by E B Corbin
“I’ll do my best to talk him into allowing the search,” Roxanne said before she turned to Callahan. “But I’ll need to pick up my car in the morning. Can you drop me at Kate’s?”
“We’ll take you to see the esteemed man of God.” Callahan indicated himself and Ron.
“Your vehicle has two bullet holes and cracks in the windshield on the passenger side,” Roxanne told him.
“Shit,” Callahan said. “I hope Murphy’s Garage has a windshield in stock.”
“We need to check out the car for evidence before you do anything with it,” Pete said.
“I guess I should have requisitioned a second car,” Ron said to no one in particular.
Callahan swiveled to face Ron. “Tiffany will be here sometime tomorrow. We’ll be back to two vehicles as soon as mine is repaired.”
“Tiffany? I thought she had another assignment.” Roxanne’s remark came out sharer than she intended.
“She wrapped it up in record time so the boss said we could have her back for our search.”
Great. I’ll be dealing with Tiffany again. Just what I need. Roxanne bit her tongue and swallowed hard before she said something she might regret.
Sam gave Roxanne and Callahan a quizzical look. “Who’s Tiffany?”
“Another DSS agent,” Ron explained. “She worked with us until about two weeks ago when she was reassigned. She knows the situation here. At least we didn’t get a newbie.”
“I’ll be happy to help if I can,” Sam said. “I have some training but you’d need to bring me up to speed on the particulars.”
“It’s a long, convoluted story,” Callahan said. “I appreciate your offer but your skills might be of more use to Pete now that he’s down to only one patrol officer.”
Sam laughed. “God. In all my years working in law enforcement, I never thought I’d beat the streets.”
“You won’t need to spend any time on patrol,” Pete assured her with a smile. “But your insights might be helpful to all of us. I’d appreciate any support you can give us.”
This was the first Roxanne had heard of Sam’s background. She wondered what line of work she was involved in but felt uncomfortable asking. It obviously had something to do with police work. And what had brought her to a small town in Pennsylvania? She remembered Vicki telling her about someone contacting her brother with questions concerning their father. Maybe Sam was with the Securities and Exchange Commission or some other agency involved in con operations.
Roxanne’s thoughts were interrupted by her mother’s next question. “Where do your insights come from?”
Sam clasped her hands in her lap and stared at the fire. “I was in a position to supply technical support when needed.”
“Support for whom?” Roxy prodded.
“The FBI.” Sam’s words were so hushed, Roxanne had to strain to hear them.
“You’re with the FBI?” Roxy made no attempt to hide her disapproval.
“Not anymore,” Sam said. “I spent ten years in a cubicle with little sense of accomplishment so I left last year.”
After Sam’s admission, the room went quiet.
“What do you do now?” Roxanne spoke with a gentle voice to counteract the harshness of her mother’s questioning.
The attractive blonde shifted in her seat. “I still do some consulting for them from time to time. But mostly, I do whatever I want.”
“What’s your connection to Vicki?” Roxy asked.
“I’d rather not say.” Sam watched the logs in the fireplace.
Pete broke the awkward silence. “We’d better be going. We all have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Roxanne thought about her upcoming meeting with Pastor Jones. Not something she looked forward to, but she’d committed to it and saw no way out.
- 12 -
Six new inches of snow made the trip to One Shepherd Chapel of Grace a bit treacherous but Roxanne was determined to get this visit over with. She only relaxed her death-grip on the steering wheel when she pulled into the enormous parking area. A man on a snow plow crisscrossed the lot, pushing the white powder into towering piles that left plenty of empty space in the middle. Thank goodness he’d started close to the building allowing her quick access to the main entrance.
The church soared nearly a hundred feet in the air. At the top of the large triangular structure, a silver cross gleamed in the morning light. The steep, sloped roof and colossal bronze double doors made the assembly area seem minuscule. Roxanne imagined the lofty ceiling had quite an effect on those who came to worship, giving the impression Pastor Jones’ words were winging straight to heaven.
Attached to the Chapel of Grace, a freshly-painted one-story building served as the office. It appeared to be the original place of worship and she wondered how Pastor Jones found the money to build the monstrosity beside it. This section of Pennsylvania was not known for its booming economy so she doubted the funds came solely from tithes of church members.
Roxanne headed for the smaller building hoping the black wooden door was the correct entrance. The snow may have stopped falling, but the bitter wind whipped around, stabbing at the exposed skin on her face. She kept her head down as she rushed to where she assumed the pastor could be found.
When the door refused to open with a tug, she spied a buzzer on her right. After one long punch, she heard a whir then a thunk as the lock clicked and she entered the warm refuge of the church office.
A pretty girl with braids greeted her with a smile and told her Pastor Jones was in his office. She appeared to be still in her teens and spoke his name with a reverence that made Roxanne want to throw up.
Certain the pastor was available to see her since he never turned away a person in need, his adolescent admirer led Roxanne down a long hallway covered with a deep burgundy runner. The rich theme carried into Pastor Jones’ office, where he sat behind a handsomely carved desk tapping at his computer keyboard.
