by Amy Isaman
The front door opened, and Anne ushered Madi into the house. She locked the door behind her and headed straight down the hall. A door slammed shut a moment later. Madi stared after her mother before plopping onto the couch.
“So… you got to see my Dad in action, huh?” She asked, picking at the corner of an old log cabin quilt wadded up in the corner of the couch.
I nodded. “And now I think I understand why you were so upset with me for going to Carly’s. You didn’t want to upset him.” I paused and watched her.
She nodded and swiped at her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know that he was like this,” I said.
Madi looked up at me. “Yeah. Mom could give Meryl Streep a run for her money in the acting department. I just can’t wait until I can get the hell out of here like Logan did. She won’t leave. But that doesn’t mean that we have to stay.”
“Well, maybe we can change that?”
Madi scoffed. “Good luck with that. In the morning, it’ll be like nothing happened at all. She won’t talk to him for a while, but then it’ll be life as usual. Everyone tip-toeing around him and running to grandmas when he gets mad or starts drinking.”
I glanced over at my mom who nodded in agreement before turning back to Madi. “Wait a sec. She just pretends nothing happens?”
“Pretty much.” Madi stood. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
“You can sleep with me tonight, Madi,” my mom said. “Auntie Trish has your room, and I moved your stuff from there into my closet on the shelf. That’s where your pj’s are.”
Madi leaned down and gave my mom a big hug. “Thanks Grams. Love you.” And she left.
I took a deep breath. The quivering in my hands finally subsided, but I still felt shaky and stunned. No wonder Anne felt resentful of me. I had unknowingly left her in a hellish world.
I waited until I heard the bathroom door shut and the water to the shower running to begin asking the zillion questions I had. “Mom, will he come back? Has he ever done anything to her over here?” This house, the one I grew up in, had always been a safe place. Now? Not so much. The wind outside now sounded ominous. The rose branch scraping on the window next to the dining room table never bothered me before. Now all I could think was it was Brian, creeping around outside, trying to see in.
Thankfully, my mom shook her head. “No. I’ve seen him get angry and yell, but if your sister comes over here after they’ve been fighting, he’s never followed her here. Until tonight. But that’s because he was angry with you.”
“Doesn’t matter though, does it? He’ll take it out on her.” I was still stunned at this whole revelation that my sister was in a violent and scary marriage. “Mom, when did this start? Has it been going on for their whole relationship?”
“No, not as far as I know. He’s always been a bit of a control freak, but I don’t think he got physical until the past eight to ten years. And it was slow. He’ll be great for months, a year even, and then it gets bad for a while.”
“And she stays.”
My mom nodded. “Only God and your sister know why.”
We sat in silence for a bit before I got up and reheated a pot of soup I’d made earlier in the week. It was one of the oddest evenings of my life. My sister never came out of her room. Madi showered, came out, and ate some soup before curling up on the couch with her phone. My mom watched her shows on TV like she did every night. Nobody talked. Nobody mentioned the drama. The whole “pretend nothing happened” began. And it made me crazy.
I finally crawled into bed around ten and spent the next hour trying to sleep without any luck. I wanted to go into my little sister’s room, but I didn’t know what to say at this point and hammering her with questions wasn’t right. There was some reason she stayed other than the kids, but what? I couldn’t believe that she loved the man anymore. I knew she did at first. I remembered their wedding. She’d been so happy, the stereotypical glowing bride. There was no faking that. And somehow, along the way, it had gone sour. My emotions swung between total confusion as to why she stayed, to anger at her for keeping her kids in that situation, to compassion for the fear she must live in day in and day out.
I also found it strange that they’d gotten counseling over his infidelity but not his abuse?
I finally gave up trying to sleep and grabbed my laptop. If I was going to be awake, I might as well make myself useful and research the coin we found in Carly’s safe deposit box. I piled the pillows behind me and settled on my bed. A random moment of déjà vu hit me. This was exactly how I did my homework in high school, sitting on my bed, books in my lap. But back then it was all books and paper. Had anyone ever told me to grab my laptop so I could do some research, look at pictures, and pray that the wi-fi was working it would have been as if they were speaking a completely foreign language.
But the images on my screen showed a language people had been speaking for thousands of years. Gold. It represented money, power, and greed. People killed one another over it forever. Frank was just one victim out of millions. I studied the pictures of the coins. I was no numismatist, but I knew one, so I started at his website, where some of his collection was posted and listed for sale. He’d also written some posts explaining the history of some coins. Massive amounts of gold were found in California’s foothills drawing thousands of people from the east to find their fortune. The famous 49ers. Few became rich, but those who struck gold hit it big, and the mints in San Francisco and Carson City turned that gold into coins.
Some of the coins were worth far more than their weight in gold, though I was stunned to see how much more they were worth.
