Treasure in Exile

by S. W. Hubbard

  “Like most men, I spent my forties and fifties climbing the career ladder. My wife and I never had children and eventually we divorced. Then illness struck—and I became disabled. I retired early and moved here to be close to my sister’s family. And I had plenty of time to think. To think about the past and my family history, and those two old women in Palmyrton. Maybe if I still had my health, I would have driven up there and knocked on the front door and demanded to be admitted back into their lives. But my illness requires me to rely on others. I would have needed help to drive there, help to get up the steps into the house. And asking for help would have required an explanation to the helper. So I did nothing.”

  We all sit in silence for a while. The story has been fascinating, but there are still unanswered questions. I reach out for Martin’s hand. “There’s one more thing I’d like to know. Right after the end of World War II, the records show Vareena had a new kitchen built at the mansion, and above that kitchen, there was a secret room. Do you know anything about that?”

  Martin chuckles. “Ah, the secret room! Maybelle complained plenty about that old kitchen with its coal stove and ice box. Once the sisters realized they really did control the Tate fortune, they decided to modernize. Vareena hired an architect to design the addition.”

  “The Palmyrton Library History Room has a copy of the plans, but they don’t indicate any secret room.” I interrupt Martin to hurry the story along.

  Martin laughs again. “Well, it would hardly be secret if the most prominent architect in Palmyrton knew all about it. After the kitchen addition was built, Vareena realized there was a small, unfinished space above where the addition was tied into the main building. She wanted a place to keep her mementoes of Larry, a place away from prying eyes of workmen or visitors, where they’d never be discovered. So the sisters hired a carpenter, a man totally separate from the crew who’d built the kitchen, to turn the space into a secret room.”

  “That’s where we found the picture of your mother and her class,” I tell Martin.

  “Vareena filled the room up with cards Larry made for her, the pictures he drew. Later, she collected his outstanding report cards and stories about his athletic and academic achievements that were published in the East Orange newspaper. All the little treasures a loving mother keeps. And she and Maybelle kept photos of the other kids as well.”

  Perplexed, I interrupt his story. “But when we found the room, there were no articles about Larry Simpson. If there were, we would have figured out the connection a lot sooner.”

  Martin looks surprised. “My grandmother told me that was the purpose of the room. A secret shrine to Vareena’s son.”

  Whoever Ty walked in on in the secret room must have grabbed the scrapbook and photos of Larry. “Did the other kids know about the room?”

  Martin shakes his head. “Only Maybelle and Vareena and Cassie. And Cassie told me.”

  “And you never told anyone else?” Sean asks.

  “Never had a reason to until now.”

  “But one other person knew,” I insist. “The carpenter who built the room. Do you have any idea who that was?”

  “It was a young black man from Palmyrton. A fellow Maybelle was kind of sweet on for a time, according to Cassie.” Martin gazes up at the ceiling trying to remember. “Sykes. I think his name was Sykes.”

  Chapter 50

  SEAN DROVE BACK TO Palmyrton in record time and went straight to the hospital to interrogate Dennis. Of course I couldn’t go with him, but he’s promised me a full report when he gets home. Ethel sprawls across my lap as we wait for him.

  As I stroke her silky fur, I think of all the heartbroken mothers in this story, and the terrible sacrifices they were forced to make. Eula, who had to give up her baby girl to strangers to preserve the rest of her family. Vareena, who had to give away the dearest part of herself and her lost husband to protect her son from shame and poverty. And even Loretta, who knew her son was twisted, but loved him and wanted to protect him anyway.

  I run a hand across my flat stomach. If I get pregnant, will I feel that kind of devotion? Is it automatic?

  It wasn’t for my own mother.

  Ethel’s ears prick up. She hears Sean’s car before I do.

  I run to greet him and hand him the glass of wine I have already poured. “Talk.”

  Sean performs a series of back and neck cracking stretches, then settles in to tell all he knows.

