Treasure of Darkness: a romantic thriller (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 2)

by S. W. Hubbard

  “It would be much easier for Harold and Nora to simply agree to sell the house as a tear-down. It would save them the public humiliation of having the house condemned.”

  “Seems like the bigger savings would be in lawyers’ fees for your group.” I’m not feeling particularly charitable about lawyers these days. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.”

  When I get back inside, Jill has moved a second load of cans down to the front hall. I go upstairs to see how many more are left. The stack of cans has shrunk from a high rampart to a low partition. Now we can see most of what awaits us next: a neatly constructed fortress of boxes printed with the label, “Forgione Industrial Fasteners.” Perhaps a theme is starting to emerge.

  “I think because this room is big, it might have two themes,” Jill says.

  “Where’s your respirator?” I scold.

  “It was cutting into the back of my neck and giving me a headache. I had to take it off for a while. These cans aren’t so dirty.”

  I’m in no mood to argue when we’re so close to the end of this task. I pick up some sheets of yellowed newspaper and throw them in an open trash bag. Inside, I notice a tangle of what looks like pillow stuffing and purple Easter basket straw.

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Behind the last row of cans. Don’t worry—nothing gross.”

  While Jill sweeps, I load the last of the cans into the van. Am I ever ready for lunch! Unfortunately, when I jump back out, a young mother holding a toddler has appeared in the driveway. Now what?

  “Hi, I’m Phoebe Castleton.”

  She’s slender with a cloud of softly wavy dark blond hair, wearing yoga pants and Birkenstocks with socks. The kid looks just like the mom, only her curly hair is white blond. Phoebe seems a little friendlier than Bernadette, so I smile at her and waggle my fingers at the kid. Immediately the little girl whimpers and buries her head in her mom’s shoulder.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I’m better with dogs than kids.”

  “Oh, Tabby’s just a little slow to warm up.” Phoebe shifts the kid to her other shoulder. “I noticed that Bernadette was over here earlier. I live on the other side.” She points to the expanded ranch to the left of Harold’s house.

  It’s painted a golden taupe with cream trim and aubergine shutters and door. I would never have thought to put those colors together, but it works. “Nice house. I like the colors.”

  “Thanks. We’ve lived there six years, ever since Eunice, our oldest, was born.”

  Eunice? What a name! Phoebe reminds me of someone, but I can’t think whom.

  “I grew up in this neighborhood. It was a great place to be a kid. That’s why once I had kids, I wanted to move back.”

  Her voice is wistful and sing-songy. Mia Farrow! A much younger Mia Farrow. I think I can see where this is headed. Harold’s dump is destroying her dream. I decide to make a preemptive strike. “You’re about the same age as Nora Phieffer. You must have known her, and this house, when you were growing up. Why did you buy right next to it?”

  But Phoebe surprises me. “Sure, I know Nora, but we were never close. She was ahead of me in school. The house has been shabby almost as long as I can remember. But prices in this neighborhood have gotten really high. We never could have afforded a house in a better location. It’s actually because of Harold’s house that we were able to buy in Summit Oaks.”And now that you’ve got what you want, it’s time to force him out. I really want to say that, and if Phoebe were Bernadette, I think I would. But it’s hard for me to be that mean to our little lost flower child here.

  “I just wanted you to know,” Phoebe quavers on. “Bernadette is a little, uhm, assertive sometimes. She seems to think she speaks for everyone in the neighborhood, but that’s not true. My husband and I, we are…concerned…about the state of Harold’s home, but only because it’s not healthy for him. The cats and….” She trails off. “It would be nice if the place were cleaner, that’s all.”

  “Look, Phoebe, I totally understand. We’re helping Harold get the place under control.”

  “Are you going to clear out the entire house?" Her dreamy green eyes study the place, estimating the challenge.

  “No, we can’t afford to spend that much time here. We just need to make the main rooms inhabitable. We’ve cleared the kitchen, foyer, and stairs. Now we’re working on the master bedroom. Once that’s cleared, we’ll be done.”

