A Treasure to Die For

by Richard Houston

  I tried in vain to remember if I had seen the stain earlier. Was it the old lady who moved it? I peeked through the beveled glass window of the door in case she had brought someone with her I hadn’t seen; someone she dropped off to do the dirty work, while she drove away to divert suspicion. My heart was beating so fast that I was sure whoever might be in there could hear it.

  Then Fred, who had lost interest in the flower pot’s new location, turned and barked. The bark was short and to the point, not his repetitive alarm bark, but his, “What’s up?” bark.

  I held a single finger to my lips, telling him to be quiet, and went back to checking for the intruder. The beveled glass made it too blurry to see inside, so I slowly crept over to the next window. I saw nothing unusual, and no movement inside, so I went over to the flower pot. I half expected the key to be missing, but it was there when I looked under the pot. Perhaps it was one of the paramedics who had moved it, and my paranoia had gotten the better of me.

  “Stay out here, Freddie, and warn me if anyone shows up,” I said, turning the key in the lower lock; the one I had set from inside before closing the door after they took Bonnie away. But the door still wouldn’t open. Someone had used the key to lock the deadbolt. It could only mean that the old lady had moved the pot, used the key to gain entry, and locked everything after she left. Which also meant, she had to know the key was there in the first place.

  Once inside, I went to Bonnie’s bedroom where she said I would find the manicure kit in her top vanity drawer, wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. She had one of those old vanities you see on late-night television shows from the thirties. It was complete with a round mirror and little padded stool. I quickly looked in the mirror to see if I was being watched. That, too, was something I’d seen in one of those black and white movies.

  Relieved, but disappointed the trick didn’t work when the only apparition I saw was myself, I opened the top drawer. Bonnie’s kit was there, exactly where she said it would be. I opened it half expecting to see her nail file, or what was left of it. In the back of my mind I imagined the old, gray haired lady had planted the broken handle where the police could find it.

  I took the kit and checked the rest of the house looking for the file in case Gray Hair put it somewhere else. I looked in the dresser drawers, the bathroom, and even under the bed, but found nothing. If it was here, she did a great job of hiding it.

  My next stop was the kitchen, where I knew Bonnie kept a box of doggie treats for Fred. I didn’t think she would miss one or two. I was ready to leave with Fred’s biscuits when I saw a copy of Tom Sawyer on the table. That was weird, for Bonnie never mentioned having a copy. It had to have been put there by the intruder, and the only reason I could think of was that I had been right about someone trying to frame Bonnie. I stuffed the book in the plastic bag with the manicure kit, and was about to leave when I noticed the sink cabinet was slightly ajar.

  Bonnie always chided me about leaving cabinet doors open, so it struck me as odd that she would do it herself. I went over to close it, and discovered it was the trash can she kept there that was keeping the door open. I looked inside and saw a blood-soaked, paper towel. Inside the towel was the broken, glass handle from Bonnie’s nail file. Even without the benefit of six years of college, I knew it was hers, because her name was printed on the protective sleeve.

  ***

  Fred was waiting quietly when I came back out. To my surprise, it looked like he was obeying orders and sitting where he could see anyone coming up the road. “Good, boy,” I told him, and gave him one of Bonnie’s treats.

  It was gone in a millisecond and he looked up at me begging for more. He ate the second one even faster, but instead of asking for another, he turned toward the road and cocked his head to the side. I couldn’t hear anything, but I could see a big cloud of dust down toward Upper Bear Creek Road. Someone was headed our way. I didn’t have to guess who. If the book had been left to frame Bonnie, it would be the cops with a search warrant.

  We made it back to our cabin in time to see two sheriff’s SUVs pull into Bonnie’s drive.

  ***

  My first instinct was to hide the evidence in my cabin, but the devil’s advocate inside my head whispered that my place was probably next on the sheriff’s search list. Fred and I could try to make our escape in my Jeep, but the voice in my head said I’d be caught before I got off our road. Fred solved my dilemma by running toward the trail leading up our little mountain. The hill behind my cabin was part of the Denver Parks system. Technically, it was out of the jurisdiction of Jefferson County, though, I had a feeling that wouldn’t stop them from coming after us no matter who owned the property. There were over five thousand acres up there, so I was sure to find someplace to hide the manicure kit and book where the cops couldn’t find them, assuming they didn’t bring out the bloodhounds.

  Fred was halfway on his way to the top of the hill when I caught up with him. Any other time I would have never caught up to him but he had stopped to sniff out something. When I got closer, I saw a dark hole under a rock ledge. Fred had found some critter’s den. I was afraid he would run into it and wake a sleeping bear or mountain lion. I wanted to call him back, but didn’t want to chance being heard by the deputies below. Sounds up here could travel for miles.

  I walked over to Fred and whispered, “That’s not a good place to hide the bag, old boy. The owner of that den might eat it for breakfast.”

  My fears were allayed when he didn’t go into the den, and ran over to a rock pile several feet away. He looked at the rocks then looked back at me and barked. “Shh, Freddie,” I whispered.

