“Nice talkin’ with you, Audrey. Keep an eye peeled in that house. Maybe Sharon never left!”
Ed’s words echo as I pick up my burger. My appetite departs without a backward glance. Could the pervasive reek in Harold’s house really be from a dead human body? One that’s been there since 2005? Would the Health Department overlook that? Surely Nora wouldn’t protect her uncle if she thought he’d killed her own mother. The shudder passing through me knocks a French fry onto the booth. Ethel’s snout appears and snaps it up. No, I reassure myself, Ed was trying to be funny. He couldn’t know about the cat, couldn’t know how tone-deaf that joke was.
The prospect of eating the burger seems overwhelming, but the thought of explaining to the waitress why I’m leaving with it untouched is worse. I nibble. A little grease, a little cheese and my appetite stirs. Between the drama over Ramon and the stress of the busboy, I’m more sensitive than usual. As I eat, I feel stronger, and Ed’s monologue sounds more like nonsense. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask Sean about Sharon Pheiffer. If there’s any truth to Law and Order, with a few clicks of his computer Sean should be able to reassure me that Sharon is alive and kicking somewhere.
Harold’s craziness probably drove her away.
I bet even his partner in collecting had her limit.
Chapter 24
“I don’t understand why you won’t go out with him. I think he’s hot.”
Coughlin arranged for one of his colleagues at the Blue Monday to escort me to Maura’s once she was home. Now she and I are curled up on her couch drinking sauvignon blanc. Given that her wine glasses are the size of fishbowls, I’m pretty relaxed.
“He’s attractive in an oversized sorta way,” I admit.
“He’s not oversized. Everyone else you’ve ever dated has been undersized.”
I open my mouth then close it again without speaking.
“Not Cal. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”
It’s hard for me to watch Maura rolling her eyes at the mention of Cal. She was only out of the country for a few months but she managed to miss the biggest thing that ever happened to me. Now I can’t make her understand how Cal wasn’t just one in a long line of date-from-hell types that she’s counseled me through over the years. I’m still trying to unravel the threads of his love, his betrayal, his sacrifice.
“Sean’s attractiveness is not the real issue. It’s…he…, he makes me confused. The thing I like about him is the same thing that drives me crazy.”
“And what thing is that?”
I put my head between my knees and wrap my arms around myself. “I don’t know, his, his..strength.. I can’t explain it.”
“When you were making out with him the other night, what was the part you liked the most?”
I heat up at the memory. Sean’s strong hands, used so gently. The clean scent of him, unadorned by anything purchased in a mall. Without looking at Maura I mutter. “The way his heart beats.”
She spits out her wine. “The way his heart beats? What, can you dance the salsa to it?”
“It’s slow and steady. When my head was on his chest it felt so good to feel his heart going thump, thump, thump.”
Maura takes my hand. “He makes you feel safe, honey,” she whispers. “What’s wrong with that?”
I lift my head and Maura looks a little hazy, maybe from wine or maybe from a film of tears. “Because when I let myself enjoy him protecting me, I start to feel out of control. Like I’m not in charge of my own life. Sean likes being in charge too much. I have to keep him at bay.”
“Oh Audrey! You’ve been in charge of your own life since you were three years old. Go ahead and let someone else share the load.”
Maura goes to bed early because she has a big meeting in the morning, and I lie awake on the sofa bed in her living room snuggling with Ethel. Should I listen to Maura even if her advice goes against my grain? Normal couples rely on each other, right? Giving up a little autonomy doesn’t mean I’m turning into a Real Housewife of New Jersey.
Does it?
I bury my face in Ethel’s soft fur. Maybe this control issue is a blind alley. Maybe I feel guilty for how quickly I’ve turned my affections from Cal to Sean. I want someone who’s faithful and true, but how true have I been? Are any of us even capable of faithfulness, or are we all on a continual quest for the next big thing, like Sharon and Harold at a flea market?