  She brightens. “That’s all that really matters. Bernadette and her group want to have the house leveled, and then some developer will come in and build a McMansion here. That’s not what’s best for the neighborhood.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You wouldn’t rather have a three-story castle with columns here than…this?” To punctuate my point, a chunk of windowsill chooses that moment to detach from the second story and plunge into a scummy birdbath below.

  Phoebe rubs her cheek against her daughter’s downy head before she replies. “Summit Oaks is a special neighborhood. People care about one another here. The kids can roam and if they fall down, some mother somewhere in the neighborhood will bandage their knee and give them a hug. That’s how it was when I was little and that’s the way I want it to stay.” Her voice gets louder. “If Bernadette’s group succeeds in pushing Harold out, then the developers will start coming after every house that’s small or hasn’t been updated. There’s already one new monstrosity up on Sycamore. Before long, I’ll be surrounded by bond traders and investment bankers whose kids are being raised by nannies.”

  I think what Isabelle Trent, the real estate agent who sends me so much business, would say: Location, location, location. “Your place would go up in value if the neighborhood gets more upscale. You bought low; you could sell high.”

  “I’m not interested in making a killing on my house. I’m interested in raising my family in it.” She kisses her daughter’s head. “Safely.”

  Tabby has dozed off in her mother’s arms as we talked. I feel a stab of envy for her trustful slumber, and I want to promise I’ll create a safe environment for that little rug-rat, even though I know I can’t deliver. Not for sure.

  “I’ll do my best to get the house under control, Phoebe. But we’ve got a formidable opponent in Bernadette over there.”

  Phoebe turns toward her own home, but pauses for one last word. “Bernadette never listens. She talks so loud and long that people agree just to get away from her. If you could get the house cleaned up a little, most of Bernadette’s supporters would drift away.”

  “Sorry I was gone so long,” I shout to Jill as I re-enter the house. “Two nosey neighbor encounters. I swear this house is under surveillance.”

  Before I take another step, my cell phone rings.

  Coughlin. He told me he wouldn’t have answers about Ramon today, but that he’d call me anyway. To find out how I feel? The screen trembles as I count the marimba trills—one, two, three, four, five and it rolls to voicemail.

  I turn my phone off.

  “Jill?” My voice is more urgent. I don’t want to think about what I’ve just done. I want to work. Hard.

  She doesn’t answer me, but I hear a murmur of voices, sharp and then low, and follow the sound back to the kitchen. Jill and Nora are sitting at the recently unearthed kitchen table. I’m distinctly aware that the conversation has come to a halt upon my entrance. Jill’s eyes look red. Has she been crying, or are they irritated from the bad air?

  “Hi, Nora. Where did you come from? I didn’t see your car outside.”

  “I can’t park on Acorn Drive anymore. Bernadette recognizes my Prius and comes out to hound me. I have to park over on Aspen and cut through the backyards to get here.”

  “We saw Bernadette talking to you.” Jill twists the bracelets on her wrist and refuses to make eye contact with me.

  “She’s a real piece of work. She seems outraged that you won’t agree to have the house razed and the lot sold to a developer. That guy, Ed, who was over here earlier in the wee
k, wants the same thing although he claims he’s not part of Bernadette’s Neighborhood Improvement group."

  Jill and Nora exchange a glance.

  “What’s going on, you two?”

  “My brother George is in town,” Nora says. “He’s pressuring me to have the house torn down and sell the lot.”

  Jill squeezes Nora’s hand. “Nora feels like everyone’s against her.”

  “Actually, the other neighbor, Phoebe Castleton,” I gesture in the direction of the beige house with purple trim, “is totally on your side, Nora.”

  Why in God’s name did I say that? Without realizing it, I seem to have joined forces with Nora and Jill.

  “You’ve spoken to Phoebe?” Nora asks. “When?”

  “Just now. After Bernadette chewed my ear off, Phoebe came over to tell me that Bernadette doesn’t have as much support in the neighborhood as she thinks she does. Phoebe doesn’t want a big McMansion built here.”