He greeted her with such delight, it had to be phony. Somehow, she managed to hide her disgust long enough to persuade the pompous oaf to agree to Roxy’s search of the campgrounds without giving too many specifics.
However, it was a difficult sell. It had to be on his terms. He wanted to accompany them while they were on his land. Roxanne started to point out that the land belonged to the church, not him, then thought better of it. She swallowed the protest since antagonizing him would not help.
She knew Roxy would be unhappy with the stipulation but considered it unavoidable. Jones couldn’t keep an eye on the campgrounds 24/7 so if they gave him an estimated arrival time, maybe they could cover the most promising sections before he managed to join them. As they shook on their agreement his clammy hands grasped hers a little too long for comfort. When she rushed out of the stuffy office, it felt like an escape from the dungeons of hell.
While walking to her car, she inhaled a few lungfuls of the brisk February air, using it as a purifier. She noticed the man on the yellow snowplow had finished clearing the parking lot and sat inside the vehicle, smoking a cigarette. His head turned to watch her leave.
After another harrowing journey over slippery roads, she cruised into the driveway at Roxy’s cabin proud of her accomplishments thus far. Not only had she cajoled Callahan into dropping her at Kate’s to pick up her car, she wheedled the key to the campsite padlock from Pastor Jones with a promise they would not share it with anyone. Using the weather as an excuse, she told him she doubted they would begin the search today—she was sure Roxy would wait for better conditions.
When she gave Roxy the news, the older woman gave her a hug. “I knew you could do it.”
“But he could drop in at any point,” Roxanne cautioned. “He doesn’t know what we’re looking for and I think it’s sticking in his craw.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t push you for more details,” Roxy said.
&n
bsp; “He did. I told him I didn’t know what you were doing. That you told me you’d recognize what you were looking for when you found it—if you found it.”
“And he accepted that explanation?” Roxy asked.
“As far as I could tell. He gave me the padlock key, at least.” Roxanne pulled the tiny key from her pocket.
Her mother waved it away. “Well, he’s a sneaky old bastard, I’m pretty sure he’s already aware that we’re hunting for the cash. Half the local population knows we’re looking for a buried treasure. I wouldn’t put it past him to make a claim on the money if it’s on his land.”
Conor looked up from tying his heavy snow boots. “We’ll have to find it first. Then he’ll have to prove it was on his land.”
“It will be hard to hide what we’re doing when we’re traipsing around his campground. Even though I might conveniently forget to tell him exactly when we’ll be there, someone could see your car parked outside the gate.” Roxanne felt a prickle of discomfort with all the subterfuge.
“We’ll park out of sight and walk to the entrance. I don’t want you to take the blame for not informing him. If we can get a good head start before that goddam boor shows up, I’ll be happy.” Roxy groped in the closet and came out with a pair of heavy gloves. “And if he does show, I’ll ask why he’s so all fired up about watching over us. Does he think we’re going to steal a bunch of tents?”
“He could just be curious,” Roxanne said, then added, “Not that I’m sticking up for him. He’s totally obnoxious.”
Roxy dug through the closet, found a grey knit ski hat with a ball of fur on top. “We’ll deal with him when and if we find the stash. At least I’ll get a shot at judging whether he’s telling the truth. If he already found it, there’s not much we can do but at least I can let him know we’re onto him. Then I guess we can check one item off our bucket list.”
“But even if he found it, he didn’t do anything illegal.” Roxanne decided to backpedal when her mother glared at her. “I mean, if the money was buried on his land, in most cases it belongs to him as long as he made an effort to locate the original owner. In this case, that would be the IRA and at this point, I doubt he’d find any takers.”
“Pearse and Seamus might be interested,” Roxy said.
“They can’t very well go to court to claim it when they’re wanted for murder.” Conor stood when he finished tucking his pants legs in his boots.
“The same holds true for you,” Roxanne told her mother.
Roxy looked up from pulling on her boots. “Are you saying I’m a murderer?”
“No, but you have no legal claim on the money.”
“Are you saying I’m committing a crime if I donate the money to a good cause and don’t hand it over to some terrorists?”
“Might be,” Roxanne said. “You’d need to make an effort to find the legal owners as much as Jones would. I doubt anyone would stop you, but the IRA might make a claim.”
“Let them try.” Roxy dismissed her daughter’s concern with a wave of her hand. “We’ll worry about that when the time comes. We haven’t located any of the missing funds yet.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” She bit her lower lip hoping her mother turned the offer down.
“That would be great,” Roxy said. “It never hurts to have another set of eyes.”
Roxanne sighed. “I’ll need some sturdy snow boots.”
“I have an extra pair of Uggs. They’re old but should be warm enough. I’m sure they’ll fit. And we have a third set of snow shoes, too.”
“Snow shoes? You mean those contraptions that look like tennis rackets for your feet?”
“The newer ones are much smaller.” Roxy stuck her head in the closet. “They’re made of aluminum and polyurethane, not wood and rawhide. They also have grips on the bottom. You’ll need them. Especially with the new fallen powder from last night.”
