McCann frowned. “Don’t be so sure. We know Tiramisu will be heading to your father’s safe deposit box in Honeoye now.” He checked his watch. “By the time he arrives, it should just be opening.”
“True. He thinks there’s money in the box. Or something related to the money from the bank robbery, I’m sure. He said he was finally getting his ‘just rewards.’ Something to do with that old bank heist.”
“I know.” His eyes drilled into mine. “We just confirmed that your mother has been cashing bills from the Green Valley heist, Mrs. Hollister. How long have you known about this?”
I blanched. “What?” I glanced at Quinn and back again. “What are you saying?”
He nodded. “It’s true. Jaworski just gave me the proof from the FBI.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely sure.”
Quinn’s brow furrowed. “But there was nothing in the—”
I cleared my throat and shot Quinn a warning look. I wasn’t ready to tell McCann that we’d taken the stuff out of the safety deposit box. There was nothing there, anyway.
McCann sat down again and scribbled in his notebook, then checked his watch.
“You must know my mother’s not involved, McCann. That means it has to have been…” The words scalded my throat. “I think it must have been my stepfather.”
“Right. My thoughts exactly. But we’re still not sure how he was involved. We’ve got nothing to link him to the heist. He might have met Ramona after she took the money. Maybe fell in love with her. Maybe protected her from the authorities. We’re not sure. But those bills she’s been passing could very well make your mother an accomplice.”
I sat up straighter. “Come on, McCann. How can you be so sure? What if my dad misled her about where he got the money? Or what if she got the money in change from a purchase at the store?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s been happening for a month now. Little bits at a time. For a total of fifteen hundred dollars so far.”
I stopped to assimilate the new information, chewing on my lip. “No. She’s an honest woman, McCann. No question about it. I know her. I know her character. She may be annoying, loud, critical, and the worst cook on the planet, but she’s honest. Completely honest.”
“Hmm.”
Quinn chimed in, although so far McCann had done nothing to acknowledge him other than a brief nod of recognition.
“She’s right, Detective. Thelma gets hives if she accidentally parks in a no parking zone. She panics at tax time, petrified she’s made an error. And she just doesn’t get it when she hears about crime on TV. She can’t understand how a person could live with the guilt. She says that, all the time.”
McCann rolled his eyes.
Quinn held up his good hand in defiance. “Listen. Thelma’s just not that kind of person.”
McCann clapped his hands together. “Okay, so you both think the world of Thelma. But the fact remains that her husband was likely involved in this matter, and she’s somehow got hold of the money after his death. Like I said, maybe he knew Ramona. Bumped into her right after the heist. Hid the money in the safe deposit box, and when he gave your mother the key on his deathbed, she took some out to spend.”
“Maybe,” I said. “If he met Ramona, it would be years before he met my mother. Maybe even before I was born.” My head filled with visions of a wounded Ramona on the lam. Maybe my stepfather found her dying in the woods, gave her a drink from his hiking canteen, brushed her hair away from her forehead just before she died and handed him the sack of money. He was afraid to turn the money in for fear of being accused of involvement. He hid the money. Didn’t touch it for years. Then put it in a safe deposit box.
I pulled my hair back from my face and shook the romantic vision away. The only problem was there was nothing in the box. If my mother had already taken out the money, she wouldn’t have told me to guard the damn key just before she went into the ambulance.
I was starting to get a headache. A bad one.
McCann had been talking, but I’d tuned him out.
“Huh?” I said. “Can you repeat that?”
“I said, we’ll set up a trap at the bank, and apprehend him with the money when he comes out. Then we’ll force him to tell us about your mother.”
I flopped down on the bed with my arms spread wide. “There’s only one problem.”
McCann narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“There’s nothing in the safe deposit box.”
McCann stopped writing and rolled his eyes. “How do you know, Mrs. Hollister?” He asked as if he was afraid of the answer.