  I’m definitely not imagining the awkward silence that follows. Jill turns away and massages her neck. Nora picks at the bagel she’d been eating before I came in. I’d offer to go back upstairs and keep working, but I’m exhausted and there’s an assortment of Sol’s bagels on the table.

  I sink into a chair. “Mind if I have one?”

  “Of course not,” they both answer. I peel off my work gloves and Jill squirts me with hand sanitizer.

  I fix my bagel and wait as the silence grows more oppressive. Nora may be able to tolerate this, but I know damn well Jill will crack. Five, four, three, two…

  “George wants money from the house soon,” Jill blurts. “He thinks he deserves it.”

  With my mouth full of bagel, I raise my eyebrows. Nora picks up the story.

  “My brother blames me for not getting him out of the house sooner when we were teenagers. It was the summer before my senior year and George’s sophomore year when our dad got the new job in Connecticut and left. He wanted us to come with him, but I refused.” Nora sighs. “Of course, looking back on it I can see that I was selfish, that my decision made life worse for George, but at the time—”

  Jill squeezes her hand. “You were just a kid yourself. You weren’t responsible.”

  “Why didn’t George go with your dad? Did you force him to stay?” I ask.

  Nora shakes her head. “Our father was always distant and sort of ineffective. George couldn’t imagine living alone with Dad. He needed me to come with him. I wouldn’t do that for him.” Nora brushes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Staying wasn’t that bad for me. I passed my driver’s test and Harold bought me an old used car. I had a job and a lot of friends. I stayed out of the house as much as possible. And during the summer, life wasn’t so bad for George either. He spent his days at the pool and the park. But during the school year, he was trapped in the house.”

  Nora pauses and looks around the kitchen. Is she seeing it at a different point in time? A time when the slide toward destruction first began?

  “George started falling apart. His grades tanked. He acted out in class. I think lots of people had to have noticed he was suffering, but none of us did anything to help him. And then, in the spring, I started getting my college acceptance letters. It finally dawned on George that he was going to be alone any way he sliced it—either alone with Dad or alone in this house with Mom and Harold. One afternoon, he stopped me in the hall at school. Told me when classes were over I had to drive him to the train station. He went to Connecticut with nothing but the clothes on his back.”

  “What did your mom and Harold say?”

  “To be honest, I think a few days passed before they even noticed he was gone.”

  We sit in silence for a moment. The house seems to exhale around us, as if remembering with some satisfaction how it drove George out.

  Now I simply have to ask what I’ve been longing to know. “Where is your mother now, Nora?” I say it gently, but Jill looks alarmed that I’ve ventured into forbidden territory.

  Nora stiffens. “In the first year after George moved to Connecticut, my father talked to her a few times. Then the phone company disconnected the service. When I got a break from school, I came here to check on her and Harold. I found Harold all alone, scared and confused. She simply walked away one day. Told him she was going to the store and never came back. Abandoned him the way she abandoned us.”

  “You didn’t try to track her down?”

  Nora, normally so low-key, slams her fist on the table. “Why should I? So she can use me for what little money I have, just the way she used Harold? And then walk away again when the well runs dry?”

  Whoa, I unleashed more anger than I anticipated. I know I should back off, but I can’t let it go. I spent thirty years wondering about my mother. Doesn’t Nora ever wonder about hers?

  “It can’t be that hard to find her. Aren’t you…curious?”

  Nora lifts her chin. “No. No, I am not the least bit curious. Wherever my mother is, I hope she stays put.”

  Eager to smooth that episode over, Jill starts straightening up the bagel leftovers. “So, where’s Harold today?”

  “Madison.” Nora shuts her eyes like she’s praying for strength. “It’s their quarterly large item trash pick-up day. Since the weather’s so nice, he was able to bike over.”

  “Uh-oh. Well, look on the bright side. He can’t possibly bring large items back if all he has for transport is his bike.”

  Nora snorts. “Don’t bet on it. He once convinced a NJ Transit conductor to let him bring a commercial-grade meat smoker on the train. Then the police called me and said they’d arrest him if I didn’t come and get it off the platform in Palmyrton.”

