“There’s a teeny tiny blip in that theory, Lucy. Your parents died. That was a game changer right there. Someone somewhere knows about those two safes. We need to start seriously thinking about talking to the authorities. And the sooner the better. And don’t forget, you keep saying that the people who lived in the house aren’t or weren’t your parents.”
“I thought of something last night, and I opened the safe after you went to bed. All those passports were blank. By blank I mean they didn’t have pictures in them. The credit cards had names on them, as did the driver’s licenses. No pictures on the driver’s licenses. That tells me there is some forger out there who at some point enters the picture and, no pun intended, affixes somehow, some way, pictures of whoever is going to be needing those identities. Did I say that right?”
“You’re way above my pay grade here, Lucy, but I understand what you’re saying. It all smacks of spy stuff. This is so James Bond, it is creepy. I mean it. We need to talk to someone.”
“Who? The FBI? The local cops? I sent off an e-mail to the real-estate broker and asked him if he would get in touch with the estate people in Freehold and ask them if we could move in now and pay the estate a month’s rent until the closing. I think we need to get out of here, and the sooner we do that, the better. I can call a packing company, and if they have people available, we could be out of here by tomorrow. What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. You’re scared, aren’t you?”
“Damn straight I’m scared,” Lucy said in a strangled voice.
Angie nibbled on a piece of crisp bacon. “All the more reason for us to go to someone. My vote would be the FBI.”
“Isn’t the FBI crime and all things related to crime? Maybe the CIA. They’re international and can’t operate on U.S. soil. I think that’s how it works. All that stuff in the safe, the passports and such, is from other countries. The CIA and the FBI are not warm and fuzzy partners. I think they’re in competition with each other. At least that’s what I remember reading at some point. Maybe I saw it on the news,” Lucy said fretfully. “I’m sorry I’m scaring you, Angie.”
At that moment, the old-fashioned phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen rang. Both women jumped. Angie reached for it and handed the receiver to Lucy.
“Lucy Brighton,” she said briskly. She listened and mouthed the words, “It’s the real-estate broker.” She listened some more. Finally, she said, “That’s wonderful. I’ll stop by for the key tomorrow, then. I’ll bring a check for the month’s rent with me to tide us over till the closing. I’d appreciate it if you could get a cleaning crew in there today or in the morning. We’ll be there at some point tomorrow afternoon. Again, I appreciate your going out of your way for me.”
The moment Lucy hung up, the phone rang again. She listened and said, “Now is a good time. There isn’t all that much, mostly office equipment. Is it at all possible for you to transport my belongings to Freehold tomorrow, late morning? You can? Yes, I understand there will be a moving charge. Fine, fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“We’re in business, Angie. God, I cannot wait to get out of here. Listen, you check to see about the storage unit. I have to call the probate lawyer to give him my new address, and Dr. Lyons to report on my foot. I still haven’t gotten a bill from them. I hesitate to leave a forwarding address, so that means I have a lot of calls to make or e-mails to send. You can call FedEx, ask for Toby, and give him the news. By the way, what did he deliver yesterday?”
Angie beamed. “Okay. It was a box. It’s still on the dining-room table. Be sure to tell the doctor all the blackened skin has sloughed off your foot. Ask him if we use the greasy ointment or the one that absorbs, or do we stick with the honey?”
Lucy nodded. It would be such a relief to take the heavy bandage and the rolling wheel off her foot and actually wear a sock and a slipper. The gods must be smiling on me.
Twenty minutes later, the two women compared notes. “Mr. Schwager thanked me and said probate moves slow, but all the wheels are in motion. He said he would file the necessary papers with the insurance companies. I explained about the car, and he said to fax him the title and he’d take care of that, too. Dr. Lyons said he was pleased at my progress and that the honey worked much more quickly than he thought possible and to go ahead and keep using it as long as I didn’t mind my foot being sticky, which I don’t. A cotton sock and a slipper is okay. What do you have?”
