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

by S. W. Hubbard

  “We’ll be right on this bench,” Dawn shouts, her voice hopelessly lost in the cacophony. She plops onto the bench and flags us to join her. “Don’t worry. We stay for ninety minutes. All we have to do is leave with as many kids as we brought.”

  Conversation is impossible, so Dad and I silently share the crossword puzzle while Dawn knits. As closing time draws nearer, the crowd thins and the din lessens a bit. One of our older charges runs up, flushed and panting. “Miz Dawn, Rosalia is stuck.”

  “What do you mean, stuck?”

  The girl points to the top of the maze. “She’s up there and she’s too scared to come down. I tried to help her, but she keeps crying and she won’t move. You gotta come get her.”

  Dad, Dawn, and I each look for a white knight. Climbing through a giant hamster maze is clearly not part of my father’s stroke rehab plan. And Dawn, while perfectly healthy and not much older than me, has—to put it delicately—quite a bit of junk in her trunk. If she goes up, we’ll have two people stuck. I guess that leaves me.

  So I follow my guide. She points to the long yellow tunnel I must enter to reach Rosalia. “You go first,” I say.

  “Not enough room at the top.” Someone calls to her and she scampers off, done with playing Good Samaritan.

  I stick my head in the sloping tube and start to climb. At first it’s not hard, although I try not to think of how many snotty little fingers have covered this terrain before me. But the longer I’m in it, the tighter the tunnel seems to get. This must be what cockroaches feel like when they squeeze under a baseboard. While I’m scooting forward I hear an announcement on the loudspeaker, “Play-O-Rama will close in five minutes. Please exit the climbing structure.” Ascending faster, I reach a three-way intersection: to the left, a slide into a ball pit; to the right, a climbing wall; straight ahead, a mesh sleeve. The sleeve seems like the least of the evils—at least it’s open–but it sags and pitches as I crawl through. I’m breathless by the time I reach a bouncy platform at the other end. Then I see what lies ahead.

  The only way off the platform is straight up. I must insert myself into a vertical tube designed for someone a third my size, and pull myself up using hand and footholds on the sides. I begin to haul myself to the top, cursing how infrequently I use the upper body machines at the gym.

  The lights go out. The yellow tube turns black.

  Surely it hasn’t been five minutes already? How can I get myself and Rosalia out of here in the pitch dark? Haven’t Dad and Dawn told them where we are?

  I drag myself one notch further up, opening my eyes wide for any glimmer of light above.

  The lights come back on. A face is inches from mine, filling the exit hole above.

  Not Rosalia. A man.

  An Hispanic man.

  The busboy.

  Chapter 21

  He reaches down to grab my wrist.

  I scream.

  My voice is lost in the shouts of the kids scrambling to leave and the parents hollering to collect them. I realize now that the flickering lights were meant as a second warning to exit.

  He leans further into the tube. Now the air smells like sweat, and onions, and anger. His front tooth has a gold cap.

  “You stop lookin’ around.” He shakes me and my feet fly off the footholds. I’m dangling by my left arm. “You stop talkin’ to the big cop.”

  I twist away and drop through the tube like a cue ball.

  I land with a bounce–not hurt, but shaking. I think the busboy is too broad to come down the tube after me, but I’m not waiting to find out. I scramble through the mesh sleeve, my feet caught in the webbing. Stupid, stupid thing! Who could possibly have designed this as an amusement? I finally clear that obstacle and reach the intersection.

  Up the wall that leads to a clear, open space? Or down the slide to the dim ball pit?

  The man is up; Dad and Dawn are down. I slide.

  I hit the balls hard, tumbling head over heels. Falling and floundering through the drifts of balls, I search for a break in the screened walls. The lights blink off again, another signal to the stragglers. Hardly anyone is left. I keep moving smooth, cool balls as a swimmer moves water.

  My hand touches something warm and solid.

  Hairy.

  The lights flick on.