Similar coins to the one we found in the box today were being sold online for anywhere between ten thousand to multiple six figures. I’d only taken a picture of one side of the coin, which was a mistake. The image showed a woman with a crown and some words that I couldn’t make out. The coin was not in mint condition, and to figure out its worth, I needed more information than I could see from my not-so-great photo. The only thing I knew was that if Frank did in fact have the whole stash, or if I could help Carly find it, it would be more than enough money to get her and Madi far away from Brian which gave this whole search a whole new meaning for me.
If I could find it, I could claim a finder’s fee, right?
I leaned back onto my pillows and rolled my neck. It popped and cracked with the movement until I froze with the realization that this gold stash didn’t really belong to anyone. Frank and Del originally found it and brought some home. When they went back, it was gone, and they spent years accusing one another of taking it. Maybe one of them went back and double-crossed their partner. Or maybe somebody totally different found it and whoever that person was, they would believe that the gold belonged to them. So, if it wasn’t buried on private property somewhere, if Frank’s “clue” could lead to the stash, I would have no obligation to share it with my brother-in-law. I shuddered even thinking about the man. Carly was a different story. If it was on her property, and I helped her find it, she’d give me a finder’s fee - at least she said she would but who knew? This gold obviously made people a little crazy. Me included.
But at least I could help rescue my sister.
How the hell could I find the gold?
Frank most likely had it. There was the gold in the box and the titles to all the vehicles. He paid them off but not told his wife which meant he had access to a lot of money. But there was the note: Your legacy is in the heart of iris; it’ll come to you. Frank apparently didn’t want to die without giving someone a clue to wherever he hid the treasure, but why not just come out and tell me, “Hey lady, I’m dying. Tell my wife there are millions in gold coins in her flower bed”?
Why had he repeated the weird phrase?
I googled the word iris. The results didn’t tell me anything new. It could be a woman’s name, a flower, the colored part of a person’s eyeball, or a reference to either a purple or blue color. Well, that did nothin
g to narrow it down. Other than the fact that Frank drove a deep bluish, almost purple rig. Could it be that easy? I doubted it, but at least it was a place to start.
I needed help which meant dealing with Carly. And Anne. I would only be here for a few more days before I headed home to raise my own kids and try to make my damn business a success.
My little flailing store was the first and last thing I wanted to be thinking about right now as I clicked off the light and flopped back down onto my pillow, praying that sleep would come soon.
♦♦♦
Thankfully, the next two days were quiet and calm.
I didn’t stumble on any crime victims.
Mom moved a little bit better every day.
But I did think, continuously, about the missing gold. If we could find it, Anne could get out.
As I sat at my mother’s kitchen table trying to work, my phone pinged with a text from Carly. I hadn’t been expecting to hear from her again after our disaster of a trip to Boise.
Carly: Who else did you tell about what Frank said when he died?
Me: Just my family. My mom, sister, and niece were at my house when I got home from the police station that night. I told them what happened.
Carly: So that means that everyone in town probably knows about the iris. Why would you do that?
Me: I didn’t really think about it. I was pretty shaken up. Why? What’s going on?
Carly: Somebody trashed Frank’s truck last night or early this morning. I’m guessing they think he hid the gold in there.
Me: Oh crap. I’m sorry. How bad?
Carly: Bad. Windows broken, seats cut open, the whole bed area is destroyed. Paneling is pulled off, cupboards and drawers pulled out. It’s a mess.
Me: Did you call Mike to report it?
Carly: Yeah. He just left. You’ll probably hear from him.
Me: Do you think they found anything?
Carly: No. I already went through the entire cab. Kat and I pretty much emptied the entire thing and searched. It wasn’t in there. And from what I could tell, they didn’t find any hiding spots Kat and I hadn’t already searched.
Me: I’m sorry. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.
At that moment, my phone began to ring. It was Detective Mike. He pretty much told me what Carly said and also wanted to know exactly who I told about the clue. Unfortunately, he agreed that meant it could be anyone in town since I’d shared it with a sixteen-year-old girl who surely told her friends at school. A murder on the streets of Elk Creek was big news, and Madi knew details which gave her a bit of momentary status. It hadn’t even occurred to me to tell her to keep quiet about it all,
At this point, I was sure that most everyone in town knew that Frank’s legacy was in the heart of iris.
I hung up with Mike, after assuring him that if I heard anything, I’d let him know. I doubted I’d find anything out, but I’d for sure ask. My mother denied telling anyone about the clue, though my sister told her husband, which hadn’t surprised me. If he felt like Frank robbed his family of their share, of course Anne would tell him.
Madi swore to her mother that she only told her two best friends, but as we all knew, that would be enough. Everyone in town probably knew the clue which meant it could have been anyone who trashed Frank’s rig. And that didn’t help narrow anything down at all.
Chapter 12
THE ERIN’S HOUSE WOMEN’S Shelter was on a leafy tree-filled street in Boise. As the nearest haven for battered women from our small town, it didn’t seem quite close enough. It took almost an hour to get here. I surveyed it from the other side of the road and the safety of my mom’s Suburban. Despite the lawns and trees, the place didn’t feel cozy or comforting. It looked more like a fortress, with bars over the first-floor windows. Women fled here with their children in fear for their lives.