Oh, this is too much for me. I wish I could put my emotions in a spreadsheet and assign them each a probability factor. “Statistical analysis of the heart. That’s what we need, Ethel.”
As if he can hear me thinking, Sean sets my phone vibrating with a text. I look at the screen.
Make it home OK?
Yes. I’m at Maura’s
Busy?
My hand hesitates above the screen before I finally type. No
A second later, my phone is ringing.
I answer, hoping he’s calling to give me the good news that they’ve arrested the busboy. But no such luck. He explains that the search will continue tomorrow and that the cellphone number that Ramon tried to contact Ty on was a pay-as-you go phone. Untraceable.
“You sound exhausted. Where are you?”
“Still at the office. I’m ducking calls from my family.”
“Can’t they just call you there?”
“Only my mother has my work cell number, and she’s under strict orders not to call it unless someone dies. Otherwise I’d be dealing with their crazy crap all day long.”
As a member of an uber-nuclear family of two, I’m perversely fascinated by Sean’s big Irish clan. I’d love to have a sister to squabble with or a cousin to make my eyes roll. I wouldn’t avoid them. I’d jump right in. “What crazy crap is going on now?”
“Planning a party for my parents’ anniversary. Will it be at Brendan and Adrienne’s or won’t it? My sisters keep debating, but when it’s too cold for a party to spread outside, Brendan’s house is the only one big enough to hold us all. It’s pointless to resist. So I’m not answering my phone until they get themselves settled. Anyway, why did you want to know where I am?”
I choose to ignore the hopefulness in Sean’s voice, and start telling him about my encounter with Ed. “I know I’m being silly, but I’d feel better about working in the house if I knew Sharon was still alive somewhere. Is there a way you could you check her records?”
A beat of silence.
“I didn’t mean right now. Go home and get some rest. Just…if it’s possible…but if it’s not, I totally under—”
“Audrey.”
“Yes?”
“Wanna see my office?”
The answer comes to me without conscious thought. “As a matter of fact, I do. I want to be able to picture where you are when you call me.”
A throaty chuckle comes over the line. I’m not sure I meant to please him so much. “I’ll pick you up in ten.”
Following Sean into the Palmyrton Municipal Complex, I see nothing but blank beige walls and unmarked metal doors. On TV, police stations are always dark and gritty, but here in Palmyrton crimes are investigated from a place no more grim than an insurance company’s headquarters. My curiosity builds. Will Sean’s office be as impersonal as this hallway, or does he have family photos and funny coffee mugs? Is his desk messy or neat? The need to know grips me with surprising force.
Sean leads me to a big room filled with computer terminals. “We need to search the records here.”
I feel a twinge of disappointment, then remind myself this is what I came for. I watch as Sean calls up a database and taps in Sharon Pheiffer’s name. More than forty files pop up.
“You know when she was born?”
“Late forties, early fifties, I guess.”
That reduces the list by more than half.
“Maiden name?”
This stumps me until I realize that of course, it’s the same as Harold’s last name: Voss.
We’re left with three possibilit
ies. Sean reads them aloud: “Sharon V. Phieffer, born 1948, died 2010 in Phoenix; Sharon Voss, born 1951, currently living in Charleston, South Carolina, and S. Elizabeth Phieffer, born 1947, currently living in Saranac Lake, New York.”
“That sounds promising.” I crane my neck to see over his broad shoulder. “Can you tell if any of them ever lived in New Jersey?”
He tilts the screen away. “What are you planning to do with this information, Audrey? You have no reason to contact her, do you?”
“No. Of course not.” Other than being consumed by curiosity. “I just wanted to be sure we weren’t going to uncover her corpse in the house.”
“Seems unlikely.” Sean logs out of the database.
“Thank you, Sean. But hey, I still want to see your office.”
He grins. “Right this way.”
I follow him down a featureless corridor until he opens a door into a good-sized office with two desks. Every square inch of one is covered with files and papers and post-it notes. The other is entirely clear, with three neat stacks of color-coded folders in one corner.
“The neat one is yours,” I say.
