Sean’s fork hovers in mid air. “You tell Jill we can handle this without her assistance.”
I stab at the bacon in his half of the spinach salad. “But Sean, I need to reassure her that the police are taking this seriously. Tell me honestly—don’t you guys figure good riddance when a junkie dies?”
Sean’s face hardens. “When the junkie is a fifty-year-old homeless guy who ODs under the Jersey Transit train overpass we do. When the junkie is a twenty-four-year-old whose mom is a paralegal for the biggest law firm in town and whose dad is the contractor who remodeled the mayor’s kitchen, we take it a little more seriously. The Palmer County Drug Task Force is handling the investigation. And, yes, we’re following up on her doctor.”
Good. This is what Jill needs to hear. But I know she’ll want specific details. Sean said, “we”, not “they.” “Are you part of the Task Force?” I ask in my most innocent what’s-up-at-the-office voice.
Sean massages his temples. “Yes, Audrey, I am. And it’s the hardest job I’ve ever done.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because heroin in Palmer County is way out of control. And no one knows what to do about it.”
We both stand up and he pulls me into a hug. “You stay away from this, baby,” he murmurs through my hair. “There’s one thing every junkie has in common. They’re desperate. Desperate to stay ahead of their need…their pain. Desperate for the next fix.”
“That’s so sad.” I burrow into his chest, breathing in his warm, clean scent.
He pushes me away and holds my shoulders. “Desperation isn’t sad, Audrey. It’s dangerous.”
No sooner does Sean drop me back at the Eskews’ than Jill is calling me to find out what I learned from him. Just as I feared, she’s not particularly reassured that Sean says a competent team is investigating Amber’s death.
“But Audrey, what about Amber’s doctor? Did Sean know if he’s legit?”
“They’re on it, Jill. You don’t have to worry.”
“And the Caffeine Planet connection? Why did she choose that place to shoot up?”
“Apparently Amber worked there for a while. Adrienne told me that. Did you ever see her there?”
“No, but I’ve never been a Planet fan. They have a lousy selection of green tea. I told you, the last time I saw her, she was working at Burger King. I wonder how she got a job at Planet? Are the cops looking into that?”
“Jill, c’mon! Sean can’t tell me that.”
A long beat of silence.
“Jill?”
“Audrey, I really appreciate that you talked to Sean. I do. But I think I’d better come out there—”
“No! Jill, you need to focus on school. There’s nothing you can do here, and if you start nosing around, Sean will find out about it and I’m the one who will be in hot water.”
“But I need to know who she was hanging with. There must be some connection between Caffeine Planet and the heroin.”
“That’s a big leap.”
Jill lets out a huff of air audible through the phone. I can picture the determined expression that goes with that sound. I call it her “I’ll do it myself, said the Little Red Hen” look.
“I’ll just have to network. Someone’s gotta know someone who knows.”
After I hang up with Jill, I wander down the hall to Mrs. Eskew’s sickroom. During lunch, a random thought had popped into my head: I remembered that yesterday I had placed Tender is the Night on the bedside table when Mrs. Eskew told me to put it down, and I never did put it back on the shelf with the rest of the Fitzgeralds. I should do that, so it doesn’t get misplaced. When I poke my head in the room, Darlene is not there. Straining my ears, I hear her clattering around in the kitchen. Good. I’m not in the mood for more small talk with her. Now, with any luck, Mrs. Eskew will be sleeping.
As I approach the bed I hear her scratchy breathing, even fainter today than yesterday. Her eyes are shut and her mouth hangs open slightly. I can see her tongue.
I avert my gaze. She shouldn’t have to lose every last shred of dignity.
My eyes search the end table on the left side of the bed. I’m sure that’s where I placed the book when she told me to put it down, but now nothing is there but the lamp and a little china dish. Maybe on the other end table? But no—that’s where Darlene keeps all Mrs. Eskew’s meds and supplies. There’s no room for anything else. My heart beats a little harder. That book has to be in this room somewhere.
