This Bitter Treasure: a romantic thriller (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 3)

by S. W. Hubbard

  “Very deceiving. The inside is surprisingly spacious. Open floorplan. Roomy master. Partially finished lower level.”

  Isabelle continues to pepper me with real estate speak until Sean pulls up and parks his unmarked police car behind the real estate agent’s Mercedes.

  I see Sean’s face light up, and I know it’s not me and the dog he’s thrilled to see. He really likes this house.

  I tie Ethel’s leash to the front porch railing and we go inside.

  The current owner’s décor is a little cutesy for my taste. All those floral armchairs and ruffled window treatments make it hard for me to visualize living here. But Sean and Isabelle are talking nonstop about the furnace and the roof and the property taxes.

  Sean suddenly notices my lack of participation. ”What do you think, Audrey? This open living room/dining room is good, right?”

  “Yeah. But it’s got wall to wall. I thought we wanted hardwood.”

  Isabelle marches to a corner and yanks up a loose end of carpet. “All hardwood underneath, and perfectly protected by this carpet. No problem at all to pull it up.”

  Sean steers me into the kitchen. “Wow! Really a good size. Plenty of counter space. I could whip up some meals in here!”

  “The range is electric. I thought you wanted gas.”

  “Easy to replace,” Isabelle answers. “There’s a closed gas line behind the stove. I checked.”

  The woman has an answer for everything. I guess that’s why she’s the sales leader in all of Palmyrton.

  The full bath on the first floor has been redone. Isabelle points out the upgrades. I keep my mouth shut about the strange shade of green in the accent tile. We poke our heads into two reasonably sized bedrooms, then head upstairs.

  “They’ve created a fabulous master suite up here,” Isabelle says as she flings open the bedroom door.

  “Look, they’ve got a king-sized bed in here, and there’s still plenty of room.” Sean spreads his arms.

  I open the closet door expecting a pokey little nook, and find an expansive walk-in. The master bath has a double vanity and an extra large shower.

  “Now look at this,” Isabelle says, opening another door. “It’s a bonus room! You could use it as a home office. Or a little nursery. Keep the baby up here with you while you’re nursing, then move him to one of the downstairs bedrooms when he’s old enough.”

  I feel faint.

  “Wow, perfect,” Sean agrees. “I was a little worried about the master being so far away from the other bedrooms.”

  Really? It never even crossed my mind. What does that say about me?

  The house tour ends with the finished basement (perfect for a playroom, Sean and Isabelle agree), then I get Ethel and we head out to the backyard.

  Lawn like a putting green. Flagstone patio with a gas grill. Colorful flower border. Big shady tree. All surrounded by a white picket fence. My hand loosens on the leash as I take in the splendor. Ethel spies a squirrel and springs into pursuit.

  She zooms around and around the yard barking joyfully while the squirrel watches, safe on a high branch.

  “Ethel has spoken. This place is perfect,” Sean says. “Let’s put in an offer.”

  “What? Right now? We haven’t even talked about it.”

  “What’s to discuss? It has everything we want.”

  “You’re being impulsive, Sean. Making an offer on a house is a major decision.”

  “This place won’t last,” Isabelle says. “It’s priced to sell. It just came on the market yesterday and there’s been a lot of activity already. As you know, there’s not a lot available in this price range.”

  “See, Isabelle agrees. We have to move fast. You snooze, you lose.”

  I feel cornered. I want to growl and bare my teeth the way Ethel does when the vacuum pursues her from room to room.

  I grab Ethel and snap her leash on. “I want to sleep on it. We’ll call you tomorrow, Isabelle.”

  Since we came in separate cars, we each had fifteen minutes alone to hone our arguments before reuniting at my condo.

  “We can’t commit to spending $350,000 until I run the numbers,” I say as I let Sean in.

  “You already ran numbers when we agreed on what price range we could afford.” Sean shuts the door just short of a slam.

  “Now we need to look at property taxes for this particular house, estimated utilities, projected repair and maintenance. Did you notice they were supplementing the AC upstairs with a window unit? That drives up the electricity.”