I wasn’t sure why, but I had my own reservations about turning over the benign contents of the box. I wanted to sift through the photos, find out who the subjects were, and enjoy the history of my stepfather’s family at my own leisure. I didn’t want to hand them over to Jaworski or McCann. They’d probably remain in an evidence locker forever.
“Quinn and I checked it out yesterday morning. We drove down to the bank and used the key my mom taped to the bottom of the cage. There was no money in there. And no treasure map.”
McCann grunted. “Jesus. Well, at least we can pick him up. We’ll have to keep digging to find the fifty million.”
Jaworski poked her head in the room and tapped her watch. “Chopper’s here, McCann.”
A slight flicker of irritation crossed his face. “Okay. Be right there.”
She smiled sympathy at me and left. I touched his sleeve, feeling a little sorry for not sharing more information with him. “Be careful. Tiramisu had a gun.”
With a brief nod, he rose. “Thanks. We’ll let you know as soon as we get him.”
Chapter 32
By one o’clock that afternoon, Quinn was released with a prescription for painkillers and a fistful of paperwork. I had one last visit with Rita, who was feeling much better and kept asking to be released so she could take care of her grandfather. We exchanged email addresses, cell numbers, and hugs. I knew I’d see her again some day, and hopefully under better circumstances.
Since the cops already knew the identity of the Barksi twins and their relationship with Tiramisu, I was pretty sure Rita was no longer a threat to anyone. I prayed Tiramisu would leave her alone, and that my mother and the hunt for the elusive money would take up all of his attention.
McCann still hadn’t called. I had a feeling the whole ambush thing hadn’t gone as well as we’d hoped.
What if Tiramisu hadn’t gone to the bank? What if he’d sent Yale Barski, instead? Wendell’s twin was still floating around somewhere and could still do Tiramisu’s dirty work. As long as he didn’t realize that Tiramisu had killed his brother… And who knew? Maybe Tiramisu told him that Quinn or I had killed him. If he even knew Wendell was dead.
I hadn’t been surprised when I discovered through the local junkyard that the van had been totaled in its tumble into the ravine. They’d called Allstate for us, and we’d been informed that they’d send a check to our home address within a few days. It wouldn’t be for much, so they said, because the value of the poor old van minus the deductible was less than five hundred dollars.
Because we were now stranded, I’d arranged for us to be picked up by Enterprise, just like in the commercials, and after paying in advance for a week for a new cranberry red Toyota Rav4, we headed back to our hotel. We arrived late afternoon, after filling Quinn’s prescription for Vicodin at a local Rite Aid. His arm hadn’t ached all morning, but I assumed the hospital painkillers would soon wear off.
Inside the hotel lobby, a painted signboard at the entrance announced a bird fanciers’ auction scheduled for that evening, featuring live birds, gifts, antiques, and a potpourri of bird lovers’ items. Some were displayed on tables set up in the lobby. Iron filigreed rooster weathervanes stood beside elaborately painted birdhouses, which housed decorative birds made with twigs and painted feathers.
One table was filled with bird lovers’ tee shirts and hats; another was stre
wn with dangly earrings and necklaces fashioned with cloisonné parrots in vivid reds and blues. The final table against the back wall displayed photos of birds for sale. I recognized a picture of purple boy from the show and wondered if Quinn would want to buy him for Ruby. When I looked closer at the price, however, I realized that even our insurance check for the van wouldn’t be enough to cover his cost.
Cromwell waved to us from the other side of the crowded lobby. We made our way to his side and received a warm smile.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hollister. It’s so good to have you back.” He gave me a quick hug and shook Quinn’s left hand. “Good Lord, what happened to your arm, Mr. Hollister?”
Quinn smiled ruefully. “Long story. But I’ll be fine. It was a clean break.” He quickly added, “How’s Ruby?”
Cromwell motioned behind him to his office. “She’s been keeping the staff in stitches. Come see her.”
Ruby’s cage perched on Cromwell’s desk. When she heard Quinn’s voice, she cocked her head and fluttered her wings. “You da man! Gimme cookies! Ruby’s hungry!”
