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

by S. W. Hubbard

  Adrienne pushes apples around and around her plate. Sean grinds his molars. Colleen twists her napkin. Deirdre leaps from her chair. “I kept your plate warm. Sit down and I’ll bring it right out.”

  “All hail the prince!” Terry performs a mock salaam.

  I decide to be the grown-up in the room. “Hi, Brendan. Was traffic bad? We were getting worried.”

  “Nah. Got pulled into a meeting just as I was heading out the door.”

  “You couldn’t have called?” Sean asks.

  “You’d still be pissed.” Brendan grins as he digs into his pot roast. “This way, you’re relieved to see I’m not dead.”

  I notice him try to make eye contact with Adrienne, but she keeps her gaze focused on her pie.

  Brendan gives up on his wife and looks at Sean. “So, I hear we need a strategy for convincing Mom that your witch-doctor wedding in the park still counts.”

  “My God!” Sean pushes his chair back from the table. “People get married outdoors all the time. And every non-Catholic is not a member of a cult.”

  “I know that. It’s Mom who doesn’t believe it. Where did you find this Jorge character anyway?”

  I don’t feel like getting into a long explanation of how I first met Pastor Jorge when he helped an undocumented worker who used to do odd jobs for me. “He officiated when my dad married Natalie last August. He put together a beautiful ceremony, so we thought—”

  Brendan holds up his hand. “That’s a key data point: this guy is Audrey’s father’s pastor. Audrey’s father is a college professor. Hence, his pastor is legit.”

  “That’s not quite accurate. My dad’s really not a church-goer at all.”

  Brendan waves off this objection. “Your father is one of the few men on the planet who impresses our mother. St. Patrick, the Pope, John F. Kennedy, Roger Nealon, in that order. Pastor Jorge’s not going to be an issue.” Brendan turns to size me up. “How old are you, Audrey?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “Old. Too old for you to wait around for the Vatican to give Sean an annulment so you can get married in St. Bart’s.”

  “I don’t want an annulment.” Sean’s face turns crimson. “Screw the—”

  “Sean!” Deirdre claps her hand over his mouth.

  “I know you don’t. I’m just telling you, that has to be our strategy with Mom. Time is of the essence if she wants you to get down to business producing a grandchild. You’re willing to have the baby baptized at St. Bart’s, right?”

  Baptized? We haven’t discussed the timing of a pregnancy and we’re already planning the baby’s baptism?

  Sean casts a nervous look my way. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Brendan spears a carrot and gestures at his assembled siblings. “Okay, I’m talking to Mom on Sunday. I guarantee she’ll come around.” He points the carrot at Terry. “But no going behind my back to get her riled up again, understand?”

  “Who, me? I’m looking forward to something different. But I still don’t see how you’re going to get around the fact that second cousin Maeve and great uncle Paddy aren’t invited.”

  Brendan grins. “That’s easy. Mom won’t want them present at a witch-doctor wedding in the jungle.”

  After that, a bottle of Glenfiddich appears on the table. The Coughlin brothers stay in the dining room having a drink while the women disappear into the kitchen to clean up. This is one thing that Adrienne and I agree on: no matter how enlightened our mates are in their own homes, it’s maddening to see how they revert to their sexist roots when they’re all together.

  I’ve been watching Adrienne since Brendan’s arrival. She has not uttered one word to him, nor has she made eye contact. I’m sure she hasn’t had any heart-to-heart talk about their problems, and that leaves me in a bind regarding the Tom Eskew episode.

  Adrienne is a meticulous, clean-as-you-go cook, and no matter how many Coughlins she’s entertaining, her kitchen never looks like the ravaged battlefield that confronts us at Deirdre’s house. Adrienne pulls a pair of long, yellow rubber gloves from her Louis Vuitton tote bag and snaps them on. Then she steps up to the load of dirty pots in the sink.

  “Oh, Adrienne, just leave those. I’ll take care of them,” Deirdre protests.

  “We can’t get anything else done without a clean sink,” Adrienne answers. She’s right of course. Despite her other shortcomings, Adrienne is quite good at identifying the critical path in an overwhelming project.