Angie cleared her throat. There was a devilish gleam in her eye when she said, “A date for Saturday night. You know, a date, a he’s-going-to-knock-on-the-door kind of date. And he said he knows exactly where we’re moving and I should tell you it was a good choice on your part. I’m talking about Toby here. Ooooh, I am so excited. There’s a storage unit on Route One in Woodbridge. They have two available for vehicles and only four units for personal items. It’s ninety dollars a month for the personal one and three hundred dollars for the vehicle one. I reserved them both in my mother’s maiden name. I’m getting pretty good at this spy stuff.”
“Good thinking, Angie. I never would have thought of that. We’ll need to pay cash. That means we have to stop at an ATM before we get there. I don’t keep that kind of cash lying around.”
“Lucy . . . ah . . . what about the stuff upstairs? You can’t fit any more in your father’s Rover. Your car and mine are too small. Well, they aren’t really, but where and how are we going to pack it all up?” A look of horror crossed her features. “You aren’t planning on leaving it here, are you? Two trips aren’t good. It will call attention to us. We have to do it all at once.”
“It’s the artillery that we need to worry about transporting. I’m sure I have boxes in the studio. The packing company will have boxes. We’ll just wrap it all up in towels and sheets, like I did in Florida, then seal up the boxes and label them. We can pack up the papers and the . . . other stuff separately. I think it will be better to have everything in one location, as opposed to scattering it around. Do you agree? You know, once it’s out of our hair, and we aren’t worrying about it, we can make a decent decision about what to do and who to call. I think, or at least I hope, that will work.”
“Sounds like a plan. If you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it,” Angie said, though there was an edge in her voice.
“We really don’t have too many options here, Angie.”
“I hate to ask you this, but what about those . . . urns and the people in them? Are you going to put them in storage or leave them here in the house? This is so grisly.”
“They’re going into storage until we find out who they are. At some point, we can always put them in a mausoleum. They are not my parents. If they were my parents, I would feel something. I didn’t feel anything from day one, and that hasn’t changed. I’m telling you, Angie, those . . . ashes are not my parents’ ashes,” Lucy replied, a note of hysteria creeping into her voice.
“Okay. Calm down. What do we do first?”
“Well, as soon as you fix my foot and I get a slipper on, we’re going out to the studio to stack up my personal files. That way, all we have to do is box them up when the packers get here. Then we can leave them to do their work while you and I go to the storage place. First, though, we have to get the boxes for . . . for the artillery.”
“Okay, let’s do it!”
It was eleven thirty on the dot when Angie ripped off the last strip of packing tape and stuck it on a cardboard carton in the studio. “That does it, I think. The packers can load up their van and transport everything tomorrow. Be sure they sign off on it.”
“Yes, Mother,” Lucy drawled. “I cannot tell you how good my foot feels. I don’t think I’ll have a bit of trouble driving. The slipper has a thick sole. I’m good, and do not even think about trying to talk me out of it.”
“Stop reading my mind, Lucy.”
“Then stop thinking such negative thoughts,” Lucy snapped. “Bring the boxes.”
“I have them. Can we take thi
s roll of tape?”
“Why not? I’m paying for it.”
The two young women worked like beavers as they emptied out the safe and wrapped up the guns and ammunition in towels and bed linens and loaded them into four different boxes. Angie taped the boxes, and Lucy used a black grease pencil to label them PALE BLUE BED LINENS. The second box was labeled WINTER BLANKETS, and the third, SUMMER CLOTHES.
“They aren’t too heavy for you to carry out to the chair rail, are they?” Lucy asked.
“I can carry them. Are you sure we didn’t forget anything?”
“I’m sure. The safe is closed. And I have the umbrella wires in my purse. I think we’re good to go, Angie. When we get back, all we have left to do is pack up our clothes and we’ll be ready to go in the morning. Oh, and empty out the fridge and freezer.”
“Are you taking your Crock-Pots?”
Lucy had to think about that for a moment. “Absolutely, I’m taking them.”
Angie laughed. “Now, that’s the Lucy I know and love. I’ll pack them up.”
