Treasure in Exile

by S. W. Hubbard

  “Ooo—Vaurnet!” Donna squeals. “Since when are you into designer shades?”

  “Not mine. I found ‘em. In Maybelle’s room.”

  “I bet the customer who dropped them will come back tomorrow asking for them. Vaurnets are like five hundred bucks.” Donna shakes her head. “I lose sunglasses all the time. I could never trust myself with something so expensive.”

  “Well, if he comes back, I’ll be ready for him. You wanna know where I found these?” Ty continues even without encouragement. “Right by that little corner shelf in Maybelle’s room that hides the lever to open the room.”

  “That could just be a coincidence,” Donna says. “Who would try to open the room during the sale?”

  I put the sunglasses on top of Donna’s head, using them to hold back her hair. Now I know where I’ve seen these glasses.

  “Crawford Bostwick. He was wearing sunglasses when he came in.”

  Chapter 35

  “CRAWFORD BOSTWICK KNEW about the secret room,” Ty thumps the ornate newel post with his fist. “I was right when I thought it might be him sneaking around here.”

  “Hold up. Crawford knows about the room now. Maybe he just found out about it.”

  Ty juts his chin in my direction. “From who? My sister? Henry?”

  “Let’s make a list of everyone who definitely knows about the room.” I start taking dictation as Ty and Donna call out names. “Henry...Levi...me...you...Donna... Charmaine...Grams...my professor...” The list grows longer as we add people that those people were likely to have told—spouses, friends, colleagues. Pretty soon we have a list of well over twenty names and growing.

  “Okay, so it’s a lotta people. But none of ‘em rich. No one on that list is parta Crawford Bostwick’s crew,” Ty says.

  “Just because they’re not his drinking buddies...or polo buddies...whatever people like him have, doesn’t mean there aren’t connections. Remember the rule of six degrees of separation,” I insist. “What do you, me, Henry, and Levi have in common, Ty?”

  “The Rosa Parks Center.”

  “And whose mother was on the Board of the Rosa Parks Center and died at a party raising money for the Rosa Parks Center?”

  Ty scratches his head. “Yeah, but Crawford never showed any interest in the place. Why would Levi be talkin’ to Loretta’s son now that Loretta’s dead?”

  “I think the Parks Center still gets money from the Scour Brite Enterprises charitable foundation. That money comes from Loretta’s side of the family—the Crawfords. The connection is still there.”

  “But if Crawford found out about the room from someone connected to us, then he’d know it was empty now. Why come here and try to open it up again?”

  Donna’s head has been swiveling back and forth as she listens to the volley of Ty’s and my conversation. Now the ball is in my court and she squints at me. “Yeah, why?”

  I don’t have an answer.

  WITH DAY ONE OF THE Tate sale over, I send Ty and Donna home with orders to meet back here at 7AM tomorrow. Day Two will be less busy, but we still have plenty to sell.

  Now, Henry and I sit in the kitchen going over the proceeds. I count all the cash and tally the checks both from today’s business and the things I’ve sold in advance to specialized dealers, then turn it over to him to double-check my work.

  “$275,000.” Henry sways in the hard, wooden kitchen chair. “My, my.”

  That’s about as excited as Henry ever gets.

  A moment passes and he meets my gaze over the mound of checks and cash on the table between us. “I do believe I made a good decision partnering up with you, Audrey Nealon.”

  I smile. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity, Henry. I enjoy working with you. And I think this sale is turning out great for all concerned.”

  “Yeah. Maybe now Dennis will leave me in peace. These profits prove I know what I’m doin’.”

  “Dennis has been giving you a hard time about working with me?”

  “He wants updates on what we’re finding in here and how you know what it’s worth. I told him you and Ty are all studied up on antiques and art and even old bowls and pans. That just makes him ask more and more questions.” Henry leans back and shuts his eyes. “That chile thinks he’s got all the answers.”

  “Answers to what?”

  “How the world should work. Who should be in charge of who. I told him when he gets everyone operatin’ according to his plan he should let me know.”