  Sean puts his hands on his head like he’s trying to keep it from exploding. “Fine.” He grabs my laptop. “Create a spreadsheet, miss math whiz. Isabelle said we can call her any time before ten.”

  While I enter figures into Excel, Sean keeps up a running commentary on the excellence of the house—the solid construction, the sunny rooms, the spacious master bedroom. I murmur agreement as I type.

  “And it’s only two blocks from Lake Valley School. Our kids wouldn’t even have to ride the bus.”

  My fingers freeze above the keyboard. Having kids is a touchy subject with us. I haven’t ruled it out, but the prospect terrifies me, and Sean knows it. Speaking about our prospective offspring as a done deal is not cool. I slowly lift my head.

  He realizes he’s made a tactical error. “I mean, that’s a long way off. But the house does have a very convenient location. To shopping…and everything.”

  I type in a few more figures and swing the computer around so Sean can see the screen. “If we qualify for a mortgage that’s 1% above prime, our monthly payments would be $1,800.”

  “That’s good. We can swing that.”

  “But we might not get such a great rate.” I don’t want to mention it, but Sean has a few marks on his credit history after his messy divorce. “If we have to pay just half a percent more, look what happens to our payments.”

  Sean squints at the screen. “We can still manage. I’m due for a raise in the spring. Your business is really picking up. You’ve been crazy busy. And this Eskew sale…”

  “My business is seasonal, Sean. You know that. We need to have enough cash flow to pay our bills in December and January, not just in July and August. We can’t make an offer until I call the bank tomorrow and see what kind of rate we can get. If the rate’s too high, we can’t afford this house.”

  Sean stands up and pulls me out of my seat. “Take a chance, Audrey. For once in your life, don’t be so rational. This house is perfect. It’s the house we can build our life together in. The money will work out. Have a little faith. Call Isabelle now.”

  I stand stiff, refusing to melt into his embrace. “Money has nothing to do with faith, Sean. You either have enough or you don’t. Do you want to start our marriage arguing about money every month, pinching every penny?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Then let me call the bank in the morning. If we get a good rate, we’ll put in an offer right away.”

  He strokes my hair. “You’re so stubborn.”

  “Yeah. Nothing like you.”

  Chapter 10

  True to my word, I have the mortgage broker working on our rate by 8:30 in the morning. While I’m working and waiting for him to call back, Adrienne finally strolls in.

  “Good morning.” I look pointedly at the clock on the wall, which reads nine-twenty-five. “Or should I say, good afternoon?”

  Adrienne stops dead. “Well! I would think you’d be a little more flexible when I just drove twenty miles out of my way to deliver your other employee to school.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ty was calling you but your phone was off. He called me to ask if I knew where you were. I could tell from his voice something was wrong. Turns out he loaned his car to his sister and she didn’t bring it back when she was supposed to so he had no way to get to school and he has a test today. So I drove him.”

  I feel like a creep. A bum. A total cockroach of a human being. “Oh, Adrien
ne—I’m so sorry! That was s-o-o nice of you. Did he get to school on time?”

  “Oh, yeah—I took the Beemer.” Adrienne tosses her Louis Vuitton tote on the desk. “I didn’t know Ty even had a sister. He never mentioned her before, and he didn’t say much on the drive.”

  “She’s his half-sister. She’s much older and she’s kind of…unreliable.” I don’t know that much about Charmaine, and what I do know, I’m unwilling to confide in Adrienne. Charmaine and Ty share the same father and she has drifted in and out of Ty’s life as unpredictably as his dad has. Ty’s Grandma Betty, his maternal grandmother, doesn’t have much use for Charmaine, but no matter how much Betty warns Ty off his half-sister, Ty remains stubbornly loyal to her. So I’m not surprised he loaned her his prized car. And I’m even less surprised that she didn’t return it. I am, however, stunned that Adrienne went out of her way to get Ty to class on time.

  “I hope she turns up by the end of the school day,” Adrienne says. “I can’t pick him up. Jimmy has a soccer game this afternoon.”

  “You’ve done more than your part, Adrienne. I really appreciate it. I’ll pick Ty up this afternoon.”

  “Why did you have your phone off?” she asks.

