Treasure Built of Sand (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series, #6)

by Hubbard, S. W.

  “Is she allowed to leave the shelter?”

  “Of course—she’s not in jail. She says she’ll be here today around ten-thirty—right after her morning counseling session.”

  “What about the Freidrich sale?” I hate to bring it up given all the emotional trauma Ty has had to deal with in my absence, but the whole point of my going to Sea Chapel without my staff was so that we could work on setting up two sales at the same time.

  “It’s a-l-l good. I got a little behind with Donna gettin’ hurt, but I had my friend Zeke helpin’ me yesterday and we all caught up.” Ty holds out his hands. “And don’t worry—you don’t hafta pay him. He owes me.”

  I figure I’m better off not knowing what that favor is all about. “Thank you, Ty.” I squeeze his hand. “I appreciate all you do.”

  “You know I always got your back, Audge. Donna says she has to do some work with the ads and the signs for the Freidrich sale today. Then tomorrow, the two of us will do the final pricing, and Donna can make the little shit look pretty like she always does. I think we’ll be all set by the time I have to leave with you on Friday. And maybe Zeke can help Donna on Saturday.”

  “So you don’t need me at all?”

  Ty slaps his leg. “You look like Grams when she comes home and sees I went and made dinner for Kyle and Lo and me without her.”

  I laugh along with him. This is exactly what I’m going to need Ty and Donna to do if I take time off with a new baby, but it doesn’t make it any easier to accept that I’m no longer essential to every aspect of my own business. Maybe now is the time to tell Ty that Sean and I are trying to get pregnant. I take a deep breath, but before I can speak, the office door rattles and Donna walks in.

  She stands in the doorway offering us a shaky smile. Her arm is in a sling and there’s something different about her eyes, but otherwise, she looks pretty good. Before I can say a word in greeting, Donna’s eyes well up and she uses the back of her good hand to head off the tears’ path down her cheek. Then the words tumble out faster than the tears. “I’m so glad to be here! Don’t look at my eyes! I had to give up wearing mascara ‘cause I’ve been crying so much. And don’t worry about the sling. I’m allowed to take it off. I’m just supposed to rest my arm when I can. I’m ready to work.”

  I move to hug her, but Donna marches past me to her desk. “Sean was a big help to me, Audrey. And Ty, well—” Her voice trembles. “I gotta stop talkin’ about it, okay? I just gotta work. Last night I scrubbed the oven at the shelter and that helped me more than all the counseling sessions. But the other ladies there are nice. They really are.”

  There’s nothing like being surrounded by people worse off than you to make you feel better about yourself. Even with one hand literally tied to her side, Donna can outclean three able-bodied women.

  Donna rips the sling off her arm. “Wouldja look at my desk! Oh my God—I gotta get this mess cleared up fast.”

  Donna sits down and begins sorting and stacking. In truth, all that’s on her desk is Saturday’s mail and a FedEx envelope. Ty and I exchange a glance and a grin.

  Donna’s back and on the road to recovery.

  Ty heads back to the Freidrich house. Once he’s gone, I expect Donna to open up to me about what’s been going on with Anthony and her family and life at the shelter, but she keeps her face buried in her computer screen and works silently. Occasionally, her phone chirps, but she doesn’t even glance at it.

  Messages from Anthony?

  Pleas from her mother?

  It’s hard for me to resist inquiring, but I do as the shelter brochure instructs, and butt out.

  Soon, my own phone chirps. Good—a message from Sophia: When are you coming back? I have to talk to you!!

  I’ll be back on Friday evening. What’s the matter?

  I’ll tell you when I see you.

  Call me now.

  I wait.

  Silence.

  Teenagers—so much drama! I should know a teenager would never use her phone to initiate a conversation. I’ll have to call her.

  Sophia’s phone rings endlessly and rolls to voicemail.

  A second later, another text arrives. I CAN’T TALK NOW!!! I’LL TELL YOU ON FRIDAY.

  Fine. At least I know the kid’s alive. Once I talk to Sean about what I’ve learned about Trevor, I’ll decide how to handle Sophia. Right now, I have work to do.

