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

by S. W. Hubbard

  “The box of magazines is all the way at the back of the tunnel. These decorated Russian eggs were off to the side because I was going to sell them on eBay, and now they’re right in front. And these puzzles that were from Nora’s room were put back in the master bedroom.”

  “Toys in the bird room. You know Harold didn’t do that,” Ty says.

  “Someone was in here last night.” Jill says. “Snooping.”

  I roll my shoulders as if someone is literally breathing down my neck. First a person creeping around my condo. Now this. “Is anything missing?” I ask.

  Ty leans against the wall. “Huh. We should be so lucky.”

  “Did they make it any closer to the master bath?” I follow our tunnel to its furthest reach. There are still massive barriers between us and our goal.

  “I think Bernadette and her crew were in here looking for evidence she could use to get us condemned,” Jill says.

  “That’s whack,” Ty says. “You’re getting as crazy as Harold.”

  “It’s not! You weren’t here for the riot.” Jill relates the story in breathless detail. I fill him in on what Isabelle said about Bernadette’s need to sell.

  “Call the police, Audrey. Tell them we’ve had a break-in,” Jill pleads.

  I shake my head. “The police aren’t going to care that a few boxes of junk were moved around in here. They’ve got bigger problems.”

  “Well, I’m going to let Bernadette know that we’re on to her.” Jill stomps downstairs. Before long she’s made two signs that she posts on the doors, front and back:

  Private Property

  Violators will be Prosecuted

  This means you, Bernadette

  While Jill bustles around with the signs, Ty gazes out the window. Bernadette’s house is in his line of sight, but he seems to be seeing something much further away.

  “What are you thinking? I ask.

  Ty shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps his face turned away from me. “When I was in prison I met a guy my same age. Worked at Burger King, saved up to buy a North Face. Nice blue color. Size large. One night he went to a house party. Got hot and took the coat off and somebody stole it. On the way home, he sees a dude walkin’ down the street in his blue coat. He goes to get it back and the dude won’t give it up. So he pulls out a knife and stabs him.” Ty kicks at a pile of mildewed atlases beneath the window. “Dude’s coat was a size medium. Murder two, twenty-five to life.”

  “For a coat.”

  Ty turns toward me. “People work hard to get something nice, they gonna fight to keep it. Someone try to take it away, they gonna get nasty.”

  He swings his foot harder. Travelers Guide to South America sails across the kitchen.

  “Real nasty.”

  Chapter 33

  As we work, several texts from Sean have arrived, but I haven’t answered. Finally he texts:

  You can’t keep avoiding me. Pick up.

  Then my phone rings. I take a deep breath and answer. As usual, no preamble.

  “You’ve been on my mind. We need to talk.”

  On his mind because of the party? Or on his mind because somehow he knows about Ty and Ramon and the money? I dread a conversation about the first. I’m terrified by a conversation about the second. All I can manage in response is a weak “Oh?”

  “We can’t talk about this in a restaurant. Come to my place tonight. I’ll make you dinner.”

  I’m reluctant to go to his apartment, especially after what happened when he came to mine. But he’s right—we need a resolution and we can’t have this conversation in a restaurant. And the advantage of being on his turf is that I can leave at any time. It will be harder to boot him out of my place.

  “Let’s just say drinks. I’ll meet you there at six.”

  When I step off the elevator in Coughlin’s building, I smell food cooking. Maybe it’s a neighbor. No, as I get closer to his door, the smell gets stronger. Typical cocky Coughlin. So sure he’ll win me over. There’s still time to turn around and leave. I hesitate with my hand raised to knock.

  The door opens.

  “Hey, c’mon in. I heard the elevator.” He takes my coat and looks me up and down. Why did I wear this blouse? The top button always pops open. I chose my leggings because they’re comfortable. I forgot they’re clingy.

  I back away and look around.

