Cold Hard Cache

by Amy Isaman

  He nodded. “That’d be great. It’d be pretty cool to find an internship or something there and go somewhere a little more exciting than home for the summer.”

  “Well, I had an exciting night here, which I wasn’t expecting.”

  “In Elk Creek? What happened?”

  I filled him in.

  “Wow! Somebody got knifed in Elk Creek? It must have been a drug deal gone bad or something.” Concern covered his face. “Are you okay, Auntie T? That’s rough.”

  “I’m fine. I was pretty shaken last night, and I do have to go back into the station this afternoon to answer some more questions, but other than that, I’m okay.”

  “Who was the victim? Did you find out?” he asked.

  “I did.” I took a sip of my drink. “His name was Frank Baker. Apparently, he and your grandpa used to be friends.”

  Logan stared at me, his face draining of all color.

  “Logan? Are you alright?” My mom asked, laying her hand on his.

  “Are you sure it was Frank?” He spoke slowly, staring intently at me.

  “That’s what the cop said. Did you know him?”

  Logan nodded.

  “Oh, my God, Log. I’m sorry. I had no idea you knew him. This was not the way to tell you. I didn’t realize…” I paused for a moment, wondering if I should tell him that Frank died, but what was the point of holding that back now? “I spoke with the sheriff this morning. Frank didn’t make it.”

  Confusion flitted across Logan’s face. “What?”

  “Frank didn’t survive the attack last night. He died,” I said.

  “Oh, my God.” He leaned his head into his hands, his elbows on the table. “Kat… and Carly. How…?” He took a deep breath. “You’re sure?”

  I nodded. “Who’s Kat?”

  “Kat is Alex’s baby sister.”

  Now I was thoroughly confused. “Who’s Alex?”

  “Alex? My best friend. He was Frank’s son. He died when we were in high school. I thought maybe my mom would have told you that.”

  If the floor of the restaurant could have opened up and swallowed me whole, I would have gladly vanished in that moment. I vividly remembered Anne calling me, sobbing, telling me that Logan’s best friend died in some sort of accident. I didn’t know that this friend was Frank Baker’s son.

  “Logan, I’m so sorry. I do remember there was an accident and your good friend died.” I blinked back tears. “I feel terrible.”

  My mom reached over, setting her hand on Logan’s. “Alex was a good kid. I blame my forgetfulness on my old age or the pain meds I’ve been taking for this damn hip. I apologize. This was not the way to tell you about this whole thing.”

  “Thanks, Grams. Remember? Before ‘the gold’?” He made air quotes when he said the gold. “We were all close. Grandad Del and Frank used to take Alex and me fishing all the time. We’d even go treasure hunting with them.” His voice hitched, and he stared out the window at the traffic. “But after the gold, they got bitter and mean. They both blamed the other for stealing it. And Alex died a few years later. Nothing’s ever been the same since. I just, well, I hope they find who did this. It’s not right.”

  We all sat quietly for a few minutes before he broke the silence. “I wish they never found that damn gold.”

  ♦♦♦

  Later that afternoon, I sat in my car outside of the police station and played with the key I found in my purse. Frank had obviously slipped the key into the pocket as he was dying which meant that the key was important. Like super important.

  I thought about calling Laurel and working through this with her but dismissed that thought almost as quickly as it came. She’d immediately begin worrying and would tell me, without a doubt, to tell the investigator everything I knew and to come home as soon as possible.

  But I couldn’t do that.

  So, I picked up my phone and called Darius. It was not yet midnight in London, not too late. I hoped.

  “I’ve done it again,” I said as soon as he picked up and said hello.

  “You’ve found another ancient tarot card? In California?” Thankfully, his voice wasn’t sleepy at all.

  I laughed. “Sort of.” I filled Darius in on how I’d stumbled across Frank and the feud between our families over a lost treasure.

  “Bloody hell, Tricia. Have you started looking yet? You know, you’ve got a gift for this sort of thing.”