“Correct. I’ve worked with Pete Holzer for years. He can pull stuff out of that heap like he’s got a divining rod. I can’t operate that way. But we get along.”
I circle around the desk. Next to his computer monitor are four framed school photos of gap-toothed, freckle-faced kids. “Your nieces and nephews?”
“Those are my sister’s kids—Alyssa, Liam, Frankie, and Joe. I’ve got four more, but their parents aren’t as good about supplying the pics.”
I plop into his swivel chair. “This is where you sit to bark out the orders?”
He perches on the edge of his desk and spins me around. “The orders that fall on deaf ears when I press ‘Nealon comma A’?”
“Try an order right now.”
He opens his mouth, then hesitates. A flush spreads up from his neck.
“You’re blushing! What kind of order are you thinking of?”
He pulls me towards him and whispers in my ear. “Come to my place. Don’t you want to see where I live too?”
“I do. But I can’t leave Ethel alone at Maura’s for long.”
He pulls away. “My building doesn’t allow pets. And I’ve got to be in here at seven tomorrow.”
We look at each other, and I can’t deny there’s just as much desire in my eyes as there is in his.
“Saturday?” I suggest.
He winces. “Saturday is my parents’ anniversary.”
“The big bash at Brendan and Adrienne’s?”
“It’s nothing fancy. Would you consider…? We wouldn’t have to stay long. And then—”
He’s surprisingly adorable when he’s flustered. I twine my fingers through his. “Then what? You start issuing orders?”
He buries his face in my hair. “Yes.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“You’ll go? Really?”
I nod.
What have I done?
Chapter 25
“Morning, Harold.”
Harold looks up from tapping his calculator: good sign. But his eyes regard Jill as if she’s some stranger approaching him on the subway: bad sign.
All the disruption surrounding the Play-O-Rama episode has distracted us from our mission to get Harold to say where he found the Tiffany lamp. This morning, Jill arrived at the house determined to bring Harold and the lamp together. But I’m not sure today is shaping up to be a “Good Harold” day.
Jill sits down across from him at his card table/desk. “Harold, would you like to take a ride today to look at a pretty lamp?” Her voice could cajole a skittish kitten out from under a couch. “On the way back, we could stop for ice cream at Friendly’s.”
Harold shakes his head. “Busy.”
“I can see you’re busy. What are you working on?”
“Capacity parameters.”
“Hmmm. Do you think you might be able to take a break in a little bit to go see the lamp? It’s such a useful lamp, and I’m trying to find the person who could use it the most.” She tilts her head to make eye contact with Harold. “Could you help me with that, Harold? I’d be so grateful.”
Harold exhales deeply. “Okay. But I have to finish this first.”
I squeeze Jill’s shoulder once we’re upstairs at work. “You’re amazing.”
“Not really. I’ve just learned how to play the usefulness card.” She peeks over the railing. “We’d better keep a close eye on him so he doesn’t slip away.”
Jill doesn’t wear her headphones so she can hear when Harold’s calculator stops tapping. As soon as we detect silence, we go downstairs and gently herd Harold into my car, overcoming many objections that it would be more energy-efficient to ride bikes. Jill sits in the back chatting with Harold, while Ty sits up front with me, rolling his eyes.
Once we arrive, Ty gets the lamp out of the safe and sets it on a table. “Yo, Harold, you remember where you got this?”
Jill places herself between Harold and Ty, and I pull him into a chair next to me to watch as Jill works her magic.
“Harold, do you remember this lamp? It was in the living room of your house, the room with all the appliances, right near the door to the hall. Someone got rid of it just because it doesn’t light up anymore. But I know a good electrician could fix the wiring and then it would be such a useful lamp again. But it’s a special lamp, so we have to find the right electrician to fix it. Do you remember when you got it?”
Harold seems mesmerized by Jill’s lilting voice. “Fall. There were leaves in the driveway.”
“Ask him where—”
I squeeze Ty’s forearm.