  Apart from the fact that it’s very neat, the apartment is nowhere close to what I imagined. No recliner. No wide-screen TV. No sports paraphernalia. Instead there’s a Mission-style sofa and easy chair with William Morris-inspired upholstery, a nice bookcase with leaded glass doors, and an oriental rug. There are potted herbs—herbs!—on the windowsill. A sad-sounding woman singer—Nina Simone? Billie Holiday?—croons in the background.

  Sean watches me, pathetically eager for my approval. I can’t be so cruel as to withhold it. Besides, the apartment really is nice.

  “This is great place, Sean. Very distinctive. I love that bookcase.”

  We make awkward chit-chat about furniture as he pours me a glass of wine. Then we fall silent and stare at each other.

  Sean takes a deep breath. “I feel like I’ve been stumbling around in the dark these past few days, Audrey. And that’s not an experience I enjoy.”

  That doesn’t seem to require a response, so I sit waiting with an expanding lump in my stomach.

  His blue eyes search my face and I force myself not to look away. “They’re keeping me out of the loop on the interrogation of the busboy for now. They’re going to want to talk to you. Expect a call tomorrow.”

  I take a slug of my wine. “All right.”

  Sean takes my hand. “It’s very important that you tell them the complete truth, Audrey.”

  I clench my fingers. “You think I would lie?”

  “I think you might omit some details to protect Ty and Ramon. It’s been days since you asked me about the search for Ramon or the deal you want us to offer him. I find your lack of urgency a little—”

  I shake off his hand and stand up. “Suspicious? I’m a suspect now?”

  “Uncharacteristic.”

  The truth gnaws inside me like a tapeworm. I have a strong urge to blurt out everything to Sean. But fear holds me back. I’ll have to admit how much information I’ve already withheld. And no matter how much I beg him to protect Ty, Sean’s first obligation is to his job. As it should be.

  But my first obligation is to Ty.

  “I didn’t want to pressure you,” I say. “But since you brought it up, has the deal moved forward?”

  Sean shakes his head. “I think they’re waiting to see what information the busboy, Ramirez, can offer.”

  “Well then, I guess we’ll know something tomorrow.” I keep my tone light as I study the books on his shelves, but Sean is not convinced.

  He speaks to my back. “I’m not going to ask you a direct question about whether Ty has been in touch with Ramon. Because I don’t want you to tell me a lie. But don’t mess with these guys tomorrow. It won’t end well.”

  A buzzer sounds from the kitchen. I jump as if I’ve been shot.

  Sean rises and goes to check on his meal. As he fiddles with something on the stove, he speaks to me over the counter separating us.

  “So. Let’s do what we said we’d do, huh? Tell me why the party at Brendan’s upset you so much.”

  I take a deep breath and another gulp of wine. “You’re the one who talked about values. I don’t think we have the same values, Sean. You’re so committed to your family. You’re all so involved in one another’s lives…making decisions…making judgments.”

  Sean adjusts the heat on the stove. Covers the pot. Wipes a splash off the counter. Then he walks back into the living room and sits down beside me.

  “I guess we are. But they mean well, Audrey. I know the argument sounded loud and angry, but it was like a summer thunderstorm. A big blowup, and the next thing you know, the sun is shining. No hard feelings.”

  I look
away. There’s a pretty little carving of a porcupine on his end table. I stroke its quizzical face. “I wouldn’t be able to live like that Sean. If anyone spoke to me the way you and Adrienne spoke to each other, I wouldn’t be able to come back with no hard feelings.”

  Sean looks baffled. “That’s just the way families are.”

  My hands grip the carving. “I wouldn’t know.”

  He leans forward with his hands on his knees. “Is that what’s bothering you? That you don’t have an equally noisy family to back you up?”

  I don’t meet his eyes. “Maybe. I have no experience with extended family dynamics. I can’t embrace what I don’t know.”