Roxanne pulled on the boots, thankful she had the foresight to wear heavy wool socks. She was also grateful for the down-filled parka with the fur-lined hood. When her mother suggested it last night, Roxanne’s first instinct was to decline. But as soon as she slipped into the dark green jacket and felt the warmth it provided, she was glad to be rid of her Walmart special. “Do you have an extra pair of gloves, by any chance?”
Roxy threw two black mittens at her and proceeded to the door. “Let’s get moving. I don’t want to give Jones a chance to arrive before we do.”
Ten minutes later, they parked the rental off the road behind a small pine covered in snow, then put on their snow shoes before setting out. Unlike the oval shape Roxanne expected, the pair her mother handed her had grooved rims and vaguely resembled skis, though wider and about two feet long with grips that would never work for downhill skiing.
She had no trouble securing the snow shoes to her boots but she took one clumsy step and almost fell on her face. Her arms windmilled to keep her balance.
Roxy grabbed her with a laugh. “Lift up one foot at a time and keep your legs farther apart. You don’t want to step on one frame with the other.”
After a few practice steps, Roxanne decided she had the hang of it. If she needed to run, she was shit out of luck, but at least she could clomp along and still remain upright.
As they set out for the entrance to the campground, even Conor, who’d also never worn snow shoes before, displayed more grace in his stride than Roxanne. A couple of times she fell far enough behind that Roxy and Conor waited for her to catch up. Finally, they reached the gate.
To make it appear as if it had not been opened, Roxy closed the gate and wrapped the chain around it—reattaching the padlock without locking it. Since they couldn’t hide their footprints leading to the entrance, they could only hope no one noticed. In their favor, the country road carried little traffic at this time of year.
Once inside the property, a snow-covered path led further into the campgrounds. Roxy moved to the left side while Conor took the right. “Roxanne, stay about three feet behind us, towards the middle. You can check out both sides as we go along. That way, if we miss something, you might pick it up. At least we’re on level ground; that makes it easier.”
“What am I looking for?” Roxanne wished she’d never offered to help. How could she spot anything with all this snow? Everywhere she turned “no trespassing” signs glared at her. Despite the warm parka, boots and gloves, she shivered when a gust of wind blew past.
“Anything that might serve as a marker. Maybe a notch in a tree trunk or a boulder in a strange place. Liam was pretty lazy and I can’t see him establishing a difficult trail to follow. I think he’d look for some distinguishable natural landmark and settle for that—something he could spot even in a drunken haze.”
They started out moving at a snail’s pace. Roxy scrutinized one section at a time before she took a few forward steps. Conor did the same while Roxanne trudged along behind them, swiveling her head from side to side. Her arms crossed on her chest with her hands tucked into her armpits in an attempt to keep warm. This was crazy. But no matter how futile it felt, she forced herself to keep moving.
After an hour, Roxanne thought her feet and hands would crack off in the frigid conditions. They’d only covered a few hundred yards, when a voice boomed behind them. “You were supposed to notify me before you traipsed all over my property!”
Roxanne jumped, then struggled to keep her balance with a series of awkward maneuvers. Roxy and Conor turned to watch Pastor Jones follow in their footsteps. He wore a clerical collar underneath a long black wool coat, obviously not prepared for hiking through the snow. His arms flailed with each step as he advanced toward them in what Roxanne presumed were black dress shoes. The hem of his coat turned white, while his lower calves disappeared into the snow making it appear as if he were shuffling along beneath the ground.
They waited in silence until the man came c
lose enough to speak without shouting.
“You’re not properly dressed for this,” Roxy told him. “We were about to call you. We just got here ourselves.”
“Then why did a member of my flock phone me an hour ago? They saw a vehicle parked at the gate and asked what was going on at the campground. You had plenty of time to get in touch.”
Roxy and Conor exchanged a glance.
“At the gate?” It took an effort for Roxanne to keep calm and not screech.
“Yes.” The cleric frowned at her. “You assured me you would let me know before you trespassed on my property.”
“I, uh, I tried to call when we got here, but my phone died after two rings.” Roxanne hoped he believed her. “I forgot to plug it in last night.” She tapped her forehead with a mitten-covered hand.
“If I were a suspicious person, I might think you’re trying to cut me out of my share.”
“Your share?” Roxy didn’t bother to hide her disdain.
Jones raised an eyebrow. “This is my land.”
“I’m sure the good reverend means his church’s share.” Conor placed a reassuring hand on Roxy’s shoulder.
The pastor dipped his head. “Of course. Why would you even think otherwise?”
From the look on her mother’s face, Roxanne figured she had better step in before Roxy said or did something she’d later regret. “I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement on the cash once it’s found.”
“If it’s found,” Roxy said.
Jones scowled but nodded. “Well, we’re here now, so let’s carry on.”
Roxy made no attempt to move. “You said a car was at the gate. Is it still there?”
Jones nodded again. “Unless someone moved it.”
“What kind is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Jones snorted his answer. “Your black SUV, of course. What else would it be?”