save Bec, maybe because she was the one who climbed against her mother’s wishes. But Bec was the better climber. She saved herself. It was Richard who needed the help.”

  Ty winces. “Les saved the wrong kid.”

  “Needless to say, Bec and Les both were traumatized seeing Richard die before their very eyes. A near-death experience changes a person. Soon after the accident, Bec told her parents she was gay. She said life was too short for her to keep living a lie. Lester told me he wasn’t surprised—he’d always suspected, but I suppose he hoped he was wrong. Still, he took the news pretty well. He even agreed to meet Bec’s girlfriend. But Nancy—oh, my, she was devastated. She simply refused to accept it. She desperately wanted grandchildren, and Bec wanted nothing to do with marrying a man and having babies.”

  “But gay couples have kids, “ I object. “They could adopt. Or use a sperm donor.”

  Selwyn looks squeamish at the mention of these gory details. “Les says Bec and Dana aren’t interested in having their own kids. Teaching and coaching are enough for them.”

  “So not only did Nancy lose her son, she lost her chance at grandchildren,” Ty says. “I can see how that would be hard for a lady like her. She likes doing all those mother-y things. Taking care of people. So she tells herself a story in her head that her daughter might still get married and have babies.”

  “That fairy tale keeps her going.” Selwyn clasps his hands and lets them drop between his knees. “For the most part, Lester just humors her fantasy. But sometimes he gets irritated and snaps. He’s in constant pain, you know.”

  Ty directs his attention to me. “Nancy heard us talking about the wedding and your dress. She asked you a million questions. She musta just borrowed your wedding dress—borrowed your whole wedding—and made Bec the bride.”

  “Okay, I understand why Nancy might want to take my dress, but I still don’t understand how she did it. How did she get into our office?”

  Ty challenges me through narrowed eyes. “Think about how I start every morning on this job.”

  “With a cup of coffee and a muffin with Nancy.”

  “I come in with my keys in the pocket of my hoodie. And then, while I’m drinking all that hot coffee, I take off my hoodie and hang it on the back of the kitchen chair. And it stays there all day until I’m ready to leave.”

  “You think she borrowed your keys?”

  Ty nods. “She could drive over to the office, which she knows is empty in the middle of the day, get the dress, and drive back home in less than an hour—even driving slow like an old lady. Then she musta left the dress in her car until I was gone, and then took it up to the bedroom. Wouldn’t be hard to get it past old Les—once he finishes a meal, he goes back in his den and doesn’t move.”

  “But once she got it here, what was she planning to do with it?”

  Selwyn’s face crumples. “I’m sure she didn’t think it through. She simply wanted to have it. Nancy’s always been a dreamer. She relied on Les to make the decisions and work out the details of any problem. It’s all my fault for calling them to come to the sale. Les wasn’t feeling well enough to drive anywhere today. Nancy told me she’d come alone. Oh, God—now she’s in trouble because of me. What will happen to her?”

  There’s a long silence. I snap out of my own thoughts when I realize both Selwyn and Ty are looking to me for an answer. “Nothing. Nothing’s going to happen to Nancy. I’m so relieved to have my dress back—that’s all that matters.”

  Selwyn jumps up and pumps my hand vigorously. “God bless you for being so compassionate. I was wrong about you. Totally wrong.”

  I may have gone up in Selwyn’s estimation, but I’ve gone down in my own.

  How could I have been so totally wrong about who stole the dress? What kind of woman suspects her soon-to-be family of trying to destroy her happiness?

  Chapter 17

  To hell with superstition. I’m keeping this dress at my house where Sean and I can keep an eye on it. Ethel bounds up the stairs behind me, trying to nip at the rustling sound emanating from within the garment bag.

  I hang the bag in the guest room closet and address the dog. “You see this? I want you to guard it. If anyone tries to break in, I want you to bark like it’s Fourth of July.”

  Ethel accepts her assignment and proceeds to perform her duty from a perch on the usually forbidden guest room bed. Sean must’ve entered the house while we were on our way up here. He appears in the doorway of the guest room with a frown on his face.

  “What’s that dog doing on the bed?”

  I drag him into the room and fling open the closet door.

  His jaw drops. “Adrienne gave your dress back?”

  Old suspicions die hard. I pat the bed. “Sit down. I have a lot to tell you.”

  So we stretch out next to Ethel and I tell him the saga of Nancy and the dress.

  When I’m done, Sean is quiet for a long time. He’s processing something, and I know better than to interrupt.

  Eventually he speaks while keeping his eyes focused on the fan above our heads. “I feel dirty. Like a cop who fits someone up for a crime he didn’t commit because he thinks the scumbag oughta be in jail for so
mething.”