  “Not yet. I don’t know what to do. I found a key in my purse. I think Frank put it there. The key chain is made out of a gold coin. An old one. It looks like it goes to a safe deposit box or a safe. It’s not a house key.”

  “Oh, well that sounds easy enough then. Find what it opens, and it sounds like you find the treasure.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think it’s that easy. And the only person who would know what this key goes to is his wife, or ex-wife, I’m not sure yet. We were friends when we were kids.”

  “So, give her a visit. This sounds like you’re making it too hard. Get out of your head my dear. Follow your gut. You do better that way.”

  I laughed. “I know.” God, I could listen to his voice and accent for hours. “But it’s not that easy. If I give the key to Carly, and all the gold is in the safe deposit box, Carly would have no reason to share any of the gold with Del, and half belongs to him. Maybe she’d share, but who knows. We both know, all too well, how crazy people can get when it comes to priceless fortunes.”

  “Alright. If you don’t give it to her, what are the other options?” Darius asked.

  “Well, the obvious answer would be to hand it over to the cops and wash my hands of the whole thing.”

  Darius interrupted with a chuckle. “But we both know that’s not going to happen.”

  “No. Because my brother-in-law, Brian, is also a cop in this small town. And he hated Frank, the man who died. Shoot, he even had a motive—he believed that Frank robbed his family of a fortune in gold. And Mike, the main detective, and Brian are close friends and colleagues. Here’s my dilemma. If Frank found the gold, half belonged to Carly and Kat. Half belonged to his partner, Del. None, technically, belonged to Brian. And if I give the key to the cops, Brian will get it and who knows what will happen.”

  “Do you have a reason not to trust your brother-in-law? Or to think he would kill this old man?”

  I stared across the parking lot at the trees that were starting to bud out. “No, I don’t have a reason not to trust him. Just that gut thing.”

  “Trust that, Tricia. If you’ve learned anything, it’s to trust that.”

  “I don’t know. I feel for Carly. She’s lost her husband, or her ex-husband, estranged husband, whatever he was, and I know that feeling. And her son died a few years ago. I can’t imagine the pain of that. If I give this key to the cops or Brian gets it and finds the treasure, there’s no guarantee she’ll get her share. I can’t do that to a woman who’s already lost so much.”

  “Well then, find it. And divvy it up as it should be shared. It sounds to me like you’ve made your decision.” I could hear the smile in Darius’ voice. I closed my eyes and imagined his face. He’d already calmed me down.

  “But I’ll be withholding evidence. Committing a crime.”

  “Not if you haven’t found the key yet. The cops don’t need to know about the key or that you found it before you got questioned. Do they?”

  “No, I guess they don’t.” I rolled the key between my fingers and shoved it back into the bottom of my purse. I’d give it to Mike, eventually, but before that happened, I wanted to talk to Carly, see what she knew, and if she would honor the agreements that Frank hadn’t. Or maybe Carly already had all the gold. I reached for the key and tucked it into the bottom of the console between the driver and passenger seat. If I decided to give it to Mike, I’d “find” it at the bottom of my purse later, but it certainly wouldn’t be going into the police station with me now.

  “Tricia, are you still there?”

  “I am. Sorry. T
hanks for helping me work through this.”

  “My pleasure. I’m curious though, what did the old man say to you? Exactly?”

  I thought back over to what he’d said. “He was mumbling, but he said something like, ‘Here was the key… no not the key… his legacy is in the heart of Iris.’ I’ve been trying to figure out what’s Iris? Is she a woman? A lover? Something purple or purply-blue? A flower bed filled with iris flowers. Or maybe it wasn’t even Iris. Maybe it was in a heart somewhere.” I took a deep breath. Here I was again, trying to figure out some damn clue to some elusive treasure.

  “I’ll think on that. Not sure I’ll be much help. You’re better at this than I am, but in any case, it sounds like you need to go talk to his wife. She’ll shed some light on the whole thing. And, you don’t have to tell her about the key straight-away, right?”