  “First of all, Dennis is nobody’s fool. He lawyered up as soon as he woke up from his surgery. He made a deal to give us what we need to know to settle Loretta’s case and prove that Loretta gave Crawford the money to run. Dennis’s lawyer and Frederic’s lawyer have been working overtime. Dennis now claims the shooting was an accident. Frederic now claims Dennis simply requested a donation, no coercion involved.”

  “What?” I thump my chest. “What about me? I was an eyewitness, well, an ear witness, to the whole episode. Frederic pointed a gun at me and fired a shot at Mister Vargas.”

  “He fired a shot at the ceiling. His lawyer says the gun discharged accidentally. Both lawyers say you misunderstood. Without a recording, your testimony will be hearsay. Frederic will get charged with reckless endangerment and get off with probation. First offence, no prior history of violence.”

  “And a multi-million dollar net worth.”

  Sean offers a humorless smile. “Justice is different for the rich.”

  “What about Dennis? What will he be charged with?”

  Sean takes a long gulp of wine. “That guy is too smart. I gotta trust that one day he’ll trip himself up. But not today. He confessed to things that aren’t crimes and denied everything that was a crime, knowing we didn’t have enough other evidence to charge him.”

  “Did he pay that kid to steal my van?”

  “I’m sure he did, but there’s no proof. No fingerprints, and we can’t find the kid. I’m sure Dennis wanted the van to get that ledger because he feared his grandfather’s name would show up in the list of tradesmen.”

  “While you were at the hospital, I went to the library and looked at the ledger. There’s no Sykes listed, and no expenditures that I could see that would be attributable to that room. The ladies kept it off the books. Dennis stole my van for nothing.” I lean forward and grab Sean’s hand. “But what was Dennis doing? Did you figure that out?”

  “I think so, but I had to guess to fill in some blanks. When I got to the hospital, I told Dennis we’d talked to Martin Simpson and knew his grandfather had built the secret room. So with the lawyer there approving everything he said, Dennis told me this. When Dennis was a kid, his grandfather told him about a secret room he’d built in a big old house. It was a story Dennis had practically forgotten until the day the Parks Center inherited the Tate Mansion. When Dennis toured the mansion with the other Board members, the details of his grandfather’s story came back to him, and he was sure this must be the house where his grandfather had built the room.”

  “Did Dennis know why the room was built?”

  Sean gives me the evil eye. “Don’t rush me, Audrey.”

  I run an imaginary zipper across my lips and nudge him to continue.

  “Everyone on the Board was trying to figure out why Vareena Tate left her money to the Parks Center. Dennis suspected he knew the reason—his grandfather had been friends with Levi Jefferson Senior, who founded the Parks Center in 1968.”

  I can’t restrain myself. “Soon after Larry died!

  Sean nods. “Maybelle and Grandpa Sykes stayed friends, although Sykes was quite a bit younger. They must’ve discussed the Civil Rights Movement, and how Levi Senior was doing his part right here in Palmyrton. And Maybelle must’ve carried that home to Vareena. So after the sisters fell out with the rest of their family, they must’ve decided to leave the money to the Rosa Parks Center. If Dennis’s grandfather knew that was their plan, he never told anyone about it.”

  “So why didn’t Dennis tell the others his theory?”
/>   Sean arches his eyebrows. “This is where Dennis clammed up and we have to do some guesswork. I think Dennis saw an opportunity to play a long con that might bring the Parks Center even more money. He wasn’t sure it would work, but he wanted the chance to gather more information. You see, he remembered that his grandfather had told him the room had been built to hold a family secret, a secret that would” Sean pauses to make air quotes “ ‘shake up all the high and mighty white folks in Palmyrton’. ”

  “So he wanted the chance to get inside the house and find the room before I did,” I say.

  “I think so. I bet he’d heard about your previous exploits discovering family secrets in the houses you clear. That’s why he wanted Henry to have the job—Henry wouldn’t be so curious, and Dennis would be able to come and go at the house, no questions asked. I suspect Dennis had copied Levi’s key to the house and had been in there several nights looking for the secret room. Unfortunately for Dennis, the night he finally found it was the night Ty chose to study at the mansion. Dennis was exploring the room. He’d found the scrapbook about Larry Simpson. He found all the cards and drawings made out to VaVa, who must be Vareena. He noticed that Larry had much lighter skin than all the other family members whose pictures were displayed. And just as he was putting two and two together—”

  “Ty came up and interrupted him.”