  The morning passes peacefully as I continue to track down potential buyers for Brielle’s high-end furnishings. At 11:45, I glance up to find Donna standing in front of my desk. “I updated our website, placed ads for both sales, posted pictures on Facebook and Twitter. I’m going to grab some lunch and then go help Ty at the Freidrich house.”

  I study Donna’s face. Despite this burst of efficiency, she seems edgier than when she first arrived in the office. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.... sure...I’m good.” She hitches her big purse up onto her good shoulder. “Did you need me to do something else before I go out?”

  “No—have a good lunch.” Still uneasy, I watch through the window as she walks toward her car. Maybe I’m being overly protective. It’s true I’ve never, ever seen Donna without eye makeup, even when she’s scrubbing floors. Maybe that’s why she looks forlorn and nervous to me.

  I find some not-too-old yogurt in the office fridge and some not-too-stale almonds in my desk drawer and keep working. By late afternoon, Sean calls with an update. “Deirdre and I have everything set up at Granda’s house. I’m working on the care schedule. You get first choice.”

  Hmmm—sooner, when he’s all drugged up and more dependent, or later when he’s less fragile but more ornery? “How about Wednesday evening.”

  “THERE’S NOTHING AT our house for dinner tonight,” Sean confesses.

  “I’ll pick up a pizza and some beer on my way home. But first, I have to get Ethel. See you in an hour.”

  I leave the office for the day, double-locking the door behind me. As I walk along the tree-lined street, a low rumble vibrates the cool fall air. Glancing over my shoulder, I see a large, low black sports car idling by the curb. Two plumes of noxious fumes rise from the twin chrome exhaust pipes. A muscle car! He can’t do much drag racing on a suburban street lined with parked cars.

  As I prepare to tootle off in my Honda, the car peels out and speeds away.

  Chapter 15

  When I reach Dad and Natalie’s apartment, there’s a post-it note stuck to the door:

  Audrey, come in.

  I test the doorknob and it turns. Good thing Sean’s not with me or the first fifteen minutes of the visit would be a lecture on why two people in their late sixties should not sit around with their door unlocked and a note inviting thieves and murderers to enter. I walk in calling, “Hi, I’m here.”

  Ethel races down the hall and hits my solar plexus at about thirty miles per hour. We dance in joyful reunion until it dawns on me that no humans have greeted me. I walk further into the apartment and discover Dad and Natalie sitting in their living room staring at their Alexa speaker. Dad points to a chair. “Shh. We’re listening to Gregory.”

  Ah, their favorite podcast, Gregory Halpern’s The World in a Week. Sean and I like it too, but we’re not fanatics like Dad and Natalie. They tune in as soon as a new episode is released. I listen to the mellow voice emanating from the speaker.

  “And that’s how the world looks this week from Sri Lanka.”

  The closing music begins. “The World in a Week with Gregory Halpern has been brought to you by our sponsors...”

  “Alexa, off,” Dad commands. Then he gets up to kiss me on the forehead. “Sorry to make you wait. This episode was positively gripping.”

  “Mesmerizing,” Natalie adds.

  “Do you two ever miss an installment? Sean and I liked the episodes on Peru, but I gotta tell you, the Shetland Islands was a little slow.”

  Natalie jumps up to fix us some tea. “Some episodes are better than others, I suppose, but we just love G
regory himself. Listening to him is like having a conversation with an old friend. We feel like he’s right here in the room with us.”

  “And now we’re going to get to meet him,” Dad says. “I hope that doesn’t destroy the magic.”

  “Meet him where?”

  “He’s giving a lecture at Drew University on Thursday. We’ve had our tickets for months. And this week, we got invited to the reception after the lecture. Gregory’s mother, Lorraine, worked at the hospital for many years. She and I are old friends, and she invited us.”

  “Oh, so that’s how you two discovered the podcast. You knew Gregory before he was famous.”