  “No, I don’t. Oh, I feel better. I need to go in and re-do my statement now. And, you know, withhold evidence.” My heart raced. I always told the kids that not telling me something was as much of a lie as telling me an outright lie. They’d both gotten in trouble for that when they were younger. And here I was, planning to do that exact same thing but on a much larger scale. With much larger implications. I felt a little nauseous as I got out of the car, but I also knew, I had to talk to Carly first.

  Chapter 5

  MIKE ESCORTED ME TO a small room with a table and microphone. We sat and he slid a piece of paper across the table toward me. “This is what you told me last night about the incident. I know you were in a bit of shock, so I thought you might want to review it, see if there’s anything you could add to it. Maybe you remembered a few more details?”

  I scanned the document. “That looks accurate.”

  “Okay, but let’s dig in a bit deeper. This will be recorded.” Mike continued for the next half an hour asking questions about my conversation with Frank, the knife and if I recognized it which I didn’t other than I’d seen men carry knives like that here. My Dad always carried one like that, and he even got them for my sister and I when we were teenagers. To him, they were the ultimate useful tool, but they weren’t a common accessory in San Francisco. Or at least, they didn’t wear their Leatherman knives clipped to their belts like they did here.

  After way too much time rehashing the knife, Mike asked, “What can you tell us about the person you saw running away?”

  I glanced again at the written statement and pointed to it. “Pretty much everything that’s there. It was dark. I was already pretty shaken, and it scared me when they came out of the recessed entry. Obviously, they were there the entire time. I was on the call with the 911 operator when they shot out of the entryway because I scared her. Can you get the recording of that? That would tell you exactly when they ran away, wouldn’t it?”

  Mike smiled. “We’ve already reviewed it, and yes, you screamed and sounded even more terrified. Would you like to listen to it? Maybe that would help jog your memory.”

  “I have no idea if that would help, but I’m willing to try.”

  He left for a moment and returned with his laptop. As soon as the recording started, my adrenaline shot up. It was like I was right back there with Frank.

  “Anything?” he asked as soon as the recording ended. “Can you remember any details that might indicate if the runner was male? Female?”

  “I have no idea, other than they were a full-grown adult.”

  My brother-in-law, Brian, came in and smiled at me, but he didn’t say anything. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, and listened.

  I thought this was just an interview, but it was starting to feel more like an interrogation. “Are we done here? I don’t have anything else to add. I really need to get back to my mom.”

  “Just a few more questions,” Mike said. “Can you describe again what they were wearing?”

  I sighed and tried to swallow my irritation. “Dark clothes. Maybe jeans? And for sure a hoodie pulled up over their head. I didn’t see any hair, like if it was short or long or even the color. All I saw was a dark sweatshirt and hood.” I wondered if this repetition was intentionally designed to pull out forgotten details or to merely annoy the witnesses?

  “You said jeans. Were they skinny, fitted jeans or loose?”

  I closed my eyes, trying to recall the details. “Did I say jeans? I think they were looser, in which case it could have been sweatpants. They weren’t tight like skinny jeans or yoga pants.”

  “And the shoes?” Mike stared at me intently. Brian paced, which was odd. I always thought of Brian as a super low-key guy who kept his emotions in check, but he seemed agitated. I guess anyone who was investigating a homicide like this would be agitated especially when murders rarely ever happened in their town. I wondered, briefly, if Brian had ever even investigated a murder case like this.

  “Tricia?” Mike prompted, nudging me from my musings.

  “Uh, sorry. I think they must have been rubber soled because I didn’t hear anything like the boots or street shoes hitting the ground. And there was no sound of it on the recording which means it was a softer shoe. After I got over being startled, I was far more focused on Frank. He was obviously not doing well.”

  Despite the minimal information I had, Mike took copious notes, and I wondered what the hell he was writing. I wasn’t saying anything new. “Should I be getting an attorney here? I mean, I didn’t witness anything other than the aftermath of something, but this whole thing is making me nervous.” And I was nervous. I hadn’t said a word about the key. But neither had they which meant nobody knew anything about it but me. At least for now.

