by Vickie Fee
“Okay, so there are springs here, you’ve seen signs around town about those, like the one in the pocket park, right?”
I nodded.
“The first businesses in town were built to accommodate people who started coming here because they believed those waters had medicinal properties. People who drank from and bathed in the springs claimed to have been healed of everything from heart disease to hot flashes. Those first businesses were built near the springs, which were also near a creek. Problem was, it was low-lying land and the creek had a habit of overflowing after a big rain and flooding the buildings.
“So in the late 1800s, the city devised a scheme to fill in and build up the land. Many existing stores built another story on top of the street level floor of their business. The second floor became the main entrance after the ground was raised. The way I understand it, a retaining wall was built along the street at where it met the sidewalk. In the basements of a couple of buildings in town they still have the original storefront windows that look out across the old sidewalk at the retaining wall. Over the years, most of these got altered and closed up. The spaces between the storefront and the retaining wall are referred to as ‘sidewalk tunnels.’”
“Wow. I can’t believe I haven’t heard about this before. I need to take the underground tour.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up too much. As I said, most of those original storefronts have been covered over and most entrances to the old tunnels have been sealed up, some of them have collapsed. You don’t actually get to go into any tunnels for safety reasons, I believe. But you get a peek into a couple of old sidewalk tunnels, plus some interesting history.”
I handed Trudy her latte.
“How do you pour swirls of milk on top and make it look so pretty. I’m sure if I did that it would look like a blob. What’s your secret?”
“The trick is not to over steam the milk. If you get it too frothy, it won’t create a sharp image. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”
“I’ll keep it under my hat, kid.”
“What’s that about the lavender glass?” I’ve seen a couple of those purple insets in the sidewalks.
“There aren’t many of those left, but they were originally installed to allow sunlight to filter through to the sidewalk tunnels. By the way, hon, your coffee’s not only pretty it tastes wonderful. No wonder you’re a pro.”
“Thanks, I’m glad you like it. The history about the tunnels is cool, but how does it help us?”
“Maybe Vince was able to see something through the cracked mortar that I couldn’t. Or maybe he has a map that shows a sidewalk tunnel on the other side of that front wall. It fits with Kendra’s buried treasure theory, and I couldn’t see any other reason he would have been fascinated by Linda’s basement.”
“Yeah, unless he likes the aroma of eau de stinky. I haven’t looked all that closely at the theater basement as I’ve been hauling boxes of Uncle Leon’s junk down for storage. You want to go down and take a look around?”
“Some other time. I’ve got to get back to the shop before George starts thinking I’ve run off with Edgar. He was sulking because you and I were going to Tudor House to talk to him. But I think it’s good for our marriage to let George feel jealous every now and then,” she said with a laugh.
CHAPTER 14
Upstairs, I continued the seemingly endless chore of clearing out boxes. I was sorely tempted to just take a quick peek in each box before trashing it, but reminded myself there could be something important, a letter or photo that might reveal something about my great uncle, or possibly even something that could shed light on the murder victim who had threatened him with blackmail.
Eartha Kitty joined me. Normally she’d just sit in one of the empty, or nearly empty, boxes. Or on top of my clean laundry—a favorite spot. But at the moment she was pawing and mewing at a box in the middle of a stack. I figured it was worth a look, so I moved the boxes and pulled that one out. I sat on the sofa, cross-legged with the box beside me, pulled out a stack of papers and laid it on my lap. Eartha promptly jumped into the box and settled in, peering over the edge at me.
First stack, second stack—nothing. I gently lifted the cat to reach another stack of papers. Underneath I discovered the reason, I think, Eartha was drawn to this particular box. A solitary tennis shoe that reeked. I retrieved it and tossed it on the floor. Eartha jumped down and nestled her head against the shoe. Apparently it smelled like Uncle Leon to her.
“You miss him, don’t you, girl?” I said, reaching down and stroking between her ears.