  “Unload the dishwasher, Deirdre. You know where everything belongs. Audrey, take out the trash and put a fresh bag in the can. Colleen, put away the left-overs.”

  We all fall into line, and within twenty minutes, the kitchen is cleaner than when I arrived.

  Adrienne pulls off her gloves. The steam from the hot dishwater has frizzed her sleek hair a bit, but aside from that, she looks her glamorous self. “Thank you for dinner, Deirdre. I’d better get the kids home. I’m sure they have homework.”

  She nods to the three of us—no hugs—and steps into the backyard calling for the kids. I notice Deirdre and Colleen exchange a glance. Maybe it’s because I’m not yet officially part of the family, or maybe it’s because Adrienne is my employee, but they are reluctant to say anything in front of me. Then the guys come in.

  “Where’s my wife?” Brendan asks.

  “She just left. Said the kids had homework.”

  A current of tension passes through the kitchen. Terry opens his mouth to make a wisecrack, but Colleen silences him by initiating the long round of Coughlin good-byes.

  “It is getting late. We all have work tomorrow.” She begins hugging and kissing her siblings. Sean falls in after her.

  When we are finally at the door, I remember something and pull Deirdre aside. “You’re active in the PTA at Larchmont, right? You know all the teachers and parents?”

  “Hoo—too well!”

  “Can you do me a favor? Find out what school Kenny got sent to.”

  Chapter 34

  “Guess what the tuition is at The River School? Go ahead, guess.” I wasn’t expecting Deirdre to call until tomorrow, but we’re barely back to Sean’s place when she calls with the name of the school Kenny Hayes has transferred to. I immediately check out their website.

  “I have no idea,” Sean says. “Twenty thousand dollars?”

  “Sixty-three thousand bucks a year! And it’s one-hundred percent private. It says so right on the website: we do not accept vouchers or Medicaid. The day before Mrs. Eskew died, Darlene couldn’t afford to buy her son a birthday cake. Now she’s in jail, but she can afford to send him to a therapeutic school that costs three times her annual income. What do you make of that?”

  Sean lifts his head from his paperwork. I can practically see the gears turning in his mind.

  “See, now the fact that Tom Eskew was at Darlene’s house does seem significant.”

  Before Sean can answer, I continue. “And Darlene told me her kids would be better off without her. This is what she meant. As long as she agrees to take the rap for killing Mrs. Eskew, Kenny gets the best therapy money can buy.”

  “That’s a long leap, Audrey.”

  “But it makes sense. At first I thought Darlene confessed because she was trying to protect her oldest son. She was afraid he killed the old lady because he was in the house that day. Maybe Mrs. Eskew accused him of stealing her drugs and the silver. But what if I have it all wrong? What if the Eskews bribed her to take the fall? What if one of them did it? They figure if Darlene confessed, the cops would stop looking at anyone else. Isn’t that the way it happens?”

  “Not in a well-run investigation,” Sean objects.

  “But you said yourself that the guys running the investigation were jerks.”

  Sean grunts. “I was just blowing off steam because I didn’t like the way they were treating me. That doesn’t mean they aren’t running a legit investigation.”

  “But Sean, you know that false confessions do happen!
Look at that famous case in Manhattan—the Central Park jogger rape. The cops got those teenage boys to confess, and then they ignored the fact that the DNA found on the victim didn’t match any of the guys who confessed. Fifteen years later, they found the guy who really did it, and he had nothing to do with any of the guys who confessed.”

  “And instructors in criminal justice classes use that case as an illustration of the dangers of false confessions. Good cops know to verify all the supporting evidence.”

  “But when you’re sure you’re right…when the other suspects don’t seem to have a motive, and the person who confessed does…then you might be tempted to cut corners. You yourself said there was something fishy about that plea bargain.”

  Sean leans back and closes his eyes. “What are you asking me, Audrey?”

  “How can we be sure that all the Eskews have an alibi for the time of the murder? How can we be certain that the detectives on this case actually verified the alibis? Poor people with lousy lawyers can be falsely convicted. You know it really does happen.”