  He barked again, so I rushed over to see what was so important before he did it again. He’d already started digging by the time I reached him. At first I thought he’d found another creature. I wasn’t worried about snakes because I’d never come across one in the twenty years I lived up here. And I knew it couldn’t be a large animal, so I assumed it was a marmot or chipmunk. It was neither. There was no hole, just a pile of rocks. Then it hit me. He had found the perfect hiding place. I could bury the plastic bag under the pile of rocks. Any bloodhounds should be distracted by what was hiding in the larger den. I looked at Fred in amazement. He sat there with a huge grin on his face. His dumb human finally caught on, or so I thought. Maybe I was imagining things; no dog is that smart.

  ***

  The cops were gone by the time we’d finished hiding the evidence, and returned to my cabin. My fear that I was next to be searched turned out to be unfounded. The cops were nowhere in sight, so Fred and I went down to see if they had gone into Bonnie’s house.

  The flowerpot didn’t look like it had been moved, for it was still covering the stain on her deck. Then I noticed a latch and padlock on the door. On closer examination, I saw where they had forced the door open, making it impossible to lock securely. At least they had the decency to jury rig a lock so no one could simply walk in. The key under the flowerpot would be of no help now, so all I could do was peek through the windows to confirm what I already knew. They had gone through her kitchen cabinets, and moved the living room furniture. I couldn’t see into the bedroom, but could imagine the mattress on the floor, and all of her dresser drawers open. There was no longer any doubt in my mind that someone was trying to frame Bonnie by planting the copy of Tom Sawyer. I had a feeling once I checked into it, I’d find it belonged to Shelia.

  ***

  I sneaked into Bonnie’s hospital room early Saturday morning, and told her about the sheriff searching her home.

  “Someone is trying to frame me?” she asked. I had guessed correctly that Margot would not be up this early, though, I didn’t count on the head nurse at the nurses’ station telling me to come back at visiting hours. I had pretended to leave, then came back from the hall on the other side of Bonnie’s room, bypassing the nurses.

  I held my finger to my lips in the universal sign to be quiet when she had asked the question too loudly. “It’s the only logi
cal explanation,” I whispered. “Why else would they put the two things in your house that can tie you to Shelia’s murder and then call the cops telling them where to find the evidence?”

  “That sounds like my nail file, but are you sure it’s her book?”

  “She wrote ‘Property of Shelia Clancy’ on the inside cover.”

  Bonnie squirmed in an attempt to get comfortable and knocked a pillow on the floor. “Clancy? Oh, that must have been her maiden name. I wonder who’s doing it. It can’t be the kids or Appleton. They’re all dead.”

  There was an extra pillow on the empty bed next to her, so I took it, and the one on the floor, and put them behind her head. “I’m pretty sure I know who the gray haired lady is, and you’re not going to like it,” I said once she’d settled back down.

  “Oh, and who would that be?”

  “I think you already know.”

  Bonnie reached for her water bottle and took a sip from the straw. “No, Jake, it’s not Patty, if that’s what you’re thinking. She was with me the night Shelia was killed.”

  “I didn’t say she killed anyone. I still think Craig did those dirty deeds. But she fits the description perfectly of the person who broke into your house to frame you.”

  She put the bottle back on the bedside table before answering. “It’s not her, Jake.”

  I took a deep breath and held it for a minute. “Okay, Bon Bon, I really don’t care anymore. I just need to get Julie’s book and ring from whoever took them.”

  “What about Shelia’s book? You’re not going to leave it out in the weather are you?”

  “It’s wrapped up in the best plastic money can buy. I buried it in a grocery bag. Those bags are supposed to last a thousand years in the landfill, so it should be okay for a few days. I’ll get it when I’m sure the cops aren’t coming back.”

  I expected her to mention the nail file, too, but she caught me completely off guard. “I need you to do me a couple big favors, Jake.”

  “The last time you asked that I committed a crime hiding state’s evidence. What kind of felony do you want me to commit this time?”

  It was good to see her color had returned along with her smile. “Would you fix my front door for me?”

  “Consider it done. What’s the other favor?”

  “Sneak me in some cigarettes. I’m going to die if I don’t get one soon.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I lied. I had no intention of feeding her addiction. “Now tell me all you know about Patty.”

  “The gray haired woman wasn’t Patty, Jake.”

  “How can you be so sure? I’d bet my next paycheck, if I ever get one, that it was her.”

  Bonnie started to laugh, but covered her mouth when she realized she might be heard by a nurse. “You can pay me with those cigarettes. Patty doesn’t drive.”

  ***

  I was so sure it had been Patty who planted the evidence to frame Bonnie. Now I didn’t have a clue who it was, but I knew I’d better find out before the woman I saw realized her frame didn’t work.

  This narrowed my list of suspects to one: Craig Renfield. I suppose he could have dressed up as an old lady to throw off anyone who had been watching Bonnie’s. After all, I didn’t get a close look at the old woman. Then again, he was way too tall. Stair handrails need to be between thirty-four and thirty-eight inches, according to most building codes, so the woman I saw had to be around five feet tall, give or take an inch. Whoever it was, I was sure she would try again, and I had the perfect plan to catch her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Removing the lock on Bonnie’s door took all of five minutes with my portable grinder, and I had a new, pre-hung door installed in less than an hour. I used her old deadbolt so she wouldn’t have to get new keys, however, I did remove the key from under the flowerpot and put it on my key chain where it would stay until she returned home. Working with my hands is the best way I know of to work out one’s problems, or in my case, the perfect plan.