  I’m face to face with the busboy. I see his big pores and the hairs in his nose. His breath is hot in my ear. “Stay away or I hurt you. Comprende?”

  “Yes.” I’m too scared to answer above a whisper.

  He throws me far into the ball pit. When I resurface, he’s gone.

  “Are you crazy? You have to tell him. Call him right now.”

  I’m sitting in Maura’s apartment. It seemed the safest place to go after I took my father home. When I’d escaped from the Play-O-Rama maze, I found out Rosalia had come down on her own when the lights flashed. I guess the dark was scarier than the slide. In the rush to get the kids loaded into the van, no one had seemed to notice I was pale and trembling. No one except my father.

  He peered at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “It’s just a little…claustrophobia.”

  If he was suspicious of my answer, he didn’t press the point. I said my good-byes and headed to Maura’s. She lives in one of the few doorman buildings in Palmyrton, so if the busboy was following me, he wouldn’t be able to get any further than her lobby. Now I’m listening to her harangue me about calling Coughlin.

  “If you don’t do it, I will,” she says.

  “But the guy told me he’d hurt me if I talked to Sean.”

  Maura hurls a sofa pillow at me. “I’m going to hurt you if you don’t! You’re talking like the heroine of a teen slasher movie. TSTL.”

  “I’m not too stupid to live. I’m just,” I feel my throat closing up, “scared.”

  “Oh, baby—I’m sorry.” She wraps her arms around me.

  Breathing in the scent of her hundreds of dollars’ worth of lotions and potions and creams calms me a bit. “I need to figure out what really happened at that place.” I sit up and start talking. “How could that guy have known I’d be at Play-O-Rama? How could he know I’d have to climb up to get some little girl?”

  Maura rakes her mane of dark curls. Her eyes blink rapidly the way they used to when I’d try to pull her through some baffling calc problem. “Are you saying he set you up?”

  “He must have. It can’t be a coincidence that he ran into me there.”

  “Maybe he followed you to the Parks Center, then watched for you to leave and followed you to Play-O-Rama.”

  “The Center van was parked in their indoor garage. He couldn’t have seen me get into it unless he was in the Center with me. And he wasn’t.”

  “How did you end up going on this trip anyway?”

  “Dad and I were asked to fill in for someone who cancelled.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what I need to find out.”

  Maura hands me my phone. “Not you. Sean Coughlin. Let him figure it out.”

  “There’s another reason I don’t want to call him.” While Maura listens with arched eyebrows, I tell her about the recent sofa incident.

  When I finish, Maura prods me with her perfectly manicured foot. “For God’s sake, Audrey. You drank some wine and necked with the guy a little. We’re not in high school anymore—that doesn’t mean you’re going steady. And I’m sure he can separate the personal from the professional.”

  Can he? Can I? I try again. “But if he starts asking questions like that at the Center, the busboy will know I talked.”

  “Sean volunteers at the Center too. Don’t you think he’s smart enough to find out without interrogating people?’

  Ogee.

  I text “That busboy threatened me tonight. Call me.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sean is in Maura’s living room.

  I’m flustered when he first walks in, but Maura was right (of course). Sean is all business, reassuring me th
at he traveled from the police garage to Maura’s garage unseen. He asks me questions methodically and takes me through the incident moment-by-moment three times in a row.

  That’s what I want. I guess.

  I answer patiently, trying hard to remember how all the little insignificant moments tied together into one big significant climax. The moment the first girl came to ask Dad and me to chaperone. The moment the other girl told us Rosalia was stuck. The moment it was decided I should go up to get her.

  “Did Dawn encourage you to climb up?” Sean has asked this before, but I don’t get testy. I’m starting to understand how he works.

  “No. No, I’m sure she didn’t say a word to me. We all looked at each other and it was pretty obvious I was the best choice.”

  “None of you thought to contact the playground staff?”

  “The place is a madhouse, Sean. And the staff are minimum wage teenagers.”

  “What do you think Dawn would have done if you’d refused to go up?”