  “Yep. Dennis panicked. He hit first and realized whom he’d hit later. He shut Ty in the room and ran.”

  I’m outraged. “Dennis was going to leave him there? What if Henry and I hadn’t found him? Ty could have died. Dennis should be charged with assault, attempted murder.”

  Sean chuckles. “Aren’t you all high and mighty? Let’s remember that at the time, you and Ty decided not to report the crime at all. And Ty didn’t see who hit him. Nope, Dennis is free and clear on that one. If it’s any consolation, the only time Dennis looked at all remorseful was when I questioned him about the attack on Ty.”

  “Humph. So Dennis knew Vareena was the mother of a black son. How did he find out who Vareena was, and that Julius had raped Eula?”

  Sean leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Don’t forget, Dennis had overheard the argument between Loretta and Levi on the night of the fundraiser. He was willing to tell me all about that. Just as you overheard, Loretta was siphoning contributions to give to Crawford for his escape. Levi had been cooperating because Loretta promised him years of big, steady donations from her family foundation. But when Loretta told Levi how much she needed to take from the fundraiser profits, Levi panicked. He didn’t think he could cover it up from Jared’s sharp eye, and he needed an infusion of cash right away for the plumbing and roof repairs.”

  “Did Dennis actually see Levi push Loretta?”

  “No, but Dennis said Levi was never the same after the party. He was a nervous wreck, and Dennis took advantage of that. He pressured Levi to tell him all he knew about Loretta. Dennis wanted to know why Loretta had suddenly taken an interest in the Parks Center. Turns out Levi had the same question when Loretta showed up on the scene. And when she approached Levi with her deal, Levi got her to admit that her grandfather had once done something that she felt required restorative justice.”

  “Restorative justice? That was the term she used?”

  “Yes. But that’s all Levi knew. So here’s where Dennis was very clever. He went after the weakest link to get the rest of his information.”

  I think for a moment. “Crawford?”

  Sean makes like he’s playing a fiddle. “Dennis played him good. Told him he’d help him get the money Loretta had been lining up for him if Crawford could tell him more about what Julius had done.”

  “So that’s why Crawford was looking for the photo at Birdie’s house.”

  “Yes. His mother had mentioned something about it, but then Crawford couldn’t find the evidence Dennis wanted.”

  “I guess Levi’s suicide pushed Dennis into action,” I say.

  “Yep. Dennis turned around and used all the information he gathered from the son to blackmail the father. Either he would get more money for the Parks Center, or he’d get the opportunity to create a social media frenzy around the injustice done to Eula and Vareena. Win-win.”

  I study my husband. He seems strangely relaxed. “You’re not making any arrests. Why aren’t you agitated?”

  “I’ve been reading up on life in Cambodia. High rates of dengue fever, malaria, typhoid, and sexually transmitted diseases. A really lousy health care system. Without a steady infusion of cash from home, Crawford will eventually get the punishment he deserves.”

  Then Sean offers his hands up to heaven. “And Dennis. Dennis is a con man. But he didn’t do it to enrich himself. He really did want all the money to go to the Parks Center.”

  Chapter 51

  A BANNER FLAPS IN THE autumn breeze. Welcome to the Grand Reopening of the Rosa Parks Community Center marches across the sturdy vinyl in perfectly designed type next to the new RPCC logo.

  “That’s a good-looking sign.”

  “It surely is. And look at that fancy new door.”

  The bake-sale ladies have gathered in a cluster on the repaved forecourt to admire the building before going inside for the festivities.

  Sean holds open the door. “Have you ladies been cooking and baking for this party?”

  “No, siree. It’s catered, so we don’t have to work and can just enjoy ourselves.”

