by Amy Isaman
Anne studied me. “Everything? I think I still want to hear about it all again. I really want to know everything he said and everything you saw. It’s… well, it could be important. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
They hurried out the door and I sat back down on the couch. “What was that all about?” I asked my mom.
“Frank Baker—the old man you helped—is Anne’s father-in-law’s ex-partner.”
“Wait… who?” I asked, trying to get the family tree straight in my head.
“You remember Del, Brian’s dad?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“Well, Del and Frank used to be best friends and partners. But now, there’s not any goodwill lost between those two. Did you ever hear the story of their falling out?”
“The story of Anne’s father-in-law’s fight with his partner? Uh, no, I apparently missed that one. It’s not like Anne and I talk all that often.”
Mom nodded. “I know. That’s always been a challenge for me. I don’t know why she’s spent her life looking up to you, comparing herself to you, and deciding that she’s just not enough.” Mom held her hand up to keep me from interrupting. “Now, before you start in, this isn’t anything you ever did. It’s something in your sister. And this whole situation with the gold, it’s eaten at her and Brian. Who knows if it’s even real?”
“Gold? Mom, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What situation with the gold?”
My mom grinned. “She probably wouldn’t want me telling you all this. I don’t even know if she knows that I’m fully aware of this drama. First, do you remember Frank?”
“He looked vaguely familiar, but I figured it was because he looked a bit like Henry, one of the homeless men who hangs around my neighborhood at home.”
“Frank Baker was at Anne and Brian’s wedding,” she said as if that would clear everything up for me, despite the fact that their wedding was over twenty years ago.
“Uh, no… I have zero recollection of him at their wedding. That was a crazy day. Laurel was a toddler, remember? But what does him attending at their wedding have to do with anything that happened tonight?” I asked.
“It doesn’t. Just thought it might ring a bell,” Mom continued. “Brian and his dad, Del, like to go out and search for stuff. Brian’s metal detector is his favorite toy, along with his GPS, for geo-caching.”
I shook my head. “Geo-what?”
“Geo-caching. People hide things in random spots and other people use the coordinates on their GPS to find them. It’s a big hobby for a lot of people. Anne loves it—it gets him out of the house, and he loves to hike. Brian geo-caches, but his dad’s hobby forever was to go out and actually treasure hunt. That’s my point. Brian’s Dad, Del, and Frank were best friends who spent every weekend for years hunting for treasure.”
“Wait, pause there. Treasure hunt? In rural Idaho?”
“You’d be surprised,” Mom said. “There are all kinds of stories of old stagecoach robberies or people finding ore and hiding their loot until they could come back to get it, but they died, or were killed, or just flat out couldn’t find it once they went back for it. And Del and Frank had some luck but then it went south.”
“Really? I didn’t know. So, if they found something, how come I’ve never heard of it? Was it not in the news? It seems like if someone found a million-dollar stash, that’d be big news.”
Mom laughed. “Because this is rural Idaho. If they find a treasure and come out and say ‘look, I found millions in gold,’ who’s going to take it? Whoever lays claim to that land. You know the people out here. They’re good people, but it tends to be a little more conservative than San Francisco—the smaller and less invasive the government is, the better. If the government gets involved, it gets messy. If it’s on private land, it could be tied up in courts forever. And, once they did get whatever share was left after the lawyers got theirs, they’d pay a ton in taxes. Probably a lot more of these old caches of gold have been found than have been made public.”
“But there’s historical value too. If it’s coins, there’s tons of history there. And that’s highly collectible. If that’s never brought to light, the history is just lost.”
“Again, sweetheart, we’re talking rural Idaho, and this is gold we’re talking about here. It’s valuable, whether it’s historical or not. Treasure hunters aren’t after the glory. They’re after the treasure. When Brian finds some hard-to-find geo-cache, he might tell us about it, but the search and the finding is the fun part. It’s like a personal challenge.”
“So, what does any of this have to do with Frank and Iris?” I asked.
“Frank and Del were partners and according to Del, a few years ago, they found a stash. A big one. Like one that would mean they could retire and live easy, college for their grandkids, and their grandkids’ grandkids would be paid for. Do you know what they’re paying for tuition at Boise for Logan?” My mom shook her head. “It’s ridiculous. Logan helps by working, but still. It’s a travesty what an education costs these days.”
“Yes, I know all about tuition. Laurel just graduated last year. And Trent is trying to figure out where he wants to go. But that doesn’t matter right now.” I steered my mom back to her story. “So, Del and Frank supposedly found a huge stash. What happened to it?”
“Well, that’s just it. They don’t know. The gold vanished. They each loaded their packs with as many coins and smaller gold bars as they could when they initially found it, but they were on foot, miles from the truck, hiking in an area that they’d been searching off and on for years. So, they took what they could and made a plan to go back. When they got back to town, they split it up with the plan to meet in a few days and get the rest. That night when they got back to town, they went down to Shepherds and drank a few picon punches to celebrate. You know what those can do to a person.”