  Brian finally stopped his incessant pacing and laughed. “You’ve watched too many detective shows. You are not a suspect. Mike already talked to Debbie and the staff at Shepherds and your version of the events holds up. And witnesses from Charlie’s Bar saw you walk past.”

  I stared at Brian in horror. “What? You questioned Debbie and the restaurant staff? And you’re my brother-in-law. Isn’t there some sort of conflict of interest with you even being in here?”

  “Tricia, relax,” Brian said in an infuriatingly patronizing tone. “Mike’s job is to follow-up and check out all witnesses to the crime, especially in a homicide case.”

  That made sense, but it didn’t make me any less angry. They both knew I was here serving as a caregiver for my mother, and what? On my walk home from dinner I experienced a momentary psychotic break and stabbed an old man I’d never met, with a knife I’d never seen or owned?

  I stood. “Are we done here?”

  “Yep. I think that does it,” Mike said, standing along with me.

  Brian added, “I’m not on this case because, yes, it would be a conflict of interest. I came in here as a show of support.”

  Support? Somehow, I missed any warm-fuzzy feelings of support that he might have been trying to share. I gave him a good glare as I left and tried not to stomp like a petulant teenager across the parking lot to my car. I totally got that they’d check my alibi in a homicide investigation, but it didn’t make me any less angry. After twenty-some years, wouldn’t Brian know there was no way I’d ever stick a knife into a total stranger for no reason?

  I climbed into the car and glanced at the console where I’d tucked Frank’s key. I hadn’t mentioned it during the interview, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I hated that I even thought it, but Brian had a motive to kill Frank, and there was no way I would bring up the key in front of him. I thought about it at one point before he came in, and now, I was glad that I hadn’t, that Darius talked me into trusting my gut on this one. Brian believed that Frank had stolen a fortune in gold from his father, Del. Shoot, for that matter, my sister’s entire family hated Frank, giving any of them a solid motive of revenge. But if one of them killed Frank, and he was the only one who knew where the gold was, wouldn’t that just create a whole new problem?

  Or maybe that’s why the murderer waited to take off until after Frank told me that his legacy was in the heart of iris. May
be that was a clue for where he hid the gold?

  I dropped my head into my hands and rubbed my face. I was overreacting about the whole thing since my mom had just filled me in on the stolen treasure situation.

  My eyes began to ache, like a headache was coming on. I closed them and did some deep breathing, trying to relax as I thought through my next steps. I needed to talk to Carly. Then, I’d figure out what the hell to do with the key.

  I found her address in a quick search on-line. I didn’t recognize the street name, but when I mapped her house, I knew exactly where it was, outside of town on a dirt road that led into the mountains. In high school, we went out past her house into the hills and have bonfires and a few beers.

  As I pulled up to Carly’s house, I found it hard to believe that Frank stole the gold. If he had, he’d done a damn good job of hiding it and not investing any of the money in a new house. The lot their house sat on was gorgeous, filled with pines, and at least three to five acres. But the house itself was an older, single-wide trailer. A metal roof sat on four poles, covering it, like it was permanently parked under a giant carport. The trailer was old, almost vintage though it looked well-maintained. A deck stretched across most of the front of the house and neatly tended flower beds lined the path to the deck. I could see the tips of some leaves coming up through the dirt, maybe tulips or daffodils or irises.

  Staring at the beds as I parked, I wondered about Frank’s confusing final words. Was his legacy the gold? Was it buried in flower beds? But if it was in the flower beds… what did the key go to?

  Maybe there was a safe in the giant purple big rig truck that sat on a pad next to the house? Was that thing his legacy? Like the house, the truck looked well-maintained, but the truck seemed fancier than the house. Maybe he cashed out the gold and bought the truck? I knew approximately nothing about the trucking industry other than the logistics of getting some of the antiques I’d purchased for my shop across the country on trucks could be a huge pain in the ass. Trying to reach any conclusions based on a truck parked in Frank’s driveway was a total waste of time. And who knew? Maybe Carly drove the truck.