Quinn pulled a chair up to her cage and opened the door.
“Come to Papa, sweetie pie. Did you miss me? Huh? Were you a good little girl?”
Cromwell moved around to his desk and motioned for me to sit as well. My heavy backpack dug into my shoulders, filled with items from the hospital and the contents of the safe deposit box. I plopped it on the floor next to my purse and sat down.
“Thanks, Cromwell,” I said. “She looks wonderful.”
He waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss my thanks. “Not a problem, Mrs. Hollister.”
“Please call me Marcella,” I said. “And that’s Quinn.”
Quinn spoke to Cromwell without taking his eyes off Ruby. “And what shall we call you, Cromwell?”
Cromwell laughed. “My given name is Sebastian, but no one’s called me that since my mother died in 1973.”
My husband finally tore his eyes from Ruby and took Cromwell’s hand with his unbroken one. “Cromwell it is, then. And thank you so much for caring for my baby. She means the world to me.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Hollist- I mean, Quinn. Quite welcome.”
I dug my wallet out of my purse. “How much do we owe you, Cromwell?”
His eyes bulged, and his hand flew into the air as if to stop me. “Oh, goodness, no. Please don’t. I did this as a favor, not for a fee. And your little Ruby kept us all entertained, so it was well worth it.”
I argued a little, but didn’t want to insult him.
Quinn started to pick up the cage.
“No, honey. Let me.” I slung the backpack and purse over my shoulder and picked up the bird. “Thanks again, Cromwell. We owe you, big time.”
“Marcella?” Cromwell had a hard time using my first name, it sounded stiff on his tongue. But he was trying.
I turned back to him. “Yes?”
“Any news about your mother?”
I shook my head. “Nothing yet. But we’re getting closer.”
“I’m so sorry. I hope you hear something soon.”
The look of empathy on his kindly face almost made me choke up. “Thank you, Cromwell.”
We headed down the hall toward our room. Ruby chattered and hopped off and on her perch, flirting with Quinn.
I held my breath when we reached the door and realized I’d forgotten to tell Cromwell that one of his maids was on the take from Tiramisu.
The key card still worked. I pushed inside slowly. With a huge sigh of relief, I scanned the room and realized no one had ransacked our possessions. Since Ruby had been with Cromwell the whole time, I figured the maid in question must have tipped the cage on its side when Cromwell wasn’t looking.
Quinn carefully lowered himself onto the bed and moaned. “Jesus. My arm is killing me.”
“I’ve got your pills here, honey. You just relax and I’ll get them for you.” I dropped the backpack on the breakfast table, put my purse on the table beside the bed, and released Ruby into her aviary. She fluttered happily to the floor and inspected all corners of the balcony, pecking and scratching at each random seed.
Quinn found the remote and selected a cable music station that played blues. A piano riff by Pine Tree Perkins started up. I gave Quinn his pills, filled Ruby’s water and food dish, and shrugged out of my raunchy jeans and tee shirt. “God. I need a shower so bad.”
Ruby started bopping her head to the beat, and flapped her wings with each measure.
“Look, Quinn. She’s dancing! She’s actually dancing!”
Quinn mumbled something and turned over. I gave up on him, then leaned in close to Ruby’s cage.
“Good girl, Ruby! Way to go.”
She stopped dead in the middle of her dance and froze. Her swing creaked, but she didn’t move a feather. At first I thought she was having a bird stroke, if there was such a thing. But when she began to screech, I realized she was very much alive.
“Tall Pines! Tall Pines! Tall Pines!”
Is she doing a take off on Pine Tree Perkins’ name?
In seconds I realized that was insane.
“Ruby. What are you saying?”
“Help! I’m at Tall Pines!”
I moved closer, perching on the edge of one of the café chairs. The cold metal froze my thighs, but I ignored it. “Say that again, Ruby. What did you say?”