  “Have you known Dennis a long time?”

  Henry straightens up and starts organizing the money for the bank deposit. “Since he was a kid and Levi started lookin’ out for him. Dennis had some problems at home after his father left, but Levi could tell he was smart. Made sure the kid stayed in school.” Henry shakes his head. “You ask me, Dennis could use a little less time with the books and a little more time with a hammer. His father was one fine carpenter, but him and his wife fought like cats and dogs, even after they divorced. So he moved down to Florida. Dennis took it hard.”

  We turn off the lights and prepare to leave for the bank together. I want to pump Henry for more information about Dennis, like whether he knew I had the ledger, but I don’t want to be too obvious. Despite Henry’s grumbling, I suspect he’s fond of Dennis. I don’t want him reporting back to Dennis that I had so many questions. “By the way, Henry—did you happen to tell Dennis about the secret room and the photos?”

  “Yeah. First time I ever told him something that left him speechless.”

  “So you didn’t get the impression he already knew about the room?”

  “Nah. How would he know about it? The only time he was ever here was when the Board members took that tour of the place.”

  So Dennis says.

  “But he was real curious about those pictures. I told him Levi took them if he wanted to see them.”

  Henry’s phone chirps and he scowls at the text that’s come in.

  “Audrey, could you do me a big favor? After we go to the bank, Levi asked me to stop by his house with a tally on the results of the first day of the sale. But my wife’s naggin’ me to get home in time for our grandson’s birthday party.”

  I reach for the tally. “Sure, I’ll take it. Give me his address and let him know I’m coming.”

  Chapter 36

  LEVI’S HOUSE IS ON a peaceful residential street of homes built in the twenties and thirties. When I get out of my car in front of his brick colonial, the loudest sounds are from his neighbors: a lawn sprinkler on one side and a badminton game on the other.

  When I get to the porch, the front door is open and through the screen door I see Levi’s signature straw hat on a table in the small foyer. I ring the bell and wait.

  Nothing.

  I shout his name through the screen door and wait.

  Nothing.

  He was expecting me, and he must be home if the doors are wide open. Maybe he stepped out into his back yard.

  I follow a flagstone walk around to the back, but there’s no sign of Levi. I peek through the garage window and see his car.

  I try knocking at the back door, which is also wide open.

  Nothing.

  Now I’m starting to feel uneasy. Could he have fallen, or had a sudden heart attack or stroke? He’s not young, but he’s always seemed healthy to me.

  I let myself into the kitchen. A half-finished mug of tea sits on the table. “Levi? It’s Audrey. Are you here?”

  I don’t want to prowl through his whole house. I pull out my phone and call him. The line rings and rings, but I don’t hear it here in the house. Eventually, it rolls over to his voicemail.

  With my ears tuned for the sound of the phone, I now hear another faint noise.

  Whining. Scratching.

  I follow it to a door in the hallway leading to the foyer. I open it and a small dog shoots out of the powder room. He runs around me in gratitude for being released. Then he sits and cocks his head as if it’s dawned on him that I�
�m not his master.

  “Where’s Levi, buddy?”

  He flattens himself on the floor and whines.

  Now there’s a knot of anxiety in my gut. If something bad happened to Levi, is it related to the assault on Ty?

  The dog jumps up and sniffs the air. Then he trots down the hall with great purpose. I follow him as he heads into what looks to be the den.

  He starts barking high and sharp. A mixture of smells, all unpleasant, reaches my less sensitive nose.

  I step into the room. Levi lies sprawled back in an easy chair.

  A small gun lies on the floor beneath his dangling hand.

  Blood and brains splatter across the wall behind him.

  “AND THE BACK DOOR WAS open?”

  The police are questioning me in the backyard. The EMTs have already carried Levi’s body out of the house. The Crime Scene team has taken over. The neighbors stand at a distance, all agog.