  “Audrey, Audrey–you think everyone’s childhood was perfect except yours. Yeah, my family is close, but it’s not like we didn’t have our struggles. We were always short on cash. My dad moonlighted so much he never had time for our games or concerts or class plays. My mom could barely control the chaos at home. My childhood wasn’t all bedtime stories and home-baked cookies. Neither was yours.”

  Get over it.

  He doesn’t have to speak the words for me to hear them. I set the little porcupine down carefully. “I can’t erase my past to turn into the woman you want me to be.”

  His voice takes on a slight edge. “I’m not asking you to erase anything. To be anyone but yourself.”

  I meet him and raise him. “When I’m myself, we fight. And your family doesn’t need any more of that.”

  “You’re using this whole family thing as an excuse, Audrey.” Sean jumps up and towers over me. “You lead me on, then push me away. You use me when you need help, then turn your back when things are going your way. I think you enjoy toying with me. Catch the mouse. Let it go. Catch it again.”

  Toying? Me! I don’t even know how to flirt, let alone toy. “If that’s what you think, why do you even want me?”

  We glare at each other. Sean drops his gaze first. The muscle in his clenched jaw jumps. “Who can explain attraction, Audrey?” he whispers. “I know what I want.”

  “You need to find another woman, Sean. A woman who can give you the life you have planned. A woman who can follow orders.”

  I stride to the door. Step out, then turn.

  “It’s not me.”

  Chapter 34

  Tuesday morning after the world’s worst Monday and I’m staring into the coal-dark eyes of the state police interrogator. He’s introduced himself, but I’m too wound up to retain his name. Although he leans back in his chair with his legs crossed, he radiates intensity. Sean is a ginger tabby compared to this panther. I’m certain he must’ve turned that busboy inside out and scraped every morsel of truth right out of him.

  What will he do to me?

  Ty and I have agreed that he will wait to talk to the police until I find out how much they know. I’ve told him to make himself scarce today. If no one knows where he is, including me, the cops can’t come for him until we’re prepared. But on one point Ty is adamant: he will talk. Part of his deal with Ramon is to provide the information the cops need to bring Horacio’s killer to justice.

  The interrogator taps the eraser end of a pencil on the arm of his chair. “Tell me exactly what the man said to you when you were in the play structure together.”

  I repeat the busboy’s words: Stop looking around. Stop talking to the big cop.

  “Did he ever mention Ramon?”

  “Not by name, no.” The interrogator speaks flawless English, but when he says Ramon he trills the R.

  “Did he mention the money specifically?”

  “No, but he said to stop looking. What else could he mean?”

  One dark eyebrow ascends toward his close-cropped hair. He glances at the other cop in the room, a guy standing silently with his arms crossed. “The man we arrested has no knowledge of Ramon or the murder on Filmore Street. As we questioned him, it became apparent we were barking up the wrong tree. This guy is Salvadoran, not Honduran. He lives in Dover. He’s not one of the regulars in front of the hardware store looking for work—he has a full-time job working for a landscaping contractor, and moonlights occasionally at Fiorello’s. He’s a naturalized citizen.”

  Dover is the town where Ramon had been hiding out, but of course I’m not going to mention that. “What difference does that make? He could still know Ramon if they go to the same church. Remember, I saw him first outside the Church of Living Praise.”

  “Did you? He worships at a Catholic church in Dover. The priest there knows him.”

  I’m struck with a queasy uncertainty. I know the man they arrested is the man who threatened me—we were nose-to-nose in Play-O-Rama. But is he the same man I thought was watching me outside the church? I only saw that man in my rearview mirror. Did Sean put that idea in my head?

  “I, I’m not sure. He, they….”

  “All those Spanish dudes look alike, huh?”

  I feel myself flush hot red. “No, that’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “Relax, Ms. Nealon. Cross-racial identification is notoriously difficult. If it’s any consolation, all you gringos look the same to us, too.” He begins to gather his papers.

  “Wait. Where are you going? You don’t believe me?” My voice shrills in indignation. “You think I’m lying that this guy threatened me?”