“Tall Pines!” She jumped from her perch, pecked at her food, and squawked. “Gimme cookies!”
I ran for the laptop. Tall Pines. How many places called Tall Pines could there be in the Adirondacks?
Chapter 33
By six o’clock that same evening, I’d already discovered there were 86,200 listings for “Tall Pines rentals, NY,” but after narrowing it down by tighter search criteria, I ended up with twelve legitimate listings for Tall Pines. After Quinn woke up, he came up behind me and put his good arm around my neck, leaning his head on my shoulder.
“You look exhausted. Did you sleep at all last night?”
I shook my head. “No. Well, maybe a few hours. Don’t get too close. I feel so stinky. I was headed for the bath, but then Ruby said something that sounded like ‘Tall Pines’.”
“What? Are you sure?”
I nodded and kept searching. “Positive. She yelled it, actually. ‘Help me. Tall Pines’.”
“Whoa.” He pulled me to my feet. “Much as I like watching you in your underwear, this could be the break we need. Let me check it out while you get your bath. And I’ll order some sandwiches for dinner.”
“Ugh. I don’t think I could eat another sandwich, Quinn. Can you get me some French onion soup? Or clam chowder? Something warm.”
He laughed. “Of course. Meanwhile, I’ll try to winnow down these places.” He looked at the screen and hit “page down” a few times. “You’ve got quite a few possibilities here.”
“How will you do that?”
“It’s high season, hon. Most of these cabins will be rented, and the schedules should show that. I’ll bet Tiramisu wouldn’t pay for a cabin. Too easy to trace him. He might look for one that wasn’t occupied, and just commandeer it.”
“You’re probably right.” I shuffled toward the bathroom, torn between the thought of sudsy hot water and pursuing my mother’s kidnapper. “Oh, and try to look somewhere near Speculator. If Rita was right, it might be the clue we need.”
Quinn urged me on. “Enjoy your bath. I’ll take over from here.” He settled behind the laptop and showed me how he could type with one hand. “See? I’m on it.”
In spite of the feelings of urgency that constricted my chest, I padded to the bathroom and followed my husband’s orders. I turned on the tap, added lavender scented bath crystals, slid into the bubbles, and dozed off.
***
A tap on the door woke me.
“Marcella? You almost done? I’ve got something.”
I sat up and shivered. The water had cooled, the bubbles were gone, and my fingers looked like prunes.<
br />
“Be right out.”
I turned on the hot water again, soaped and rinsed my hair beneath the tap, then stepped out and bundled into the hotel’s terrycloth robe. With a towel around my hair, I settled into the wing chair by the fire. The gas flames flickered blue and yellow while Quinn dropped into the matching chair with the laptop.
Before he could show me the results of his investigation, my cell chirped from my purse. I darted to the bedside and groped around for it inside my bag.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Hollister? McCann here.”
“McCann! Did you catch him?”
“No. We waited all day. No sign of him. He was spotted at a rest stop on the Thruway this morning, headed south, but we lost him after that. He never showed up at the bank.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me either.”
A thought popped into my head. “Wait. What if he called the bank to see if he could get into the box? Maybe they told him he had to be family? To be on the list? That’s the only reason we were allowed to open the box yesterday. My stepfather put my mother and me on the list.”
“Speaking of your mother, have you heard any more? Any calls? Anything?”
I cast a glance at Ruby and lied again. “No. Nothing.”
“Okay. I’m going to call the bank in the morning and see if Tiramisu called ahead. Good idea. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“You ever think of a career in law enforcement, Mrs. Hollister?”
I snorted. “Hell no, Detective. I think I’ll stick to chasing antiques. Finding beautiful old things has a little more appeal than chasing bad guys.”
McCann chuckled. It was the first time I’d heard such a sound come out of him, and it sounded good to my ears. “Can’t say I blame you.”
We said goodbye, and I flipped the phone closed and rejoined Quinn. “Okay. Show me what you’ve got.”
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 15