  “You didn’t try to frame Adrienne. You just suspected her.” I squeeze his hand and take a deep breath. “I have a confession. I suspected Terry.” I can’t bring myself to make the bigger confession—that I suspected Sean’s mother as well.

  Sean’s head swivels in my direction. ”Really? I know he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not a thief.”

  “I’m sorry. Believe me, I feel like dirt for being so wrong about him. We both were so sure that someone took the dress to hurt us. Why would we believe that?”

  We both lapse into silence, tormented by our own tarnished souls.

  Sean turns and traces the side of my cheek with his index finger. “You know, Adrienne and Terry both went to see Mom and pleaded with her to come to the wedding. By the time they left, Mom and Dad were both crying, and Mom was praying the rosary to ask for God’s intervention.”

  “We have to resolve this, Sean. I want us both to be completely happy on our wedding day. We can’t be if your grandfather and parents aren’t there.”

  I sit up. “Maybe Grandma Betty is right. Maybe we should ask Pastor Jorge for help. After all, your grandfather’s objection comes down to a crisis of faith. Who’s better equipped to deal with that than a man of the cloth?”

  “In my grandfather’s eyes, Jorge is a man of the wrong cloth. If only I could get Granda to realize—”

  I place my fingers across Sean’s lips. “You keep trying to reason with your grandfather. It’s not a matter of logic. Let’s admit our own failure and do what Betty says—turn it over to a higher power.”

  THE NEXT DAY, DESPITE Sean’s doubts, we make our way to the little concrete block building that houses the Church of Living Praise. The bulletin board outside the Sunday school classrooms displays crayon drawings of Bible stories. In addition to the ever popular Noah and his ark, there’s a picture of Jesus feeding people lots of colorful fish, a picture of a farmer burying a tiny mustard seed and getting a giant redwood-sized plant, and my personal favorite, a leering, sword-wielding King Solomon about to whack a baby in half.

  Pastor Jorge pops out of his office. “Welcome, welcome! I see you are enjoying the artwork of our youngest church members.”

  I point to the bloodthirsty portrayal of King Solomon. “Looks like little Raoul might have taken away the wrong message from that story.”

  Jorge smiles. “Ah, how often we ignore the Bible’s message of love and hope as we focus on fear and retribution.”

  “You can say that again,” Sean mutters as we head into Pastor Jorge’s office. I outline our problem with periodic theological and family dynamics clarifications from Sean.

  Sean wraps it up. “So my cousin the priest has convinced my grandfather that he’ll burn in hell if he attends the wedding of a divorced Catholic performed by a Protestant minister outside of a church. And my grandfather has convinced my mother.”

  Pastor Jorge smiles and folds his hands. “Oh, my—you should not have troubled yourselves. I see this sort of thing all the time. People of different faith traditions want to join in marriage, and their families have a hard time compromising.”

  “Exactly.”

  Pastor Jorge throws open his arms. “But I always say, ‘God is too big to fit inside one religion.’ We must offer our faith up to God and not be dragged down by these details.”

  Now, this is theology I can get behind. “Yes! But...how do we do that? I, I’m sorry to say this, Pastor Jorge, but I’m not sure Sean’s mother will listen to you.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t have to listen to me. She would like a priest to come and co-officiate at your wedding, yes? I will get my friend, Father Oswaldo. He’s a Jesuit, just like the Pope. The two of us will come to talk to her.”

  “And Sean’s grandfather, too?”

  “Of course.”

  Pastor Jorge beams at me. The lead apron is gone.

  Grandma Betty was right. Offer it up to the Lord.

  Chapter 18

  One month later.

  “What’s going on out there?”

  Deirdre yanks me back from the folding door that leads out to the garden at the Old Mill Inn. “Don’t look! It’s bad luck for anyone to see the bride before she walks down the aisle.”

  “You’re seeing her,” Maura observes.

  “That’s different.” Deirdre fusses one more time with the crown of flowers in my hair, having gotten over her disappointment that I declined to wear a veil. She traces the borrowed strand of pearls from Maura and checks my hand for my mother’s old ring. Then she stage whispers in my ear. “Are you wearing the blue panties?”

  “Yes, but you’ll have to take my word for it. I’m not hiking this dress up to show you.”

  Deirdre’s eyes brim with tears. “You look so beautiful, Audrey. My brother is the luckiest man in the world. And our mother agrees.”