The new stack of stuff on my lap smelled a bit like old feet and included a photo album. I started paging through. There were some pictures of buildings around town. There were several photos of birds. Obviously, he had been something of a bird watcher. There was a nice picture of George and Trudy I set aside thinking they might like to have it. As I flipped the pages, some of the pictures shifted, and I could see there were pictures stuffed behind other photos. I fished them out and found more pictures of birds, a cute picture of Eartha and…What?
There was a faded Polaroid photo. I held the picture up to get a closer look. It was Uncle Leon and my grandfather, his brother. Their long hair and wardrobe told me it was the 1960s. So did the date stamp on the bottom of the picture: Aug. 6, 1968. I noticed a smiling little girl, peeking around my granddaddy’s leg. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was my mom.
What had Uncle Leon done to my grandfather that had made her hold a grudge against him for so long? In the photo, Granddaddy and Uncle Leon looked so happy. After staring at the photo for a couple of minutes, it yielded no answers and I tucked it into the desk drawer.
I flopped down on the sofa and pulled up the photos on my cell phone. I scrolled through to a photo of Josh. It was the last picture I ever took of him. I should’ve had him smooth down his unruly hair and tuck in his shirt. But then I thought, no. I liked it better this way. It looked just like him. I touched my index finger to the image of his face. I missed him so much it hurt. I swallowed hard and then brought up my Grammy’s number on the phone.
“Hi cupcake. How did your opening night go?”
“A man died,” I blurted out before proceeding to let all my woes tumble out to the one person in the world I knew truly loved me no matter what. I ended my tearful unburdening by telling her about my conversation with Mom.
“Gram, why can my own mother not stand me? She’ll hardly talk to me since Josh died. Does she blame me somehow? And why does she hate Uncle Leon?”
“My, my, that’s a lot of questions. I’ll start with the one about Uncle Leon. The answer is I don’t know. Other than her mother and father, she never liked to talk about her family, so I didn’t push. I’m just the mother-in-law, you know. Now concerning you, I can tell you that while she may have a hard time showing it sometimes, your mom does love you very much. And I don’t think she blames you or anyone, other than maybe herself, for Josh’s death. Like she should’ve known something was wrong sooner.”
“After he died, I tried to call and visit them more often, but it felt like Mom didn’t want me around.”
“Sweetie, you and Josh were so close, it’s hard for your mother. She can’t look at you without thinking of him. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I guess. But what am I supposed to do?”
“You just have to give your mom time. Josh’s loss is still an open wound for her—and your dad. But for what it’s worth, you’ve always got me out here in Sun City.”
“It’s worth the world, Grammy. Thanks for listening to me whine.”
“Call anytime, cupcake.”
Kendra had called and invited me over for dinner at her place. I headed over about eight thirty. I was dying to tell her about our little chat with Linda, and I was curious to hear how her “date” with Edgar had gone. She had said she’d leave the back door unlocked for
me. I let myself in and locked the deadbolt on the metal door behind me before jogging up to her apartment.
“Knock, knock,” I said, tapping on the door, which was slightly ajar.
“Hey, come on in. I hope you didn’t have your heart set on pizza, we’ve got Chinese take-out from Jade Garden on tonight’s menu instead.”
“Sounds—and smells—good to me,” I said, inhaling an aromatic medley of garlic, ginger, and soy sauce.
We usually sat on the sofa with our pizza slices on paper plates. But Kendra had set places at the table with real plates and paper napkins, so I took a seat in one of the dining chairs.
“We’ve got Kung Pao chicken, Moo Goo Gai Pan and spring rolls—and rice, of course. Help yourself. I kind of doubled up on chicken. I guess I should have gotten something like Moo Shu Pork to mix it up. But I’m just a chicken kind of gal,” she said with a broad smile.
“No complaints here.”
Kendra tucked into her dinner, expertly lifting bites to her mouth with chopsticks. I made a couple of clumsy attempts before reaching for a fork.