  I go over my story for what feels like the fourth time, answering every question put to me but not volunteering anything extra, when Sean finally arrives. He speaks to the detective in charge out of my hearing before coming over to me.

  He sits down beside me and puts his arm around me. “You okay?”

  I nod, suddenly feeling shakier now that my comforter has arrived. “I’m stunned. The sale went great. Levi wanted to see the tally of results, so I brought it over. Why would he kill himself now?” I look directly at my husband. “Did Levi commit suicide, or did someone kill him and just try to make it look like suicide?”

  “We’ll know for certain when they test his hands for gunshot residue. But he left a note.”

  “He did?” Of course, I’d run straight out of the house as soon as I made the gruesome discovery. “What did it say?”

  “Asked God for forgiveness and asked people to pray for his soul. Oh, and he said please don’t send Tigger to the shelter.”

  I glance around for the little dog.

  “Don’t worry. The neighbor took him.”

  I take a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  Sean listens quietly and patiently as the story of the secret room spills out of me. I tell him everything, from Henry and I finding Ty through to Crawford’s visit and Dennis’s knowledge of the room and photos. Sean’s expression never changes. I’m finding his lack of agitation a little unnerving. “So I couldn’t persuade either one of them to call 9-1-1. But I planned to tell you last night at dinner. But then you didn’t come home, and I knew you were distracted with the moonlighting, and then today was the sale—totally crazy...so.... Are you mad?” I finish in a tiny voice.

  Sean sits still.

  Very still.

  “Sean?”

  He twitches. “No. No, I’m not mad.” He stands up. “We need to search the house for those photos.”

  Chapter 37

  EVENTUALLY, THE POLICE say I can leave, but Sean stays at the scene. After what happened to Levi, I’m paranoid about the safety of everyone I love. When I get home, I call to check on Ty and Donna, and then on my dad and Natalie. Amazingly, Dad already knows the news. A neighbor called a member of Levi’s church, who called the Parks Center and now everyone there is buzzing.

  “Why do you think Levi would kill himself now, Dad, just when the sale is going so well and the Parks Center will be getting the money it needs?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad answers. “I’ve noticed a lot of closed-door meetings recently, some including Levi, some that take place when the other Board members know he won’t be around. I even spotted Dennis and Jared having coffee at Caffeine Planet.”

  Now what could that be about? Like any daughter who doesn’t want to worry her parent, I haven’t told Dad about the carjacking or the attack on Ty. “What do you know about Dennis’s childhood, Dad? Henry says Levi took Dennis under his wing when Dennis’s parents divorced and his dad moved away. But Dennis doesn’t seem to regard Levi as a father or grandfather figure—he always seems irritated with him.”

  “Ah, young people are often irritated with their elders. Dennis was very close to his grandfather, went along with him on carpentry jobs. His grandfather died about a year after his dad moved. It was that double-whammy that sent Dennis off-course for a while. Dennis credits the Parks Center for turning him around, not Levi specifically.”

  “Was Dennis at the Parks Center when the news broke? How did he react to Levi’s death?”

  “No, Dennis wasn’t there. No one has been able to reach him.”

  I hang up with my father and start making myself some dinner.

  After days of eating take-out, I feel the need for something healthy. Luckily, Sean has our fridge well stocked, so I get busy making a big salad.

  As I chop peppers and tear lettuce, I think about the photos from the secret room. Who were those people? With my hands occupied with mindless work, I let my brain relax. Soon an image appears: The class picture from the Ebenezer Foight School, 1964. How many Ebenezer Foight schools can there be?

  I put aside my salad ingredients and sit in front of my laptop at the kitchen table. Google soon informs me there’s only one Ebenezer Foight School, and it’s in a small town down near the shore. Bad news—it closed seven years ago. I scroll down the search results. Good news—there’s a Facebook group for Friends of Ebenezer Foight School—alumni, teachers, and staff.

  Ah, social media. Where would we be without you?