I climb the ladder to the Fitzgerald shelf. But even as I do, I know the book won’t be there. Darlene wouldn’t know where to reshelve it. And sure enough, there is still a Tender is the Night-sized gap in the Fitzgerald section. Just then, Darlene returns.
She jumps when I speak to her from above. “Hi, Darlene. I came in here to reshelve a book I left on that end table. But now it’s not there. Have you seen it?”
Her face hardens. “Why would I know where it is? I don’t touch anything in here except the bed and the meds.”
“I didn’t…I mean, I, I just wondered if you noticed it there after I left yesterday?”
Darlene shrugs. “I wasn’t paying any attention. I can barely see that table from where I always sit.” She continues, her voice still combative. “Maybe her son took it. He was here this morning. He asked me to leave so he could have some private time with his mom.”
Slowly I descend the ladder. Tom Eskew. That makes sense. After the way he was grilling me on the value of those ball gowns, it’s easy to imagine him slipping a valuable book out of the house. Crap! How am I supposed to handle this?
“Was Mrs. Eskew awake?” Maybe she would know if Tom took the book. Maybe she even gave it to him although that seems doubtful after she called all three kids philistines.
“Oh, yeah—was she ever! I had a hell of a time calming her down after he left. That’s always how it is.”
“They argued? But she’s so, so—”
“You’d think he could cut her a break at this point, but I hafta say, the old bird really gives as good as she gets.”
“How so?”
“She’s hangin’ onto her money. Won’t let any of them get their hands on all of it even after she’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
Darlene waves her hands. “I don’t understand this stuff. Somethin’ about trusts and fixing it so the money is theirs but they can’t spend it all the way they want. She won’t be needing it where’s she’s going, so what does she care?” She bustles around the room, dropping a basket of clean sheets on a chair. “But a lot of rich people are like her. They want to stay in charge even after they’re dead.” She turns her back on me and begins folding.
I look at the figure in the bed, so tiny, so helpless. It’s hard to imagine that she thinks she can control anything anymore. As I gaze at her, Mrs. Eskew’s eyes open. Her mouth moves, but I can barely hear the sound she makes. I lean closer.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her hand fumbles to get free of the covers. I lift the sheet and she clutches my wrist. Her fingers feel like ice-cold bones. “Forgive me.” Her grip tightens. “Please forgive me.”
Panicked, I glance over my shoulder at Darlene, but she has earbuds in and her head bounces to music only she can hear.
“It’s okay,” I say to Mrs. Eskew. “Everything’s all right.”
When I speak, her eyes snap into focus. I sense that she realizes I’m not who she thought I was a moment ago.
“I’m afraid,” she says. Her voice is clear and quite firm. “They don’t understand. I had to…no choice. But they blame me…I’m afraid…” Her lips keep moving, but now I can’t make out what she’s saying. “Only Parker was brave.” Her eyes widen in her skeletal face. Even as frail as she is, I couldn’t shake her grasp if I tried. “Don’t leave.”
A shiver runs up my arm as if her terror is being conducted right into me. I long to get away from her but feel I’d have to peel each one of her fingers off my wrist to escape. “Darlene!”
&n
bsp; The volume of my voice makes Mrs. Eskew flinch. Darlene pauses.
“Darlene, come here, please.”
She yanks the earbuds out and approaches the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s upset. She says she’s afraid because someone won’t forgive her.”
“Mmm. Let’s not get going on that or I’ll never get her settled.” Darlene takes Mrs. Eskew’s other hand and strokes it gently. “What are you telling Audrey, Mrs. Eskew? She’s just doing a little work in the house. Sorting out your books and paintings, remember? We talked about that yesterday, didn’t we?” Darlene’s voice is sweet and sing-songy, her gestures surprisingly tender. Gradually, Mrs. Eskew’s grip on my arm loosens.
The old woman looks into Darlene’s face. “Where were you? Why did you leave me alone?”
“I was right here in the room, Mrs. E. Just folding the laundry.”
“I can’t be alone,” the old lady scolds. Her head strains forward, but she barely has the strength to keep it elevated. “It’s not safe.”