“I’ve never been very handy with chopsticks.”
“I wasn’t either until Joe showed me the trick to it. Most people hold the sticks in the middle. Here, hold them up higher, about a third of the way from the top,” she said as she demonstrated.
I gave it another shot, doing as she showed me. Still clumsy, but a little less so.
“I think maybe I could get the hang of this with a little practice.”
“How did it go with getting local bakeries to let you sell their sweets at the coffee bar?” Kendra asked.
“Pretty good. The Muffin Man, Donut Dealer and Tudor House are on board. Gisele at our Daley Bread didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no. She didn’t say much. She mostly eyed me with indifference, or maybe it was indigestion. Anyway, Trudy thinks she’ll come around.”
“That’s great.”
“By the way, I got to meet Edgar. Trudy and I chatted with him over tea and scones. He wasn’t exactly what I had expected. I’d imagined him looking more like a butler for some reason. How did your meeting go? Did he have any useful information?”
“Yes and no.”
“He did say Vince had expressed an interest in local history, especially concerning the tunnels.”
“The sidewalk tunnels? Trudy explained to me what those are.”
I told Kendra about my and Trudy’s excursion to Bell, Bath and Candle’s basement.
“Wow, that’s cool. Actually I think Vince’s interest in the sidewalk tunnels would only have been as they connected to other tunnels. The earliest tunnels were constructed in a failed effort to divert the creek that kept overflowing and flooding the town. Those tunnels were built years before the sidewalk tunnels and would be the ones possibly leading to natural caverns.”
“Which is the most likely location of any buried treasure, if I’m following you,” I said.
“Right. But I was also interested in whether Vince had a partner, so I asked Edgar if anyone else had shown an interest in the tunnels or treasure lore lately. He was cagey about answering those questions. I mentioned how I’d read different but persistent stories about Jessie James hideouts and how he even purportedly drew a treasure map on a boot. I was baiting him a bit, trying to gauge his reaction.”
“And?”
“He went very quiet. And Edgar is not the quiet type.”
“You’re right. He struck me as the extremely chatty type,” I said.
“I had the feeling there was something, or someone, he wasn’t telling me about,” she said, stabbing another bite of Moo Goo Gai Pan with her chopsticks.
“Well, Linda, the owner of the candle shop, was much more chatty and forthcoming with Trudy and me than Edgar was with you. Turns out Vince was not only a vandal, but a blackmailer, too.”
“Whaaaa?” Kendra said with her mouth agape.
I filled her in on what Linda had told us about Vince threatening her with blackmail, and I told her what George had said about Vince attempting blackmail against Uncle Leon, as well.”
“Wow. Has Linda told the cops? Should we tell the cops?” Kendra said.
“We asked Linda about that. She said she refused to give into his blackmail, twice apparently, and he never went public with the information he had on her. She thinks that makes him not-so-much a blackmailer as just a creep. She kind of has a point. Trudy and I talked about it and we don’t really have anything to take to the police.
“Good point,” she said.
“These spring rolls are really good,” I said, dipping the end of my roll in a bit of duck sauce.
“Yeah, they’re my fave,” Kendra said. “I’m beat,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “I discovered after my last group that one of the young kids had sticky hands, and he managed to get sticky stuff all over the jewelry heist room. I think I got most of it off the table, desk and case. He even left his sticky paw prints on the wall. I managed to scrub it off, along with some of the paint. I pinned the curtain over a bit to cover it. But when we’re closed on Monday, I’ll need to do some touch up.”
“I had to scrub sticky stuff off the floor in the theater. It’s a glamorous life, huh? Not that I’m complaining,” I said.
“Me either. Not much, at least. I’ll stop by the library before the escape rooms open one morning and check in with the reference librarian. See if anyone’s been researching hidden treasure or Jesse James lately,” Kendra said.