It was exactly 12:20 when Lucy climbed behind the wheel of her father’s Range Rover. Angie was driving the packed-to-the-roof Saturn.
“Phone’s ringing!” Angie shouted. “Do you want me to get it?”
“They’ll call back if it’s important. Or they’ll call my cell phone.” Well, no, they won’t, actually, Lucy thought, because I left it on the kitchen counter. She told herself it wasn’t a problem as she backed the Rover out of the garage. Butterflies skittered around inside her stomach. This was really happening. She was breaking the law. She just knew it. Too late now. Sometimes, you just had to do what you had to do.
The three-mile drive to the storage center on Route 1 took all of fifteen minutes. Angie pulled in first. She hopped out of the car and went into a dusty, cluttered office, where a man sat reading a newspaper with a magnifying glass. He looked up. That was when Angie saw the milky white eyes and knew the man had cataracts. His voice was sweet and gentle when he asked how he could help her.
“I called a little while ago to reserve a car-storage unit and a personal unit.”
The man laid aside his newspaper and slid a clipboard across the counter. “Just fill it out, and I’ll give you the keys.”
“I’m paying for two months on both units, and I’m paying in cash. My brother and I just moved here and haven’t had time to open a bank account. Is that all right?”
“Right as rain, little lady. Cash is always good. Where are you from?”
“Memphis, Tennessee. By the way, my name is Brenda Tolliver. My brother’s name is Justin. I’m putting his name on the contract, so we’ll need two keys. Is that okay?”
“Right as rain, little lady. Soon as you turn over your money, I’ll turn over the keys. I’m supposed to tell you that you can access your units twenty-four/seven. This is my son’s business, but he’s in Iraq, guarding the embassy.” The old gentleman pronounced it I-rack. “My daughter-in-law and I are running it till he gets back. The children only have half a day of school today, and she went to pick them up. I’ll leave the paperwork for her, as my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“Can you see to count the money?” Angie asked anxiously as she handed over the wad of bills Lucy had gotten from four ATM machines.
“With this magnifying glass, I can see just fine, little lady. I do thank you for your business,” he said, shoving the bills into a drawer. “Here are two keys. If you lose them and need new ones, there is a twenty-five-dollar charge for the replacements. Drive straight back, and you’ll find the car units at the end. Yours is J-5. Your personal unit is B-19. They’re right across from each other. Nice to make your acquaintance, Ms. Tolliver.”
“Likewise,” Angie said, beelining for the door. Outside, she motioned for Lucy to follow her, which she did.
Both women moved like lightning then and were back on the road in fifteen minutes. It wasn’t till they were on the highway that Angie explained about the old man’s bad eyesight and the daughter-in-law who had gone to pick up her kids from school.
“We aced it, Lucy. I listed our address as Memphis, Tennessee, and said it was me and my brother renting the units. In case anyone comes looking. He didn’t have a problem with me paying cash, and as you suggested, we paid in advance for the second month. I even tried to disguise my handwriting, you know, writing backhand.”
“Ah, you’re starting to think like a criminal. I think I’ve corrupted you, Angie. Sorry about that, but I think we can both rest a little easier now. There’s a really good Chinese restaurant right down the road. You want to stop for some lunch? They have a great buffet, with some of everything. They even have that Mongolian barbecue stuff. You ever had any of that?”
“Lead me to it. And, yes, I’ve had Mongolian barbecue,” Angie quipped.
“Then turn right at the light and take the first left. It’s called Pagoda.”
Three pots of tea and two trips to the buffet table later, including enough Mongolian barbecue to fill up a small yurt, both Angie and Lucy professed to be stuffed. So they waddled out of the restaurant to the bright yellow Saturn and headed home.
“I feel like I need a nap,” Lucy grumbled. “I can’t remember when I ate that much. Probably never is when. At least we won’t have to worry about cooking dinner. A fried-egg sandwich will do it for me, I’m thinking.”