“No, you’re not alone,” Darlene says. “I’m here. I’m always here.”
Mrs. Eskew’s eyes search Darlene’s face. Apparently she finds the reassurance she needs. Her head falls back on the pillow and her eyes close. In seconds, her breathing is slow and regular.
Darlene and I back away from the bed.
“Who’s she afraid of?” I ask.
Darlene glances heavenward.
“Yeah…that, but I got the feeling there was someone real, right here in the house.”
Darlene shrugs and turns back to folding laundry.
“What does she want forgiveness for?” I persist.
“Everything she ever screwed up.” Darlene snaps a pillowcase. “Just like the rest of us.”
Chapter 9
Adrienne and I went to the Eskew house in separate cars so she could leave in time to meet her kids’ school bus. On the drive back to Palmyrton, I mull over the missing book, the encounter with Tom Eskew, and the disturbing scene with his mother. I’ve pretty much made up my mind that I should call Kara and let her know what’s going on. If her mother is terrified of someone, if her brother is stealing, don’t I have an obligation to let my client know?
When I open the office door, I discover I’ll have no privacy to make this difficult call. Ty is hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed. Uh-oh—what could have gone wrong?
“Hey. How’d it go?”
Ty starts up, then grins. “All cool. The house was real clean. Furniture nothing special, but a nice collection of tools. Some Depression glass and Pyrex that the lady didn’t even know were worth something. Here’s the signed contract.”
I feel the glow of pride and relief a mom must feel when her kid makes it through the class play without flubbing a single line. “This is fantastic! She signed without having any questions?”
“At first she asked where you were, but once I told her Bakelite costume jewelry was worth some scratch, she started to take me serious.”
“Ly.”
“Lee what?”
“Seriously. You told me to correct your mistakes.”
Ty scowls, then leans back in his chair and cracks his knuckles. “I got too much to remember.”
I can see that he has his statistics book open on the desk. “Are you doing your homework?”
“Yeah. I can’t afford to waste time, and it’s quieter here than at home. I still have to read a chapter of my art book and do some grammar problems….questions…whatever you call ‘em.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Nah. I’m good.” He pauses. “Why is it seriously? What’s wrong with just serious?”
“Seriously is an adverb. Adverbs modify verbs. You were describing how our client takes you. Take is a verb. So you need the adverb, seriously.”
He gazes at me like I’m explaining the reproductive cycle of gypsy moths. “How do you know that? And why does it matter?”
“Language has rules. Math has rules.”
“Why? Who gets to decide what’s right and what’s wrong?”
He’s got me there. “Think of it this way. Basketball has rules, right? Rules are what make it a game. Otherwise, it would just be a bunch of tall guys tossing a ball around. Someone established the rules, and now everyone agrees to play by them. And when a player breaks the rules, he gets penalized. That’s the same as grammar.”
“Teachers the only people who penalize you for breaking grammar rules.”
“Not true. Employers, clients—they judge you on that. Might not seem fair, but it’s true.”
Ty digests this for a minute. “Hmmm. I guess. Rules of basketball make hella more sense, you ask me.”
He goes back to his statistics and I work on researching dealers for the Eskew collections. But I can’t focus. I’m still thinking of the way Mrs. Eskew clung to my arm. Her terror was real.
Ty glances up from his book. “Why you starin’ into space like that?”
So I tell him what happened at the house today. “I think I should call Kara and let her know how troubled her mother is. But I don’t know how to tell her about the book. I don’t want to accuse anyone unjustly.”
Ty shakes his head. “Stay out of it, Audge. When my grandma’s oldest sister was dying, she kept hollerin’ that there was a man with a beard in her room tryin’ to steal her clock. There was no man, no beard, and no clock. She was havin’ hallucinations, just like a drug addict. The doctor said it happens all the time with sick, old people.”
“Really? Because Mrs. Eskew seemed genuinely terrified of someone real.”
“It’s real to her, just not to anyone else. And there’s nothin’ you can do except try to distract them and call them down.”