  I set my bagel down. “Aren’t you ever tempted to let that happen? Let the police lock him up?” I’ve seen the ugly side of Harold, and I can understand the appeal.

  Nora’s eyes get shiny. “Harold could never survive in jail. He can’t follow orders, and that would antagonize the guards. He can’t keep his hands off anything that attracts him, so the inmates would beat him up for taking their stuff. Harold is impossible. But he doesn’t deserve the death penalty.”

  Nora stands up and puts on her coat. “Thank you both for all you’re doing here. And thanks for letting me vent.”

  “What about George?” Jill asks. “Will he shut us down?”

  Nora yanks her hat down over her ears. “Let’s hope when I bring him here and he sees all the progress, he’ll have a little patience. I’ll be in touch.”

  After Nora leaves, Jill stays sitting at the table, staring into space. “I wonder why George aims all his anger at Harold, while Nora aims all hers at their mother?”

  “I don’t know, my little armchair shrink. I think it’s odd that Nora has no interest in finding her mother, even if it’s just to tell her how much she hates her. Unless….”

  Jill cocks her head. “Unless what?”

  I gaze up at the cracked and stained kitchen ceiling. “Unless she knows it’s too late to tell her mother anything. Because her mother is still right here.”

  Chapter 19

  That night, alone in my apartment, I make Ethel come into the bathroom with me while I take my shower. Not only have I freaked Jill out with my musings about Nora’s mother, I’ve freaked myself out too. Jill insists that Harold isn’t capable of having hurt his sister, and maybe she’s right. But what if Sharon had tripped and fallen in that obstacle course of a house and Harold just left her there? When I suggested to Jill that might be why Nora tries so hard to protect Harold, Jill countered with her own good point: why would Nora let us clear the house if she knew we might encounter Sharon’s body? Then we both said, “George!” at the same time. He’s the one who doesn’t want us there.

  Once I have my jammies on, I pull Ethel into my lap for a snuggle. Breathing in her sweet, doggie smell, I murmur, “Oh, Ethel—I’d quit this job in a minute if I didn’t need the money so badly.”

  She looks up at me with soulful brown eyes and arches he
r brows.

  “You don’t want to switch to WalMart brand dog food, do you?”

  She sighs and lays her head on her outstretched paws. Of course she doesn’t. She relies on me to bring home the bacon, and the Science Diet kibble, just as much as Jill and Ty do. I know that I’ll go back to 12 Acorn Lane tomorrow and keep digging toward the master bath.

  That’s what’s on my mind as I crawl into bed, so naturally my dreams are filled with bizarre permutations of “The Cask of Amontillado” meets the “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” infomercial. I toss and sleep and wake and toss some more. Finally, I sink into a dreamless sleep only to be roused by my ringing cellphone.

  I fumble with the trilling contraption trying to get the noise to stop.

  “Audge?”

  Immediately my mind clears. “What’s wrong?” Because a middle-of-the night phone call from Ty can’t possibly be good news.

  “Something happened and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Where are you?” Already I’m thinking how I’ll find cash for bail.

  “At Marcus’s place. Listen, after we got him moved in here, we went to a bar to watch the Knicks game. It was so loud in there, I didn’t hear my phone ringing. Now I’m back at his place and I see a missed call from a number I don’t know. I call it, and the guy who answers only speaks Spanish. We keep talkin’ at each other, him in Spanish and me in English. I even tried a few words of Spanish, but he didn’t understand. He hung up.”

  “Ramon.”

  “Well, I’m thinkin’ it musta been Ramon who called me on someone else’s phone. The guy who answered when I called back wasn’t Ramon.”

  “Did you ask for Ramon?”

  “Yeah. I said ‘Yo. Necessito. Ramon.’ Real clear like that, but he didn’t put Ramon on. He hung up.”

  This is huge. Ramon has tried to reach out to us.

  “Audge? What should I do?”

  “Nothing. Nothing right now. Save that number in your contacts and text it to me too.”

  “You’re not going to give it to the cops, are you? Cuz I’m not down with that.”