  In the lobby, the mural of Rosa Parks has been retouched. She smiles down serenely with a whiter smile and a bluer dress. On the opposite wall, three new portraits now hang: Eula Simpson, Maybelle Simpson, and Vareena Simpson Soares Tate. Martin Simpson sits in his wheelchair right below them, the crowd milling around him.

  Sean and I elbow our way through to join him. Together we gaze up in silence. The artist has captured Eula and Vareena quite effectively by using the photographs of them as inspiration. But we never did find a photo of Maybelle. Sean got the idea of using the police sketch artist to draw Maybelle from descriptions given by the few people who knew her: Martin, Joan the librarian, and old Mr. Hyler from the garage. The portrait artist has breathed some life into that rather grim sketch, creating a painting of a purposeful older woman with a direct gaze and hair drawn back in a bun. Looking at her image, I feel like I’m reuniting with a long-lost friend.

  “What do you think? Does the painting look like Maybelle?”

  Martin smiles wistfully. “Not precisely, but it captures her spirit very well. I think she’d approve.”

  A dais with a podium sits at the far side of the foyer. Beverly Masterson, wearing a snazzy cream and gold suit, adjusts the microphone. As the new Chairman of the Board of Directors, this is her show. “Welcome everyone to this glorious event!”

  A smattering of applause, and the crowd falls silent.

  Beverly lifts her right hand to the portraits. “We are here today to honor the lives of three unsung heroes. Their suffering, their sacrifice, and their resilience have made this day possible. We are shining a light into the dark alleys of the past in hopes of building a bright future.”

  Whoops and cheers from the crowd interrupt the speech.

  Beverly continues, introducing the new Board of Directors, all business owners with roots in this neighborhood. She gushes on about their plans: branding, fundraising, a newsletter, career coaching, nutrition counseling, college readiness. It all sounds great, but penny-pincher that I am, I worry that the Parks Center will spend every cent it has inherited. “Did the sale of the mansion bring in enough to sustain all this?” I ask Sean.

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me so I’m forced to look at a corner of the room behind the dais. There stands a tall, thin man, hands clasped behind his back, eyes focused above the sea of faces.

  “What’s Frederic Bostwick doing here?”

  Sean massages my shoulders. “Jared and Beverly just nailed down a half-million dollar grant, payable over the next five years...” he pause
s for dramatic effect...”from the Scour-Brite Enterprises Foundation.”

  “Seriously? Frederic was willing to donate after all that’s happened?”

  “He went into seclusion after the episode with Dennis, but recently he’s emerged and thrown himself into the work of the Foundation.”

  I glance around at the crowd. “Where is Dennis? Is he persona non grata here?”

  Natalie glides up to us. “I believe Beverly made it clear he needed to find a new outlet for his...er...energies. Your father got an email from Dennis recently. He’s working on grassroots campaigning and get-out-the-vote efforts for the next Congressional election.”

  “Dennis certainly has the sharp elbows required for politics.” Sean guides us out of the crowd. “Let’s go downstairs and see the rest of the building.”

  In the downstairs hallway, I can’t resist looking up. The damage caused by the bullet that grazed the ceiling has been repaired. Then I look ahead and see a colorful sign: Math Explorers Welcome. Two little girls about ten years old stand in the hallway peeking into the room where five or six older boys have gathered. The girl with pigtails pushes the one with braids. “Go ahead. You said you were going to do it.”

  “I didn’t say for sure. I said maybe.”

  Dad appears in the doorway. “Hello, ladies. Would you like to learn more about Math Explorers?”

  Pigtails shakes her head. “Not me. Her.”

  “Well, come on in, Janna.”

  Her face is a mixture of longing and doubt. “Is Math Explorers hard? I’m only in fifth grade.”

  “Math is challenging.” Dad never sugarcoats the truth. “But I suspect you’re a young woman who enjoys a challenge.”

  She shifts from one foot to the other.

  Dad remains silent. Never one to coax.

  Go in, Janna. Go. Does telepathy work?

  I guess it must. Janna sways, then dashes into the room before she can change her mind.

  I hear my father’s voice happily projecting in lecture mode. “What do math and basketball have in common? Let’s find out.”