  “I’m sure it’s not happening here.”

  I sit down next to him and bring my face within inches of his. “You know something.”

  He extends his arm. “Go ahead. Sink your teeth into my arm. I swear, you’re like Rex on the K-9 unit. Nothing will make him break his grip.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. Now talk.”

  “Here’s what I’ve heard. Kara was seen all over Pittsburgh on the day of her mother’s murder. Her husband was in his office all day—also plenty of witnesses.”

  “Okay. So they’re off the list. What about Rachel and Tom?”

  “Rachel Eskew lives in a small condo complex, in a second floor unit. Her downstairs neighbor claims he heard her walking around and heard her TV during the time Mrs. Eskew was killed.”

  “Rachel weighs about eighty pounds. Who could hear her walking around? She’s crept up on me a few times at the house. That sounds like a pretty flimsy alibi.”

  “Possibly. Except, as you say, Rachel is tiny. Do you think she has the strength to pound her mother’s head in? Anyway, Tom Eskew’s alibi is the most interesting. He was at the Holiday Inn Express with his lover. His married lover. He refused to give the police her name—very gentlemanly—but the desk clerk identified him.”

  Thank God I’ve gotten up in search of a wine refill when Sean drops this bombshell. The cool air in the fridge hits my hot face and I grip the bottle so hard I’m surprised the cork doesn’t blow off.

  Sean keeps talking, oblivious to my shock. “The clerk says Tom comes there frequently in the middle of the day. He checked in about twenty minutes before the one-hour window of time when his mother was killed. The maid remembered seeing the Do Not Disturb sign on his door.”

  “When did he check out?” I finally feel calm enough to show my face, but my dinner, which tasted so good on the way down, is now staging a revolt in my gut. Adrienne is such a liar! She told me the encounter in the pantry was one minute of madness. Now it turns out she’s been meeting Tom Eskew for sleazy hook-ups. Should I tell Sean right now? But what if Tom was meeting some other woman? It’s quite possible he’s got multiple lovers.

  “There’s no need to actually check out. He’d paid for the room upfront. Left his keycard on the dresser.”

  “Did anyone see him leave?”

  “Nope. And there are several exits. You don’t have to walk past the registration desk to leave the building.”

  I feel a sense of triumph that I may have discovered Mrs. Eskew’s real killer and saved Darlene. Then the triumph deflates into angst—this information might torpedo Adrienne and Brendan’s marriage. “That gives him enough time to get back to his mother’s house. The cops haven’t forced him to produce the woman’s name?” To my ears, my voice sounds squeaky with worry, but Sean doesn’t seem to notice. I don’t see how I can save Darlene without throwing Adrienne under the bus. And what’s going to happen when Sean realizes I’ve known all along that Adrienne is cheating on his brother?

  “Tom Eskew’s under no obligation to cooperate with the police. He might have given his girlfriend’s name up if they had arrested him. But they certainly didn’t have enough evidence to do that. He had a lawyer with him when he was questioned.”

  “Isn’t that suspicious?”

  Sean laughs. “No. It’s what smart people do. Rich smart people.” He comes up behind me at the kitchen sink and wraps his arms around me. “All this talk about hotel rooms is putting ideas in my head.”

  I allow myself to be led away, but I don’t anticipate being able to focus on the matter at hand. I’ve got to talk to Adrienne. She might be hooking up with a murderer.

  Chapter 35

  When Adrienne reports for work at the Eskew house the next morning, I’m on her like white on rice. I’ve already settled on my strategy: tell her I know what she’s up to, don’t ask and give her a chance to squirm out of it. “Sit. We have to talk.”

  She glances at her chunky Michael Kors watch and keeps walking through the kitchen. “I’m sorry I’m late. Jimmy forgot his social studies poster. I had to drop it off at school.”

  “This isn’t about being late.” I dart around her, blocking her way into the hallway. “It’s about screwing Tom Eskew in the Holiday Inn Express.” My voice is louder and angrier than I intended. Adrienne drops her bag and slowly turns to face me.