  My original idea to install surveillance cameras went south when I saw online how much it would cost, so I came up with a low-tech solution that would make MacGyver proud. Bonnie had one of those lights that went on whenever someone came within proximity of its sensor. They have a photoelectric cell that prevents the light from coming on during the day, so I simply bypassed that feature by taping over it. Then I removed the bulb and replaced it with one of those adapters that have two power outlets and a bulb socket. After screwing her flood-light back in, I connected a long extension cord to one of the power outlets, and ran it up to my house where I plugged in a lamp and a radio. Now if anyone approached Bonnie’s door, day or night, my lamp and radio would come on at the same time as Bonnie’s floodlight.

  To complete the system, I took an old camcorder I hadn’t used in ten years and plugged its power adapter into the second outlet on Bonnie’s modified security light. By turning the camcorder on and removing the battery, it would only record when something tripped the security light. The bottom of the camcorder was designed so it could be screwed into a tripod. I found a long bolt the same size and with the same thread pattern then drilled a hole in her top deck rail, inserted the bolt from the bottom, and attached the camcorder. A clear-plastic bag served to waterproof the contraption, and a rubber band around the lens kept that part of the plastic from distorting the picture. In the end, I had an alarm and surveillance system that would make Scrooge jealous.

  Now that I was set to catch whoever had tried to frame Bonnie, I needed to get back to my problem. I didn’t want to break into Appleton’s cabin again, but I had to get Julie’s property back.

  ***

  By Monday morning, Fred and I were ready to visit Appleton’s cabin and look for my property. This time I wasn’t going to park my car anywhere near the scene of the crime where some nosy neighbor could get my license number. In one of my more inspired moments, I decided I would park a mile or two away, and ride my mountain bike the rest of the way. Poor Fred couldn’t ride of course, so he was in for some overdue exercise. At least, that was the plan until I saw a Mercedes SUV come up my road. It had to be the author from the book signing, for although those rigs were not uncommon in the more affluent neighborhoods of Evergreen, their owners rarely ventured this far up a dirt road unless they were selling real estate.

  “Mr. Martin, I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I need your help,” Wilson said when I went to meet him at his SUV. He was too scared to get out of the car.

  I grabbed Fred by the collar in an attempt to make Wilson feel safer. “He won’t bite unless you bite him first.” He didn’t even crack a smile, so I continued. “Why don’t you come sit on my porch and tell me what I can do for you? I’d invite you in, but the house is a mess.”

  What I really didn’t want him to see was my jury-rigged surveillance system. I hadn’t planned on Bonnie’s security light going on every time the wind blew the branches of a nearby aspen tree. Wilson might want to know why my lamp and radio kept going on and off. Then there was the telltale extension cord running out my back window, which might draw his attention to something not quite right.

  Wilson didn’t take his eyes off Fred as he cautiously got out of his SUV. “You sure he won’t bite?”

  “Hasn’t bitten anyone in at least a week,” I replied, while trying to count the freckles on the top of his head.

  Wilson smiled nervously. It looked like he got my joke. “I’ve never been a dog person, you know. My mother was allergic to pet hair, so I never had any growing up.”

  “Wow! Not even a cat?”

  “Not until after she passed, bless her soul.” His head turned toward the sky and he crossed himself.

  I picked up a stick, threw it as far as I could, and then let Fred go before Wilson could expand on his blessing. “Too bad, I’d be lost without Fred. He’s the best friend I ever had. Shall we head to the porch before he comes back?”

  ***

  “So what’s on your mind? Don’t tell me you
’re being sued?” I asked after we’d sat down on my porch chairs.

  His pupils grew larger despite the bright sun. “How did you know?”

  “That was the last thing you said to me the last time I saw you.”

  “Oh, right. Well, the parents of the girl are suing me for two million dollars. They say their daughter would have never gone into that mine if it hadn’t been for my story. I heard rumors you suspect her and her boyfriend, what’s his name, Cory something or other, might have been the ones who murdered the Marine. I’d be in your debt if you can help me prove it.”

  “Cory Weston, but who on earth told you I suspected them of murder?” I asked just as Fred came back with the stick and laid it at my feet.

  Wilson failed to look at me when he answered. “I’d rather not say other than it’s a good friend.” His eyes never left my ferocious beast, a killer dog that couldn’t so much as catch a squirrel.

  He couldn’t be that paranoid of dogs, so he was either extremely shy, or lying. “Right, the mysterious insider who works for the county. How do you expect me to help you, Paul, if you can’t be honest with me?”

  Wilson finally looked at me. “I could get into a lot of trouble if this gets out. You have to promise you won’t repeat what I’m about to say.”

  I picked up Fred’s stick and threw it again. Fred bolted off the porch, startling Wilson. “Mum’s the word,” I said, purposely avoiding any promise.