  “Knew of him. His mother would share her worries about him with me. Gregory was a real free spirit, and when he dropped out of Columbia Law School, his father cut off all financial support.” Natalie pours hot water over my Yogi green tea bag. “Lorraine was beside herself with worry when Gregory said he was going to the Mideast to work as a freelance reporter. He knocked around over there for years, looking for adventure in war zones, earning just enough as a stringer for the Times to hold body and soul together.”

  “And then he hit upon this idea for the podcast,” Dad dunks a Lorna Doone in his tea, “and in two years he has five million subscribers and makes a bundle.”

  “I always knew he’d turn out just fine,” Natalie says. “Of course, now his parents are just as proud of him as can be.”

  We sit and sip tea as I tell Dad and Natalie about my sales and Sean’s grandfather and Donna’s husband. When my father leaves the room to collect Ethel’s toys and dog blanket, I lean across the table and whisper to Natalie. “Another month and I’m still not pregnant. I’m worried, Natalie. Do you think I should go to a specialist and get checked out?”

  My stepmother purses her lips and thinks for a moment. She’s not one for hasty responses or reassuring platitudes. “There’s no harm in running a few tests and finding out early whether you have a problem or not. The best fertility doctor in Palmyrton is Dr. Karl Stein. He has a long waiting list, but I can get you in. I know his scheduler. But you’ll have to take someone’s cancellation. Are you flexible?”

  “Sure. I can go any time, as long as it’s not during a sale.”

  Natalie scrolls through the contacts on her phone and has a quick conversation, finishing just as Dad comes back into the room. “Tomorrow at three? Wow, that’s quick.” She looks at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Sure, that’s great.”

  I asked for this. I got it.

  NEXT, ETHEL AND I HEAD to Rocco’s to pick up the pizza. The dog rides shotgun with her head out the window and her ears rippling in the breeze. Her nose twitches as we pull into Rocco’s parking lot, where the kitchen exhaust fan blasts a hot wind of deliciousness even my lame human nose can detect. Ethel scrambles to exit the Honda.

  I pull her back and raise the window until it’s only open a crack. “You have to wait in the car.”

  Ethel’s big brown eyes convey a level of shock and disbelief usually only seen in stunned tornado survivors.

  “I won’t be long.” I look back at her when I reach the sidewalk. She has one paw pressed against the passenger window. “I’ll bring you a meatball,” I shout and hurry inside.

  When I open the door, I’m clobbered by a wave of aromas that would send Ethel into sensory overload: garlic, basil, tomato sauce, and molten mozzarella. As always, there’s a long line at the counter where the pick-up order line and the place order line intertwine in front of the display of pies and strombolis. To my left, every booth is filled: frazzled parents feeding their kids while on the run to some activity, early-dining old folks, and most notably, rowdy teenagers. As I wait to give my name to the counter person, I notice one booth crammed with boys in familiar maroon clothing—it seems to be the starting line-up of the Bumford-Stanley lacrosse team.

  “Yo, Wells—how come you didn’t catch that pass?”

  “’Cause you throw like a girl, douche.”

  “Oooo.”

  “We coulda kicked their asses if—”

  “Hey!” Rocco himself sticks his head out into the dining area. “You punks watch your mouths in my store. You wanna talk trash, go somewhere else.”

  A kid at the end of the booth stands up. “I’m sorry, sir. My friend here doesn’t know how to behave in a fine dining establishment.”

  The rest of the gang collapses in laughter, and Rocco scowls and returns to the kitchen. When a tall man in front of me steps away with his order, I have a clearer view of all the boys. One of them is Austin Gardner. I watch him for a second then look away. He seems to be comfortably in the mix with his friends, and no worse for wear for being up half the night driving around New Jersey. He sits with an arm extended along the back of the booth, and occasionally he nudges the head of the kid sitting next to him. The other kid shoots him an annoyed look and squirms to get away, but he’s packed in too tightly to avoid Austin.

  Friendly horseplay or harassment, who can tell?

  Finally, I make it to the counter. “Pick-up for Nealon.”

  The counterman scans the stack of pizza boxes staying warm on top of the oven. “I don’t see nuthin for Neil.”