  I dig my phone out. The screen is black. “Damn. It’s been on the fritz lately. Time for an upgrade, but I’ve been procrastinating. I hate transferring everything and setting up the new phone.”

  “Go get a new phone today, and I’ll set it up for you tomorrow.” Adrienne pulls her hair back in a tortoise shell clip. “So what’s on the agenda today? Are we working at the Eskew house?”

  I’m not sure why she’s such a bundle of helpfulness today, but I’ll roll with it. “Yeah. Let’s see how much we can get done before I have to get Ty.”

  When we get to the Eskews’ house there’s an old beater car in the driveway. It’s been rear-ended so the trunk is bashed in and doesn’t close completely. The back bumper dangles and looks like it’s been wired on with a bent coat hanger. To think I worried that my Honda Civic was an eyesore in this neighborhood! Someone is visiting, but it’s clearly not a friend or family member of the Eskews.

  Again, Darlene has left the front door unlocked for us. Adrienne and I walk in and immediately hear raised voices.

  “I can’t give you more. The phone bill is due tomorrow. I can’t risk losing my service.”

  “Mom, c’mon—it’s just for a day. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

  “How can you pay me back tomorrow? What’s happening between now and then? Huh? You winnin’ the lottery?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have a plan. Just take my word for it.”

  As my eyes adjust from the bright sun outside to the dim foyer, I see two people at the end of the hall that leads to Mrs. Eskew’s sickroom. I recognize Darlene’s broad back and bright colored smock. The tall, thin young man she’s talking to looms over her. Must be her son.

  I was planning on working in the dining room today, which is accessible directly from the foyer. I’m not sure if Darlene and her son have even noticed our arrival. Should I announce myself or just get to work?

  “Your word, your plan! You must think I’m as stupid as that skank who follows you everywhere. Well, I’m through with taking chances for you.”

  Adrienne and I exchange a glance. Whoa—I’m staying out of that. Before we duck into the dining room, we hear one last exchange.

  “You want me to leave JJ out of it, so do what I say.”

  “My nerves are shot. I can’t risk it again—”

  “Do it.”

  Adrienne steps into the dining room and lets out a low whistle. “Geez, you could hold a Downton Abbey dinner party in here.”

  I gesture to a breakfront the size of a Manhattan studio apartment. “I’ll catalog everything in there. Why don’t you tackle the kitchen? You’re so knowledgeable about cookware.”

  Adrienne accepts the compliment and the assignment. She exits through a paneled swing door and calls out, “Butler’s pantry! Should I do that too?”

  “Start in the kitchen and see how far you get.”

  I turn to my project. The shelves behind the glass doors of the breakfront are filled with Haviland, Wedgewood, and Tiffany, but I’m more interested in what the drawers might hold. I slide one open and pull back the dark purple velvet cover. Forks, knives, and spoons each in their own niche gleam at me. I pick up a knife. Heavy. Just as I suspected: sterling silver. Silver plate you can’t give away these days. No one wants to be bothered polishing it. But this is the real deal—92.5% silver through and through. Each piece bears an intricate monogram: a large E flanked by a smaller H and a P.

  That pretty much destroys its value as silverware. Rich people who want their own engraved silver don’t shop around looking for the cast-offs of other rich people with the same initials.

  But this silver is worth plenty if the Eskews are willing to melt it down. Silver is going for $15 a troy ounce these days. I’ll need to weigh representative samples and do the math. I start to count. The knives each fit into their own groove: 20. But the forks and spoons are nested in stacks. Dinner forks: 16, Salad forks: 15, Teaspoons: 17, Soup spoons 14.

  Hmm. It’s not unusual to lose a spoon or scrape a salad fork into the trash, but why would the complete set of knives be present while every other part of the set has a different number of pieces missing? Could it be that someone knows that the blades of knives are made of stainless steel so they’re strong enough to cut with, and only the handles are made of silver? The knives each have their own slot, so it’s easy to notice if one is missing. But the more valuable pieces could be slipped out one or two at a time without anyone noticing that the stacks were shorter. How many would have to go missing before anyone noticed? Certainly there are no grand dinner parties in this room anymore now that Mrs. Eskew is so ill. Could Darlene or her son understand the value of this stuff? Is taking silverware what Darlene can’t risk doing again? Another issue to consider pointing out to Kara?