“Sounds good. Here, let’s see what our fortunes say,” I said, peeling the plastic wrap off one of the fortune cookies on the table.
“Mine says, ‘You will take a short trip with a tall man,’” I said.
“Oh, I like that one. Wonder who the tall, handsome guy is?” Kendra teased.
“Unfortunately, it didn’t mention anything about handsome. What does yours say?”
She read it silently and smiled. “Maybe this is a good omen. It says, ‘You will need a map for your journey.’ Maybe it’s a treasure map.”
Kendra yawned.
“I need to leave and let you get to bed. Thanks for dinner—and the company. Trudy, and probably George, too, are coming by for opening day of the morning coffee bar experiment at the theater. Why don’t you drop by? Having you all there will steady my nerves, and we can chat about our investigations.”
“I’ll be there.”
I left Kendra’s place, but didn’t much feel like going home. It was a quarter to eleven and there were lots of people still walking around downtown, so I decided to stop at the Wooden Nickel for a drink. I’d yet to meet Trey Tilby, the saloon owner, and hoped perhaps I could casually charm a little information out of him. I was curious to get a look at him after hearing George’s description.
Those wandering the street were mostly couples, many of them window-shopping outside the closed shops. I expected a similar crowd inside the saloon, but I was wrong. Other than one couple and three college-aged girls sitting in a booth laughing, I think I was the only woman in the place. Still, everyone looked harmless enough. I didn’t expect any brawls to break out.
Toward the back of the bar a man with a shiny shirt splayed open to reveal a large medallion nestled in his abundant chest hair had taken the jukebox hostage. He had an obvious fondness for disco and fancied himself John Travolta’s character in Saturday Night Fever. Judging by their laughter and the fact that they let him continue playing musical selections from the seventies, the twenty-something-year-old guys hanging out in his vicinity were enjoying his antics.
Two guys were tending bar, but I was able to quickly deduce which one was Trey. I took a seat at the end of the bar closest to where he was serving a customer. The saloon’s proprietor, dressed in jeans and a half-unbuttoned shirt topped by a leather vest, took payment from the customer and walked over to me.
“Hello, d
arlin’, what can I do for you?”
“I’ll take a Red Stone beer.”
I reached for cash in my pocket, but he waved his hand and said, “First one’s on the house.”
“By the way, I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’m Halley Greer, owner of the—”
He cut me off.
“Oh, darlin’, I know who you are. I’m Trey. I hope we’re going to become good friends,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake. I hesitated before placing my hand in his. He grabbed my hand firmly and lifted it to his lips giving it a slobbery kiss. I forced a small smile onto my face.
The young, wild-eyed guy working behind the bar took a few steps in our direction before leaning around to look at me. “Ooh, Trey, aren’t you the smooth operator.”
“Pay no mind to doofus here. He’s a little slow-witted. I hired him out of pity,” he said with a disquieting sneer leveled at his employee.
Doofus had a hangdog look as he turned and shuffled to the other end of the bar. Trey popped open my beer then popped one open for himself. He clinked his bottle against mine before I’d even picked it up and said, “Here’s to new friends.”
The disco standard by the Bee Gees playing on the jukebox was followed by that classic from the Commodores, “Brick House,” which put a spring in Trey’s step—and a gyration of his pelvis, as well. My head may have been bouncing to the tune as well, since disco was my mom’s favorite oldies music when I was a kid. Suddenly, Trey set the cocktail shaker down on the bar, faced me and traced an imaginary hourglass figure with his hands.
“Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six. Ow, what a winning hand,” he crooned. He punctuated his little performance by firing at me with a thumb-and-index-finger gun, followed by a wink.”
I tried to smile. The top number was definitely a generous assessment of my stats. I was strangely torn between feeling flattered and being creeped out. But leaning toward creeped out.
I had a growing feeling of indigestion and wondered how fast I could down my beer and make my escape. About then, Nick Raiford, who apparently had just entered the bar, walked up beside me.