Unfortunately, I did. A Basque picon punch hits harder and faster than shots of tequila. I hadn’t drank one in years, for good reason. On one trip up here, my city boy husband got suckered into drinking one too many. He fell down, in the restaurant, crashing his head into the bar and my mom spent the whole night at the hospital getting him stitched up. I spent the night sick at home and swearing off picon punches for the rest of my life.
“I don’t understand why they didn’t go back right away,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense. Why wait? They found a treasure that would make them totally rich. They wouldn’t have to work anymore.”
“Actually, they would. You can’t just pay your bills with gold. Nor can you all of a sudden have a ton of cash. They would have had to slowly trade it in and sell it off while continuing to work. Since Frank was a long-haul truck driver, their plan was for him to towns all across the country and sell the coins at coin shops or pawn shops. And with the Internet, there’s all kinds of “We Buy Gold” advertisements now for people who need quick cash. They had the gold, but that didn’t mean instant riches. Finding it opens up a whole other can of worms, especially if you’re anti-taxes and government and determined that Uncle Sam won’t get any of it.
“In any case, to answer your question. They couldn’t go right back because Ruth, Del’s wife, was having bypass surgery a day or two later, and Del couldn’t leave her. By the time he and Frank got back up there over a week later, the stash was gone. Del, of course, always blamed Frank for taking it, and Frank always blamed Del. Neither of them suddenly became rich though they each had the coins and gold they carried out when they first found it.”
“So, who took the treasure?” I stared at my mom in disbelief. “How have I never heard this story?”
“They think that the more people who know about it, the more people will search for it. And they didn’t want the government to know. Del still has his stash that he cashes out when he needs to. It’s helped tremendously with some of their medical bills. Brian doesn’t even want the kids to know. And, you know, taxes. Honestly, I’ve never seen any of the gold, but Brian swears Frank’s got millions hidden
somewhere,” Mom shook her head. “It’s pretty sad how much this gold has impacted all of them. They never had the gold in the first place, and they’ve become bitter about not having it.”
“So, let me get this straight,” I said. “Del and Frank found a gold cache. Then they went to Shepherds and tied one on. There’s no way they kept totally quiet about their find, could they? Anyone who heard about them talking could have gone after it.”
“Exactly. They have no idea. Del swears they didn’t talk about the gold at all at the bar, but he probably doesn’t have the most accurate memory about that night either.”
“So, both Frank and Anne’s father-in-law have a gold stash hidden somewhere? And one of them possibly has an even bigger treasure stashed and hidden?”
“Yep.” Mom sat silently for a moment while I stitched. “The only questions are who took it, and where did they hide it?”
“There are two more questions,” I added.
She raised her eyebrows at me.
“Who put a knife in Frank’s belly tonight? And was it about the gold?”
Chapter 4
I LAY IN BED, sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains over my window. My sister had redone most of Mom’s house after she redecorated her own house. She also gutted and refurbished an old camper.
My childhood room hadn’t escaped her redecorating hobby. Though the dresser and side table were the same, they’d gotten a fresh coat of paint. A bunch of really old family photos that she found hung on the walls and gave the room a different feel. The images felt a bit like those in the stairwell at Darius’ inn but none of my ancestors drew me in or gave me the heebie jeebies like that picture of his great grandma. Coming home was funny. When I unpacked, I still put my shirts in the same drawer and hung my clothes in the closet in the same order that they’d been when I was a kid. They say you can’t ever go home, but I found you kinda can.
Laying here with no alarm clock urging me to get up and get to work was definitely a perk of care giving. Last week, I was up before mom, in case she needed me, but this week, she assured me that if she were up before me and needed help with the walker she’d holler.
I ran through the agenda for the day in my head, lounging, until I remembered Mom’s follow-up appointment. At nine. No time for lounging.
An hour later, I grabbed my purse off the entry table where I’d tossed it and helped mom navigate the front walk to the car. She decided she didn’t need the walker today and instead upgraded to a cane.
Progress was good.
I reached into my purse and grabbed my keys to unlock her Suburban. I pulled out my wad of keys, only to find an extra key ring with a key and a small gold coin with a hole drilled in it to serve as the key ring. How had this gotten in my purse?
“Trish… the door?” My mom said, glancing at me.
I shoved the extra key back into my purse’s side-pocket and pressed the button to unlock the car door. “Let’s load you up. Hopefully, it’s easier this time.”
“Yeah. Last week was pure hell.”
I opened the door, and she turned to face me before stepping up and slowly sitting on the worn leather seat. I lifted her leg and helped her turn to the front. She didn’t grimace once which was good.
I spent the entire drive into Boise ruminating on the key. I’d never seen it before. The key, itself was small and looked like it might be for a safe deposit box, but I wasn’t sure. The only way it would have gotten in my purse was when Frank grabbed onto my purse strap. He must have slipped it in there. And then he kept saying that the key was in the heart of Iris. What the hell did that mean? I found a key. My purse was clearly not Iris.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” my mom said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Sorry. I think last night got to me more than I thought.”
“Well, of course it did. You always try to be stoic, but your face has always let me know what you’re feeling, even when you don’t.”