“Me too. Looks like rain, Lucy. Look at those dark clouds. Sure is windy. Nice night for a fire and a good movie, along with a bottle of fine wine. Or maybe some beer. If we don’t finish it, we either have to throw it away or take it with us. I’m just saying.” Angie giggled as she made a left-hand turn.
“I vote that we finish it. I hate wasting anything. I also do not like transporting liquor or beer or anything alcoholic in a car.”
“But guns and ammunition don’t count?”
“God, yes, they count. There are no words to tell you how glad I am we got rid of that stuff, at least for the time being.”
“Let me ask you a question, Lucy. Do you have any kind of feeling that time is of the essence here? You know what I mean. I figure you must feel like that, because I have never in my life moved so fast to do something. Think about it, Lucy. Bam, bam, bam, it all got done, and we’re moving to Freehold tomorrow. That has to be some kind of record.”
Lucy nodded. “It’s just a little over a week. I kind of think whoever is responsible for all this had to maybe fall back and regroup and try to decide what to do. So, yes, time is of the essence, and we are probably getting out in the nick of time. I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.”
“Okay, we’re home,” Angie said. She pressed the remote Lucy had given her, and the garage door slid open. The space where the Range Rover had been parked looked immense. She parked in the same spot and got out of the car. Lucy joined her at the door, then entered the kitchen, but not until the garage door had slid down and was locked securely.
“Check the phone, Lucy. Someone called as we were leaving. It might be important.”
Lucy sniffed. She’d already touched all the important points she was willing to deal with that day. It was probably some paper supplier, but she pressed the code that would allow her to get her voice mails.
Angie was buzzing around the kitchen, doing her best to empty out the fridge, yet watching Lucy’s reaction to the voice mail she was hearing. She watched her friend’s face drain of all color. “What?” she almost screamed.
Lucy hung up the old-fashioned phone and stared at her friend. “That was Luke Kingston. He said . . . what he said was . . . He said two agents from the FBI came to his construction site in Miami at noon today, just as he was leaving to go to lunch. They wanted to know if he had a key to the house in Palm Royal. He sounded really upset. Last night, when I talked to him—okay, flirted with him—his voice was totally different. It was almost like he thought I was . . . involved in something concerning that house. Crap, Angie, now what are we going to do? It’s just a matter of time
before they send someone here. I think there’s an FBI office in Newark. Do you think we should go to a hotel?”
Angie dumped a stalk of celery in the trash can, followed by two soggy-looking weeks-old tomatoes. She looked up at Lucy and said, “Let’s pack up our clothes and head out. I really don’t care where we go as long as we are anywhere but here when the FBI or whoever shows up.”
Chapter Thirteen
The packing the girls had intended to do never got under way, because they decided first to have a glass of wine to toast their decision to clear out and head for what they considered safer accommodations. One glass of wine led to two glasses of wine, then three glasses, until the bottle Angie had opened the night before was empty. With only one bottle left, both women decided not to carry it with them, and they didn’t want to throw it away.
“Waste not, want not,” Lucy chirped as Angie uncorked the bottle and poured generously. “We’re sloshed, Angie. We aren’t going anywhere today, and we haven’t packed our stuff, either. This is just soooo decadent, isn’t it?” Lucy chirped again.
“I’m loving it,” Angie said, raising her glass to clink it against the one in Lucy’s hand. “Tomorrow is another day.”
“Yes, it is. In the morning we will both have king-size hangovers, but who cares?”
“Certainly not me,” Angie said as she kicked her shoes across the kitchen. “What should we talk about? We need to talk about something besides . . . besides . . . you know what.”
“Do you want to talk about Toby or that hottie that called me from Florida? Oooh, he has such a sexy voice. And he was so easy on the eyes. He said he was a wuss and that his sister, Marie, was a daredevil. He said she wore a tiara and a tutu when she went down the zip line. I didn’t even know what a zip line was. He had to explain it to me. He broke a lot of bones when he was a kid. He used to fly kites and go sled riding and all that stuff. Things I missed out on. Did you do those things, Angie?”
Forget Me Not Page 13