“Hmmm. That’s what Darlene did.”
“See, it’s under control. You do your job, let her do hers.”
“How about the book?”
“You’re not even sure it’s gone. Maybe tomorrow you find it stuck on another shelf.”
I reach out and pat his hand. “You’re wise beyond your years, Ty.”
“Yeah. Tell me ‘bout it.”
We work in companionable silence until I hear his phone beep the arrival of a text. Then Ty snorts.
“Why’s Jill think I’d know anything about that?”
“What?”
“She’s askin’ me do I know about drug dealers workin’ outta Caffeine Planet.”
His thumbs fly over his phone keyboard. Ty is adamantly anti-drug and Jill knows it. He seems to be typing an awful lot to tell her no.
He snorts again.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“She wanna find out where low-life smack-heads hang, she asks her only black friend!”
I know better than to tell Ty he’s being hypersensitive, but honestly, he is. “She’s trying to network—”
Ty’s scowl lifts, and he tosses down his phone. “Never mind. It was a group text. She asked a buncha people.”
“As I was saying, Jill’s obsessed with finding out who turned Amber on to heroin. Amber’s mother blames Jill.”
“That’s whack.”
“I know, but Jill can’t let it go. She’s bugging me to ask Sean about it. She wants to skip classes and come out to Palmyrton to see what she can find out.”
Ty flips the page of his Stat book. “Jill gotta learn she can’t fix everything and everybody. She’s even worse than you.”
When I get home, Ethel all but bowls me over.
“I’m sorry I’m late, darling. What’s first, walk or dinner?”
Ethel tears into the kitchen and sits by her dish. She’s not one to waffle over her decisions.
“I wish I could take you with me to this new job. But it’s not like Harold the Hoarder’s place—it’s very fancy schmancy. The Eskews wouldn’t approve of you.”
Ethel cocks her head and holds her tail high. I scratch her ears. “Way to embrace your mixed breed heritage, Ethel. Those Eskews might have a high-cl
ass pedigree, but it hasn’t made them any happier.”
As we walk through the neighborhood, my phone pings the arrival of an email. It’s a real estate listing from Isabelle. “Three bedrooms, two baths, finished basement, large yard. Perfect for you. This won’t last. Let’s look tonight. Bring your partner.”
The picture is tiny on my phone, but it doesn’t look bad. The neighborhood is nice, the price within our budget. I forward the message to Sean and ask if he can meet me there. Seconds later he responds. Be there in 15.
I look down at Ethel. “What do you think, girl? You should have a say in picking it out. Let’s go for a ride in the car.”
You don’t have to ask Ethel twice to go for a ride in the car. She nearly wrenches my arm out of its socket in her eagerness to get back to my garage. On the drive over, she rides shotgun, her ears blowing back in the soft evening breeze.
“Would you like to have a fenced back yard, Ethel? Someplace where you could chase squirrels off-leash?”
She gives me a big doggy grin.
Of course a house with a yard would be great for her, and would make life easier for me too. No more midnight walks in freezing weather. But a yard means other things. A swing set. A sand box. Picnic table space for twenty.
My hands feel sweaty on the steering wheel.
I arrive before Sean and Isabelle. Ethel and I get out of the car and gaze at the house from the curb. It’s a shingled Cape Cod, cream with taupe shutters. A curving brick walk leads to a front door decorated with a dried flower wreath. Window boxes planted with cascading geraniums dress the wide front windows. There’s a screened porch to the side where a wind chime tinkles in the breeze.
Undeniably charming. But I’ve been in Capes like this before. They all have small boxy rooms and no closet space.
“Hellooo, darling!”
Ethel and I turn to see Isabelle striding toward us in her power pumps.
“Isn’t this simply delightful? I thought of you instantly.”
Ethel prepares to launch herself onto Isabelle’s immaculate silver gray pantsuit, but I pull her back in the nick of time. “It’s cute,” I admit. “Looks kinda small though.”
This Bitter Treasure: a romantic thriller (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 3) Page 6