  As I work, I have an uncanny feeling of being watched. I turn around. A child stands in the shadows of the foyer peering into the dining room at me. Who could that be? Another of Darlene’s kids? Or could Kara be back in town with her daughter? Whoever it is, I find it unnerving to be observed like a zoo animal.

  “Hi.” I smile and wave. “I’m Audrey. What’s your name?”

  She steps out of the shadows but still stays close to the doorway. “I’m Rachel,” she says, twisting a strand of her wispy hair around her finger.

  At least, I think that’s what she said, her voice is so quiet and breathy.

  Rachel? Isn’t that Tom’s twin sister? I take a few steps closer to her and squint at her face. There are crow’s feet. My god, she’s not a child, just the tiniest, most slender adult woman I’ve ever seen.

  Certainly she’s nothing like her chatty brother. She continues to stare at me, the way a kid will stare unabashedly at someone with a deformity. Except I think I’m pretty average looking, and she must realize why I’m here.

  “I’m the estate sale organizer,” I say, just in case she doesn’t know. “Your sister hired me.”

  She says nothing, just keeps her big, unblinking blue eyes fixed on me.

  “How’s your mother today?” I’m not sure why I feel compelled to make small talk with her. Maybe I just want to force her to say something.

  Rachel shrugs. “I don’t like going in there. She’s mean to me.”

  Then why are you here? To check on me? To steal a few more forks?

  “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep working. I have a lot to get catalogued.” I turn my back and return to recording notes and taking photos. Still I feel her gaze boring into my back like the hot rays of the sun.

  I finally finish with the breakfront and move toward a magnificent Federal server with intricate inlay and a bowed front. A huge Chinese bowl sits in the middle. I pick it up carefully to look for the red Imperial Reign mark.

  “I’ve always hated t
hat bowl.”

  I had gotten engrossed enough in my work that I’d forgotten about Rachel. Her high-pitched voice nearly makes me lose my grip on the bowl.

  “Really? It’s a spectacular example of Ming Dynasty porcelain.”

  “Look at those little men with their bulgy eyes. And those dragons with their long tongues. They’re scary.”

  I’ve been admiring the delicacy of the painting and the vividness of the colors. I guess the bulgy-eyed guys are a little creepy, but the dragon is cool.

  I turn to face Rachel. She has crept further into the dining room as I worked. “You’re not a fan of dragons?” I keep my tone light.

  Rachel places her hand on one of the heavy Chippendale dining room chairs. “This is where I always sat at holiday dinners. I hated having that bowl behind me. I kept imagining the dragon jumping off the bowl onto my neck. So I traded places with Tom.” She points to a chair across the table. “But then I had to look straight at the bowl and see how ugly it is, and that made me cry too.”

  “What did your mother say?” I ask. I’m imagining Mrs. Eskew didn’t have a lot of patience for antics that disrupted her dinner parties.

  “Mother has always hated tears,” Rachel says, casting her gaze down and tracing the carving on the back of the chair with her child-like index finger. “I was punished for crying. Parker let me sit beside him down there.” She points to a chair near the foot of the table. “Parker said I’d be safe next to him.”

  “Dragons didn’t mess with Parker, eh?” I say it as a joke, but Rachel lifts her eyes to look at me.

  “No,” she whispers. “Even dragons wouldn’t dare to touch him.”

  Chapter 11

  Adrienne and I quit work early, she to go to her son’s game and I to pick up Ty.

  “Don’t forget to get a new phone,” she warns before we part.

  Since my phone is broken and we won’t be able to text each other once I get to campus, I make a plan to meet Ty right outside his classroom. I allowed time for traffic that never materialized and arrive on campus half an hour early. Even though Palmer Community, with its 1960s utilitarian architecture, is a far cry from the stately campus of UVA, my alma mater, being here brings back fond memories. College is where I finally found my tribe, where I no longer felt like an orphan, math geek freak of nature. I suppose commuting here three days a week won’t provide the same experience for Ty, but I hope he enjoys college.