  I shrug. “Maybe persuade the girl who came to get us to try again to help Rosalia. I asked her to—” I stop, thinking about that moment when the older girl scampered off.

  Sean leans forward. “What?”

  “Maybe it’s nothing, but I asked the girl to go up ahead of me, to lead me to Rosalia, but she refused. She said there wasn’t enough room at the top. She said that right away.”

  “As if she’d been coached?”

  “Maybe. And then someone shouted, and she ran off.”

  “Someone called her name?” Sean’s voice is low and intense.

  “I don’t know her name, so I don’t know if someone called it. And it’s so loud in there, with kids shouting non-stop, it’s impossible for me to say if she was responding to someone calling her. I just assumed her friends were calling her back to their game. But maybe–”

  “Maybe her handler called her off.”

  Maura has been listening quietly, but now she jumps in. “Wait, you think the girl was put up to this? And Rosalia as well? You think the busboy knows them?”

  “His kids must know those kids.”

  “His kids? How do you know he has kids?”

  “Unaccompanied men aren’t allowed into Play-O-Rama,” Sean says. “Adults can’t come in unless they’re accompanied by kids.”

  “They give you a bar-coded bracelet to match you to your kids,” I explain.

  “Wow, these are things you don’t think of when you’re not a parent,” Maura says. “Otherwise, the place would be a pedophile’s paradise, huh?”

  “But, Sean—all this seems like so much work. If he wanted to warn me off, why didn’t he just approach me outside my office or while I’m walking the dog?”

  Sean crosses his arms and sits silently for a while. Quite a while. Finally I can’t stand it any longer.

  “Sean?”

  “Because somehow he knows you. Knows what you’re like—persistent, brave.” He squints at me. “Reckless. He wanted to really rattle you.”

  “He succeeded.”

  “Wait,” Maura says. “You’re saying this Spanish guy…this busboy in a restaurant…knows Audrey well enough and is clever enough to dream all this up?”

  Sean stands up. “No. I’m saying there’s something larger at play here.”

  Chapter 22

  Ethel trots ahead of me, pausing occasionally to sniff for squirrels and cats who might be foolish enough to invade her turf. I’m aware of Sean waiting at the corner ahead in an unmarked car. We’ve agreed I should spend the night at Maura’s, but first I had to collect Ethel and take her for a walk. When she and I reach the corner, I can see another unmarked car in front of my condo. Sean is taking no chances.

  As I look down my block, I notice a tall man in a puffy coat loping along. I know that walk. Oh my God, it’s Ty! In all the drama of this night, I totally forgot that I told him to meet me at my place tonight. And now he’s probably seen Sean and thinks I set him up. I reach into my pocket for my phone, but remember Sean is watching me. It will have to wait.

  On the way back to Maura’s his car follows me into her parking garage and he watches as I signal that the elevator I’m about to get into is empty. Then he lopes across the parking area and gets in with me. On the ride up, I ask about his progress on the talks with the DA and the INS on a deal for Ramon, but he is tight-lipped. “There’s interest” is all I can get him to say.

  Now that we’re outside Maura’s door, I try again. “Have you found out any more about the boy who died?”

  “Got the autopsy results. From looking at the teeth and the growth plates in the bones they can tell he was only fourteen or fifteen years old.” Sean shakes his head. “Kid came all the way from Honduras by himself. My sister won’t let her son ride the train to Penn Station alone.”

  “Why would his family send him off like that?”

  “They’re desperate, Audrey. Honduras has the highest murder rate in the world. People get killed going to work, going to shop for food. It’s no wonder they want to get out.”

  “How did he travel all that way alone?”

  Sean glances away as if he’s struggling. Then he takes me by the shoulders and looks deep in my eyes. “I’m not supposed to talk about this, but it could affect your safety.”

  “What?”

  “We think the kid was killed by coyotes. Smugglers who were paid to get him into the country.”

  “I don’t understand. You think Ramon is a coyote?”