  He stands and looks down at me. “No one saw him with you at Play-O-Rama.”

  “Of course not! I told you, we were inside the play structure and the lights were flashing.”

  “You never mentioned you had been threatened when you got out of the structure. Never even told your own father.”

  I don’t like him towering over me, so I jump up to level the field. “My dad sensed something was wrong, but I didn’t want to upset him. All I wanted was to get out of there.”

  “And let the culprit get away.”

  “He said he’d hurt me if I talked! Why would I make something like that up?”

  He perches on the edge of the desk, one long leg swinging. “How long have you been having a relationship with Sean Coughlin?”

  What kind of non sequitur is that? “I’m not having a relationship with him. I’ve known him for a couple of months.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “You must know how we met. He investigated the attack on me last October.”

  “You were quite a celebrity in New Jersey, Ms. Nealon. Must be hard to go back to being just a regular old working woman.”

  I look in confusion from one cop to the other.

  “You think I made this up to get attention? From a guy?” Have I been transported back to middle-school? This is so ludicrous that I have to laugh. Taking a deep breath, I speak slowly to the interrogator. “Does this man deny being in Play-O-Rama that evening?”

  “No, he admits he took his kids there. But he denies attacking a grown woman in the ball pit.”

  The state police interrogator has a look of studied indifference on his face. I know he’s playing me like a fish on a line, but like that fish, I feel powerless to let go of the bait.

  “Does he admit he recognizes me from Fiorello’s restaurant, when he was eavesdropping on my conversation?”

  “He tells the story a little differently. Says you were watching him as he did his job. He thinks when you spotted him again at Play-O-Rama, you got this idea to accuse him of threatening you.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “Frankly, Ms. Nealon, it’s no more improbable than your version of events.”

  I’m so thunderstruck I can barely find the words I need to object. “You think I would pick out a random Hispanic man to accuse of a crime for no reason?”

  “Oh, no, Ms. Nealon. Everyone has reasons for what they do. Sometimes a little twisted, but always there. Maybe you thought inventing this threat would keep the police on the job looking for your missing money.”

  “I did not invent this attack to get my money back!”

  He shrugs. “Maybe now you have your money back. Has Ramon con
tacted you again?”

  “No.” I can say that without lying. Ramon never contacted me.

  “Do you have the money back?” His voice is level, calm.

  There it is—the question Sean wouldn’t ask me. I can answer it today even though I don’t want to. The busboy has given the cops nothing. They’re no further along in solving Horacio’s murder. They need the information that Ty can provide. Maybe we really can strike a deal.

  I speak slowly. “Yes, I have the money back. My assistant, Ty Griggs, got it back from Ramon. He went without my knowledge. All I know is that Ramon thought the money brought him bad luck, and he has some information about the boy’s killer that he wants to pass along to you.”

  This bombshell produces quite a reaction. The cops pound me with questions, but I stick to the party line. I don’t know where Ty picked up the money: true. I don’t know what Ramon told Ty about the killer: true. I don’t know where Ramon is now: true.

  I don’t know if Ty and Ramon were together: not true.

  I have done it. I have lied to the police. As the words leave my mouth, I think of all the famous liars of the past who have ended up in a deeper hole than they started in. Nixon and Watergate. Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. Mark Sanford and the Appalachian Trail.

  But I lie not to protect myself, but to protect Ty. He took a terrible risk for me. Now I must take this risk for him.

  And it seems to work. After two hours of endless repetition, the cops finally give up on me.

  “You can go, Ms. Nealon. We’re bringing your assistant in right away to talk to us.”

  “He’s not talking to you without a lawyer. He’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

  “You talked to us without a lawyer.”

  “I’m not a twenty-two-year-old black man with an arrest record.” I switch direction. “What about Juan Ramirez?” I look from the interrogator to the other cops in the room. Every face is wooden.

  The interrogator raises one eyebrow. “You have your money back, Ms. Nealon. Time to end the charade.”