  “What?” she whispers.

  “You were with Tom Eskew at the Holiday Inn Express on the day his mother was murdered and you never bothered to mention that?”

  She opens her mouth. I can tell her first impulse is to deny, deny, deny. But the certainty of my statement stops her. “Who told you?”

  “Sean told me that—”

  “Sean knows?” Adrienne’s voice sounds like a rabbit being killed by a fox.

  “He knows that Tom was at the hotel with his lover. He doesn’t know the lover is you. I know that.”

  Adrienne begins to cry. She slumps into a chair at the long oak table.

  “Don’t start. Do. Not. Start.” I stand over her. “You begged me not to tell Sean. You asked me to give you a chance to work things out with Brendan. But when we were all together at Deirdre’s, it was obvious you hadn’t made any effort to resolve your problems.”

  “You think it’s easy?” She thumps the table with the side of her fist. “He leaves every morning at six. Doesn’t come home ‘til seven-thirty. The kids are desperate to spend time with him. By the time they’re in bed, he says he’s too tired to talk. Then on the weekend he spends every waking minute at the kids’ games or on the golf course or with his family. We’re never alone. Brendan makes sure of that. He doesn’t want to talk about our problems. Coughlin men do what they want and Coughlin women put up with it.” She points a slender, manicured finger at me. “This is what you’re marrying into, I’m warning you.”

  I’m in no mood for an analysis of Coughlin family dynamics, even though I’ve worried about those very same things myself. “Can you be honest with me about one thing? Is that possible? How long was Tom with you at the hotel?”

  “An hour and fifteen minutes. I couldn’t be away from work much longer or you would have yelled at me.”

  I let this pass. When have I ever yelled at Adrienne? When has anyone?

  Adrienne stares at her clenched hands. “I sat in the parking lot waiting for him to arrive. Once he was up in the room, he texted me, and I went up the back stairs and met him.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  “One-thirty.”

  “You’re sure? You two were together from twelve-fifteen to one-thirty?”

  ”Yes. Absolutely.”

  But Adrienne has lied before. How can I trust her?

  I pull up a chair next to her. “You’d better not be covering for him, Adrienne. You realize you could be sleeping with a murderer?”

  “No, Audrey—Tom’s not dangerous. He might have stolen that book, but I know he didn’t kill his m
other. He's very kind even though he’s had such a hard life.”

  “Oh, horribly hard—growing up rich and spoiled.”

  “The Eskews were rich, but they were never happy. This house is creepy. You said so yourself. Remember those scratches we saw inside the cedar closet door?” She gestures to the upstairs. “When the kids were little, their father would lock them in there in the dark whenever they made him mad. Rachel was terrified of the closet, so he did it to her the most. She’s the one who made those scratches. That’s why Kara and Tom were so amazed when we found the key. They used to try to let their sister out, but their parents would hide the key in different places.”

  “That’s horrible!” I think of how terrified I was locked in the pantry in Harold the Hoarder’s house. I was an adult. How much worse would it be as a child, especially a damaged child like Rachel? And to know your own father had put you there. “Didn’t Mrs. Eskew do anything to stop him?”

  “She was as afraid of the old man as the kids were. Tom says his father was a terrible snob. All he wanted was to get the kids into the best schools, get himself and his wife into the best clubs…to make sure they had the most useful friends, whether they liked them or not.”

  Complaining that someone’s a social climber! That's rich, coming from Adrienne. She must see the look of incredulity on my face because she starts explaining.

  “It's not me, Audrey. It's Brendan, I'm telling you. It's Brendan who wants us to have all this stuff. That's why I like Tom. I can really relate to him. He went through what I’m going though.”

  I grab her by the shoulders and give her a shake. “Listen to yourself. You sound like a fourteen-year-old girl with a crush on the bad boy in class. Stop romanticizing Tom Eskew. I don’t care what his childhood was like. Right now, he’s a dissipated old playboy. You have nothing in common with him. Whatever problems you and Brendan have, screwing Tom Eskew’s not going to solve them.”