  Sean shakes his head. “We’re not sure how Ramon fits into this. People say he was looking out for the kid. Maybe he was supposed to make the final payment. Maybe it was supposed to come from somewhere else.”

  “So probably the killer didn’t know about the money in the cans. That’s a good thing for me, no?”

  “We can’t be sure what he knows. The point is, this wasn’t two day-laborers having an argument that got out of hand. These coyotes are vicious. They don’t hesitate to kill—not even a child.”

  My legs feel like rubber. If not for Sean’s firm grasp, I think I might sink to the floor. “And what happened tonight. The busboy. You think he’s one of them?”

  “Has to be. What worries me is how they tracked you down so quickly. When the killer saw you in that back yard, he couldn’t possibly have known who you were. Now, two days later, he knows how to find you in a place you didn’t even plan on going to.”

  “My visit to Pastor Jorge,” I whisper. “They followed me from there. They know where I work. Where I live. They followed us from the Parks Center to Fiorello’s.”

  All Sean does is raise one eyebrow slightly, but it feels like he’s shaking me and yelling “I told you so.”

  “But wait. Is it just a coincidence that this guy works at Fiorello’s and saw us together?”

  Sean’s lips compress. “I don’t believe in coincidence. The undocumented community has a whole underground communication system that the rest of us don’t know about. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to the owner of Fiorello’s and find out how long that guy has worked for him. Fiorello’s is the closest restaurant to the Parks Center. Staff and volunteers eat there all the time. Maybe he thought that was a good place to wait and watch.”

  Now I know I have to tell him about Ramon’s call to Ty. I take a deep breath. “There’s something else.”

  His eyes widen. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Now what?”

  “Last night Ty had a missed call from a number he didn’t recognize. When he called back, the person who answered only spoke Spanish. Ty asked for Ramon, and the guy hung up.”

  “I need that number.”

  I pull out my phone and show him.

  He shakes his head as he writes it down. “You couldn’t have called me as soon as this happened?”

  “It was the middle of the night.”

  “Or sometime today? Maybe returned my call?”

  Eeew, there it is. The moment I thought I could escape. “I…I’m sorry. Today was hectic.”

  “Your
day has twenty-four hours. My day has twenty-four hours.”

  The “I’m so busy” excuse has never sounded lamer. I take a deep breath and try again. “Wednesday night made me feel….confused.”

  Sean reaches for my hand. His thumb brushes the soft underside of my wrist. “Really?” His voice is low. The anger is gone. “I know us guys aren’t great at guessing what’s going on in a woman’s mind, but I coulda sworn confusion was not the emotion you were feeling on Wednesday night.”

  Now my legs feel rubbery for a different reason. “Things felt different on Thursday morning.”

  He pulls me closer and whispers in my ear. “Why?”

  My phone begins ringing. A second later, Maura flings open the door. “Audrey—there you are! I was getting wor—” She realizes what she’s interrupted. “Oops. Sorry.”

  Before Maura can close the door, I push Ethel forward and follow her. “I’ll check in periodically all day tomorrow, Sean. I promise.”

  According to veterinarians, a dog’s nose can distinguish one hundred thousand different smells, so it’s no wonder Ethel is beside herself with glee when she enters Harold’s house. I can’t leave her alone all day in Maura’s unfamiliar apartment, so I’ve brought her to work with me, much to Jill and Ty’s delight. Jill pirouettes around the kitchen with her, talking in high-pitched doggie talk, until Ethel breaks free to follow her nose into a corner stacked with boxes of decaying cookbooks. She begins scratching the floor, frantically trying to insert her whole muzzle into the pile.

  “Yo, Ethel—you ever smelled anything that bad before? You be careful, girl. Most likely a big ol’ rat behind there. You not a street dog. You don’t wanna mess with that.”

  Ethel pauses and cocks her head.

  “See that,” Ty says. “She’s listening to me. Dog’s smarter than you, Jill.”