  The pictures posted in the group are snapshots and class photos through the years. Science Fair—1973, Spring Concert—1969, Mrs. Green’s Kindergarten—1982. Under each picture there are comments: “I’m in the second row with the goofy grin. Anybody know who that kid is beside me?” “Julie McNamara had a solo in this concert. I heard she later was a finalist on America’s Got Talent. Does anyone know if that’s true?

  I keep scrolling back through years of postings. I suppose it would be asking too much that a copy of the very photo from the secret room would be posted here. But among the photos, there are pleas: “Trying to reach Kevin Hartney, who was in sixth grade in 1971—anyone have contact info?” “Does anyone know what happened to Miss Pimms, who taught fourth grade back in the Sixties?” And remarkably, tons of people answer these queries.

  So I try it. “Does anyone remember a young African American woman who taught third grade in 1964? My aunt had her, but she can’t remember her name.”

  I post the message and return to my salad prep.

  Sean arrives home just as I finish.

  “Make your special vinaigrette.” I push the olive oil and balsamic towards him. “And tell me what happened when you searched Levi’s house.”

  Sean pours ingredients into a bowl without measuring. “No trace of those photos from the secret room anywhere in the house. And he never showed them to members of his church like he told you he would.”

  “Why was Levi trying to keep them secret?”

  Sean whisks furiously. “I think there’s some connection between the Tate bequest to the Parks Center, Loretta’s death, and Crawford’s rape case. Yesterday the Manhattan District Attorney filed charges against Crawford on third-degree rape, which is sex with someone too young to give consent. ”

  “Like your fifteen-year-old student. The parents and the girl finally cooperated?”

  Sean pours the dressing on the salad and tosses. “Yeah, because what happened is now wide open in the Bumford-Stanley community.”

  “Wait—I saw Crawford at the sale this morning.”

  “Out on bail. But the judge made him surrender his passport. Rich young rapists are considered a flight risk.” Sean sets the salad on the table, and we sit down to eat.

  “I’m surprised the Bostwick family lawyer couldn’t get around that.”

  “The Bostwick family lawyer probably could have. Unfortunately for Crawford, he was represented by some jailhouse shyster who showed him how to use his Mercedes convertible to post bond. Papa Frederic is playing hardball. No money for the boy.”

&nb
sp; “Good. Serves him right. So what’s the connection to Levi?”

  Sean sits staring at his arugula and sun-dried tomatoes.

  I wait. Nothing.

  “Sean, why did you tell me there’s a connection?”

  He flings his head back. “Because I need someone who will just listen to me!”

  “That’s what wives are for. Go.”

  “The chief of police is getting ready to back-burner the investigation into Loretta’s death. The medical examiner says he doesn’t have enough evidence to rule whether the mode of death is homicide or suicide. He’s sticking to his guns that it’s not an accidental fall though. Frederic Bostwick accepts that the ME will never rule the death an accident, and he’s willing to let it stand as a suspicious death. He just wants the family name out of the headlines.”

  “So since it’s not an ongoing investigation anymore, you’re willing to confide in me.”

  “I need someone to bounce ideas off. At the office, everyone says, ‘Let it go, Coughlin.’ Even Holzer is tired of listening to me.”

  Sean’s long-suffering partner has the patience of a saint, so that’s saying a lot. “Okay, let me play devil’s advocate. Why are you convinced it’s murder if the ME isn’t?”

  “First, I explored the possibility of suicide. I did a suicide profile. Had she ever had suicidal thoughts? Had she ever made a previous attempt? Did she leave a note? All no.”

  “But people commit suicide unexpectedly all the time. No one expected Levi to kill himself.” I pause. “But it’s weird they would both kill themselves within a couple of weeks.”

  Sean nods. “Exactly. I didn’t abandon suicide, but it was time to explore the possibility of murder. The biggest piece of forensic evidence pointing to murder is the bruises on her arms. The bruises on the right arm blended in with bruises caused by the fall. But everyone agrees the bruises on her left arm were made by someone grabbing her arm. But Loretta suffered from some weird blood disorder, which caused her skin to bruise very easily.”