  Maura turns her head to hide her smile. Mary Coughlin practically had to be wheeled out of the rehearsal dinner last night because she was having such a great time toasting the saints with Granda and Father Oswaldo, who, despite his Columbian heritage, has quite a head for Irish whiskey.

  The rehearsal dinner began sedately enough, with a dignified welcome from my dad, the host. Then Father Oswaldo offered the invocation, which managed to incorporate a few references to his recent trip to the Vatican, as well as a tribute to the dear departed Grandma Coughlin, who, he assured us, was smiling down on this occasion. Then the wine and Irish whiskey started flowing and the party rocked ‘til well after midnight. Nevertheless, all the Coughlins are present and accounted for today at the wedding.

  Second cousin Father Frank is the only no-show. He wasn’t won over by the Oswaldo compromise—apparently he’s a Franciscan and has a long-running feud with the Jesuits. But no one cares. Once Oswaldo came to visit the Coughlins and Granda saw the pictures of Oswaldo kissing the ring of Pope Francis during his visit to the Vatican, once he heard Oswaldo preach the gospel of the eternal peace found in forgiveness and compassion, Father Frank became a bit player in the Coughlin family saga. Clearly, Oswaldo was the priest with the direct line to the Divine.

  Now Brendan pokes his head into the small waiting room where the wedding party is gathered. “Everyone is seated. I told the trumpeter to start in three. C’mon, Deirdre—time to sit down.” Brendan hustles his sister through the door and turns to wink at me. “You’re a knock-out, sis.”

  The first notes of John Stanley’s trumpet voluntary ring out. Dad steps up and offers his arm. I expect it to be unsteady, but he’s rock solid. I’m the one who’s trembling.

  Maura gives me a thumbs-up and leads the way.

  Dad and I step out into the bright sunlight and walk down the white carpet spread across the grass.

  All the guests twist in their seats—a sea of faces watching me.

  I grip Dad’s arm, and my heart races. I don’t like this!

  But the faces resolve into people I love: Katie, Bill, George, Karen, Heather, Justin, Brendan, Adrienne, Terry, Colleen, and finally, Ty, Jill, Grandma Betty, Natalie. And on the other side of the aisle, Granda, Joe, and Mary.

  All smiling. All happy.

  I realize I should smile back, and manage a tentative grin.

  Then I look straight ahead.

  Pastor Jorge and Father Oswaldo stand side-by-side, beaming reassurance.

  And next to them: Sean.

  He’s nervous—I can always tell—shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other. Then his eyes meet mine, and he smiles. The warmest, sweetest, most confident smile, meant only for me.

  I pick up the pace, getting half a step ahead of Dad.

  He tightens his grip on my arm and we get back into sync.

  Finally, we’ve arrived.

  Dad leans in close and whispers in my ear, “I wish you every happiness together. I love you.”

  Then he steps back to sit with Natalie. Sean comes forward and takes my hand.

  Somehow, I never thought it would come to this.

  I se
e Pastor Jorge’s lips moving. Behind me, I hear laughter. But I feel like I’m in a bubble, a bubble that contains only Sean and me.

  Vaguely, I’m aware of Deirdre coming forward and reading a passage from the Bible, and Sean’s friend stepping up to sing “My Wild Irish Rose.” Then Father Oswaldo speaks about uniting not just two people, but two families.

  Yes, all of this we did yesterday at the rehearsal.

  But this next part is new.

  Father Jorge begins reciting the familiar words. “Do you, Audrey, take this man ....”

  I do. I’m so certain that I try to say it before Pastor Jorge finishes his part.

  Then it’s Sean’s turn. His gaze into my eyes never wavers as he repeats the vows. He starts out speaking softly and ends with a firm, “I do.”

  Pastor Jorge smiles at us, then looks out to the crowd. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Sean takes me in his arms, and locks me in a deep kiss.

  I feel the wreath of flowers slip off my head.

  I don’t care.

  I want this moment, this kiss, to go on forever.

  THE END

  I hope you enjoyed Treasure Borrowed and Blue. Please post a review to help other readers find this book. I appreciate your support! If you’d like to receive periodic updates on my new releases, sales, and sneak peeks, please join my mailing list: http://swhubbard.net/contact.

  Read all the Palmyrton Estate Sale Mysteries, available in paperback, Kindle, and audiobook:

  Another Man’s Treasure

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  Treasure of Darkness

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  This Bitter Treasure

  mybook.to/ThisBitterTreasure

  Treasure Borrowed and Blue

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  Treasure in Exile

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  Treasure Built of Sand

  getbook.at/TreasureofSand

  Box Full of Treasure

  Palmyrton Estate Sale Mysteries 1-3, Boxed Set