  “Neal-on,” I shout over the hub-bub around me. “Audrey Nealon. Mushroom pie, Caesar salad, and an order of meatballs.”

  “Aw-right—ya don’t hafta yell.”

  I take my order, pay, and escape. Out in the parking lot, I struggle to hold my pizza level while opening my trunk. There’s no way I can trust Ethel with this in the back seat.

  “I’ll hold that for you,” a male voice behind me says. Two hands relieve me of the box while Ethel barks and scratches inside my Honda.

  I spin around and find myself face-to-face with Austin Gardner.

  “We meet again.” The kid is tall. I’m forced to look up at him.

  “Yeah. Small world.”

  There’s an awkward silence. He clearly followed me out here. What does he want?

  Austin shifts his stance. “Hey, listen—about last night...uh, like, there was this envelope that was under my mattress. Were you the one who...like...”

  “Moved it to the drawer. Yes. I stripped the sheets off the bed because your mother said she wanted all the bedding sold. I found the envelope and put it in the drawer with your clothes. I figured you might want that and the clothes.”

  “Yeah...uh... but did you open it and read it or anything?”

  “Of course not! I don’t read private mail that I find in my clients’ houses. I alert the owners that they might have left something important behind.”

  Austin’s eyes widen. “You told my mother?”

  “I texted her that there were some clothes and mail left behind, but I don’t think she ever responded.” I reach for my phone to look over the thread of messages between Brielle and me.

  But Austin isn’t interested. He thrusts the pizza box back at me and takes off like he’s chasing a lacrosse ball down the field.

  Chapter 16

  Ethel bounds into our house and races around sniffing every corner. As much as she loves my dad, she’s clearly glad to be back on duty guarding our house. Once she’s assured herself that no squirrels or other terrorists have gained access in her absence, she settles under the kitchen table and waits for the action to begin.

  Sean arrives as I’m setting the table. While we eat our Italian feast, I tell my husband about everything that’s happened to me since he kissed me good-bye at Brielle’s house: the jetty rescue, Sophia’s suspicions about Trevor’s death, Austin’s visit, and the encounter at the pizza parlor.

  Sean listens without interruption.

  I’m careful to tone down the danger of what happened on the jetty. I make it sound like we both skipped easily over those rocks. The fear I felt at the time has receded, and now I’m more freaked out by the business with Austin.

  “So what do you think I should do?” I ask after I lay out all the details. “How can I make sure the police get Sophia’s
information? And should I tell Brielle about her son’s visit?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Austin,” Sean says. “The kid probably had a stash of coke or pills in that envelope that he’d forgotten about. The names were probably kids that he sells to. Raced down to get his product and discovered you’d moved it. Believe me, his mother won’t thank you for opening her eyes to what her precious boy is up to.”

  “It’s so handy being married to you.” I give my husband a second beer. “You always know the most plausible criminal activity any given person could be engaged in.”

  “Thanks. I try.” He takes a swig from the bottle. “I’m not sure I can be so helpful regarding Sophia.”

  “Can’t you call those Sea Chapel cops you met on the beach and tell them to talk to Sophia? If they come to her, she won’t feel like’s she ratting. I hope.”

  “Those guys weren’t detectives. The Sea Chapel police force is five patrolmen in the off-season. In the summer they hire a few cadets from the police academy to break up bar fights and keep the house parties from getting too rowdy. They haven’t had a murder since 1986, and that was an open and shut case because the killer was still holding the knife when the cops drove up. Trevor Finlayson’s murder is way more than they can handle. The chief is sixty-four-and a half and just putting in his hours until retirement. I told you, they turned this whole case over to the Ocean County Sherriff’s department. And those guys really don’t want any interference from the likes of me.”

  “Not even if it’s important evidence? I’ve never known you to advocate withholding information from the police, even if there’s a turf war going on.”

  “Not withholding. Believe me, the sheriff’s department will interview all Trevor’s friends soon. And when they do, your girl Sophia better be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what?”

  Sean chews his pizza with his eyes half shut. Is he luxuriating in its greasy, cheesy goodness or contemplating what I’ve told him?