“I do not try to be stoic.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter, annoyed.
My mother made a tsk-ing noise and stared out the front window. Clearly, she disagreed. Really? Stoic?
“Frank Baker,” she stated, neatly changing the subject to last night’s events.
I nodded. “Apparently. He never told me his name, but that’s who Mike said it was. I think I might give the cop a call this afternoon when we get back and see how Frank’s doing.”
“Or you could call his wife.”
“The cop’s wife? Do I know her?” I glanced at my mom with raised eyebrows.
“No. I meant Frank’s wife. You know her,” Mom said.
“I do? Who is it? And why didn’t you or Anne tell me this last night?”
“I was wrapped up in telling you about the gold. This old brain forgot that you and she were friends. And I’m not sure that Anne even knew how close you two were. She was so much younger than you, and no sense in telling her since she, well, your sister’s not a fan of hers.”
“Okay. Who is Frank’s wife?” I glanced at my mom.
“Carly Simmons. Well, now she’d be Carly Baker. Do you remember her? You two ran around in elementary school and middle school but went your separate ways in high school. I don’t recall a falling out. I think she started running with a rougher crowd, and all you cared about was getting good grades and leaving. She knew she wasn’t going anywhere.”
“I totally remember Carly. She married Frank? He has to be at least fifteen years older than us.”
“That’s probably why she did it. Do you ever remember going to Carly’s house to play when you were little?”
I thought back and tried to picture Carly’s mom or her house. I couldn’t. I glanced over at my mom, who was watching me. “Uh, no. Now that you mention it. We were always at our house.”
“Right. Carly was a sweet girl, but she ran wild. She’s still running wild.” My mom shook her head before continuing. “Her mother had more boyfriends and husbands than I could count. She worked late hours. When she was around, I think she was a decent mom or at least she tried, but that poor girl spent more time at our house and some of your other little friends than she did at home, which was fine with all of us. I used to invite her over for the weekend and get you two to play dress-up, so I could do her laundry and slip some hand-me-downs back in her bag.”
“I remember dress-ups, but I don’t remember any of the other stuff.”
“No, I don’t suppose any of you girls did. We didn’t have the social services out here back then like we do now. We all did what we could.” She patted my leg. “Do you remember how hell bent you were to get out of here after high school?”
I nodded.
“Well, there’s more than one way to escape. You studied and chose college. Carly barely graduated high school, and she got out the best way she could. She married a man with a house and a job.”
“I guess that makes sense. Are they still married? I feel like the cop might have called her his ex-wife last night, but I don’t remember exactly. But I guess it doesn’t matter. I found Frank, so I feel like I should go visit her.”
Mom shrugged. “I have no idea. They had two kids—a son and a daughter. I remember running into them when the girl was about eight and she was the spitting image of her mama at that age. I had a weird Twilight Zone moment and expected eight-year-old you to come barreling around the corner asking if you could have a candy bar or something. I just stared at this little girl. Probably scared her to death until Carly came around the corner. We chatted, but I didn’t ask about the status of her marriage. That was years ago, anyway.”
I hadn’t seen Carly since our senior year in high school, and I hadn’t spoken to her other than a random “hey” as we passed in the halls at school since the ninth or tenth grade. She had been one of my best friends in elementary and middle school, though.
I pulled into the doctor’s office lot when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was a local one. I picked up.
“Hi, Tricia. It’s Mike Pickard. From last night.”
My heart lurched in my chest. “Hi. Uh, how’s Frank?” I asked.
“That’s why I’m calling. Unfortunately, I don’t have good news for you. He died last night in surgery. I’m going to need you to come in and make another statement. This is officially a homicide investigation.”
“Oh my. Okay. I’m in Boise now, at a doctor’s appointment with my mom, but I can come in this afternoon. We’ll get something to eat and head back.”
“See you then,” he said abruptly, and ended our call.
“You okay?” Mom asked. “You just got white as a sheet.”
I looked over at her. “That was Mike. Frank died.” I tapped on the steering wheel, feeling sick to my stomach. “Would Anne believe me if I told her that I didn’t really want an exciting life?”
My mom laughed. “Probably not.”
♦♦♦
An hour later, I followed my mom through the restaurant toward my nephew, Logan. He sat near the window at a local sandwich shop he suggested for lunch. He was in his third year at Boise State, and I hadn’t seen him since I arrived. He stood and helped my mom into her seat, and I was surprised at his height. He’d begun to fill out from the skinny boy I remembered, but his face looked drawn, with dark circles under his eyes.
“You look tired,” Mom said as soon as we were seated.
“Well thanks, Grams. You look good too.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Rough semester?” I asked.
“Yeah. You could say that.” He picked up the menu and studied it, falling silent.
I glanced at my mom and she shrugged. “Tell me about school,” Mom said as brightly as she could. “I don’t want to talk about how I’m getting ancient and needing a damn cane. Tell me about you.”
Logan seemed to relax a bit as we chatted about school and I caught him up on my shop and his cousin’s lives. I also invited him to spend the next summer in the city with us.