Would Anne come here? Would Brian follow her? Had he threatened to kill her? For the thousandth time since last night, I wondered again why the hell she stayed. Could she even answer? For whatever reason, it was scarier to stay than it was to leave, and even though I found that hard to understand, that’s the way it was. But hell if I was going to stand by and watch while she struggled silently.
That’s what I’d done with Bret. He was stressed, and I knew it. I thought I was supporting him when we made the appointment with the therapist. We put him on the anti-depressants, and we waited for them to work. And then we waited a little longer. We went back. He got a new drug that made him antsy, jumpy. I woke up one night alone in bed, only to find him pacing and agitated. I tried to get him to come back to bed, but he assured me he was fine, he didn’t want to keep me up. He walked me back to bed, tucked me in, gave me a goodnight kiss, went to his office in our home, and hung himself.
While I fell back asleep, hoping and trusting that the meds would “kick in” soon.
And life had never been the same. Though we couldn’t prove it, I blamed the drugs. Bret was struggling with anxiety, but he wasn’t suicidal until he started on this new drug. I wanted it to work. Rather than helping him work through it and find the cause of the anxiety, I totally bought into his doctor’s plan to throw a pill at it. Bret did too.
It was easy, convenient. And deadly. The anti-depressants with therapy were how he wanted to handle it, and I let him, a decision I’d regret every day for the rest of my life. I let him walk that path alone until he died. I would not make the same mistake with my sister. No matter how much it pissed her off.
I walked briskly across the street and pressed the security buzzer. “Can I help you?” A woman’s voice came out of the intercom box.
“Um, yes. I need some guidance.” I looked up toward the camera and tried to smile, but I felt like I shot them a less than encouraging awkward grimace. Perfect.
Finally, the buzzer sounded, and the door clicked. I pushed it open and found a surprisingly elegant woman standing across from me. I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe somebody who fled in the middle of the night in her sweats with toddlers clinging to her? I have no idea what I thought this would be like, but I felt even more uncomfortable, if that were possible.
“Hello. I’m glad you found us. I’m Joanna.” She reached out and gave me a firm handshake. “Come with me and we can do an intake interview.”
The woman turned and marched down the sterile hallway. She walked silently in her cute flats, while my comfortable rubber-soled shoes squeaked like I was on a basketball court.
I hurried behind her but waited to speak until she finally turned into a room with some couches and chairs and she invited me to sit. “Oh, thank you, but I don’t need help. It’s my sister.”
Joanna nodded understandingly.
“No, really. It’s my sister. I’m a widow. I just found out about her, uh, situation. She’s been married for over twenty years to this man.” I couldn’t even say his name.
“You just found out about the situation?” She asked, her eyebrows raising in surprise. Joanna spoke with a brisk, no-nonsense style.
“Well, yes.” A wave of shame started in my chest, right around my heart, and crept upward until it parked in a nice little ball in my throat, making it hard to speak, but I continued anyway. “I live in San Francisco. I came home for a few weeks to help our mother with a hip surgery. Apparently, the, uh, situation has been escalating, and she’s done a great job of hiding it. Which honestly doesn’t take much when I live so far away. I was hoping to know how I can get her here.” I finally stopped, my rambling a lame attempt at justifying and covering up my abysmal relationship with my sister.
Joanna nodded. “Has he threatened her life?”
“I, well, I have no idea.”
“But you want to rescue her?” Joanna asked.
“Yes, of course. I want to help her get out of the situation.”
“Does she want out?”
I sighed. “Apparently not. She’s still there.” My phone dinged with an incoming text. I’d totally forgotten to put it on silent. I grabbed
at it and shut it off. “Sorry.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Joanna ignored my comment and walked across the small waiting room. Lobby? I wasn’t sure what to call the space.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Can I ask your sister’s name?”
I told her, but if Joanna knew Anne, she didn’t let on. The woman had a hell of a poker face, which I’m sure came in handy in her line of work.
She returned with two cups of coffee, handed me one, and reached for a pile of brochures on the coffee table. “Here are some resources for you. First, your sister has stayed in the marriage for a reason. There are many, many reasons that women stay, and often those who’ve never been in a situation like that cannot understand any of those reasons. Your job is not to try to understand or to convince her to leave. You cannot control the situation, and you don’t know the details. If he’s threatened her life, she might well believe that it’s safer to stay. Especially if there are children involved. You can only let her know that you love her and support her.”
“But… she needs to leave. He’s crazy and isn’t that what you do? Help people escape situations like that?”
Joanna gave me a gentle smile. “Yes, we do. But only she can decide to leave. Read this.” She slid a brochure across the table to me called How to Provide Support. “Let her know that you love her. And when she’s ready, we’re here.”
“So, when she does decide to leave, what does she do? Just knock on the door?”
Joanna grabbed another brochure and added it to the pile of resources for me. “This one outlines the process. We have a lot of information online, but often victims won’t search on their computers if their abusers are looking at their search or browser history.”