“Leaves. Good. Was the lamp outside in a sale in someone’s driveway?”
Harold nods. “The man had a lot of useful things. But he wanted too much money. He wanted ten dollars for the lamp. But that was too much. Because it doesn’t work. And the cord is frayed. That could start a fire.”
“So you didn’t give him ten dollars?”
“No, I said five. But he made me give seven. He wasn’t nice.”
I’m astonished. Harold really does remember the transaction. And to think he bargained the owner down from ten bucks to seven on a lamp that might be worth a cool million!
“Well, I think you did the right thing getting the lamp for seven dollars,” Jill coos. “It’s going to be a very useful lamp once we get it fixed up. Now, the man who wasn’t very nice—where did he live?”
Harold begins to squirm in his chair. He wrings his hands and stretches his neck. “He had glasses. Dark glasses so I couldn’t see his eyes. I don’t like that.”
“No-o-o-o. I don’t like those glasses either. Where was his house, Harold? Was it here in Palmyrton?”
Ty and I lean forward.
“Have to measure the thermal maturity,” Harold murmurs. “Hydrocarbon production is suboptimal.”
“Oh, no—not this shit again!”
Jill shoots Ty a look that would stop a moose. “Harold,” she whispers, “look at the lamp. We want to fix it so someone can use it, but in order to do that, we need to know where you got it. It was a fall day, you were in a driveway with leaves, the man wasn’t so nice…where was the house, Harold? Was it near your house?”
Harold sits frozen, his eyes staring at something only he can see: an oil field in Kuwait, a driveway in Palmyrton. Who knows? Time ticks by.
“Madison? Summit?” Ty’s voice isn’t loud, but Harold flinches.
He covers his head with his hands. “Don’t wake the babies, don’t wake the babies.”
The ride back to the office is grim. While Jill walks Harold to the Friendly’s take-out window for the promised ice cream, I pat Ty’s arm. “Don’t blame yourself. It was over the moment Harold started in on the geology. We just have to wait for a better day and try again.”
“Sometimes I think he’s just messin’ with us. He knows what we’re after and he switches on t
he rock talk and the baby nonsense to get us off his back.”
“I don’t think he’s capable of that much strategy. He’s mentally ill.”
“Humpf. Crazy like a fox. He’s takin’ us for fools.”
Ty slumps in the passenger seat until we arrive back at 12 Acorn Lane. Then he jumps in the van without another word to us, and drives off to recycle a load of bottles that happen to have birds on the labels.
“Ugh! We’re out of trash bags.” Jill stands with her hands on her hips surveying a pile of moldering bird seed. She had previously secured Harold’s reluctant permission to discard this, but since the trauma of the lamp ID, he’s been erratic and restless. Permission could be rescinded if we don’t act quickly.
With Ty gone, Jill encourages me to take my car over to Wal-Mart to buy some bags.
I glance in Harold’s direction. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.”
What I don’t want to say is that I’m nervous to make the trip alone. If the busboy could threaten me in a playground, the rambling Wal-Mart parking lot seems entirely too perilous.
I fold my arms across my chest. “No way. We need to be more cautious. Harold is unpredictable. And he’s stronger than he looks. All that bicycling has kept him in good shape.”
Jill tugs on her respirator. “How about borrowing some from Phoebe? She’d help us out.”
I peek into the foyer where Harold paces and frets. Jill pushes me toward the door.
“Just pop over and ask. You won’t be gone more than a few minutes.”
When I ring the bell, the door is answered not by Phoebe, but by a skinny, bouncy little girl. This must be Eunice. A sixty-ish woman with frizzy gray hair appears behind her.
“Grandma, it’s the lady who’s cleaning Harold’s house,” Eunice announces.
“Right you are.” I smile at the kid and address the old lady. “Is Phoebe home?”
“No, she’s at her yoga class. May I help you?”
I hesitate. It’s awkward enough to be cadging a loan from someone I barely know, let alone someone I’ve never met.
Treasure of Darkness: a romantic thriller (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 2) Page 17