Unbinding Love: An Angela Panther Mystery Novella (The Angela Panther Mystery Series)

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “There’s still two million missing.”

  “Holy crap. That’s a lotta cash. Do you know where it is?” After the words left my lips, I realized he probably did, as did his wife.

  “No, and that’s the problem. I thought it was buried in her backyard, but I’ve looked and can’t find it. I’m worried if I don’t, they’ll use my son to get it. I think they think he or his grandmother knows where it’s hidden.”

  “Looks like we’re gonna do some gardening,” Ma said. “Pronto. You got college educations to pay for.” Her expression told me she was only half kidding.

  “So Aaron knows all of this?” I asked.

  Both ghosts shook their heads.

  “But he knows about the money, right?”

  They shook their heads again.

  I glanced at Mel and gave her the last bit of information.

  “Holy Monopoly money.”

  “I don’t think it’s the fake stuff. Call your man. He needs to know.”

  Mel hesitated. “You know what we could do with two million dollars?”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’,” Ma said.

  “Really, sometimes I think you should be my mother’s daughter. You two are more alike than you know.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with that,” Ma said. “’Cept a course we got different shaped eyes.”

  “If Fran was Asian, we could be,” Mel chimed in.

  “Good grief,” I said, moaning. “Call Aaron, please.”

  She did, and an hour later Aaron had a team digging up Emma Marx’s backyard while we were in the front yard, giving him an earful of the latest.

  “The boy is with his grandmother still, right?” I asked.

  He nodded. “We’ve got eyes on them for the time being, but the Marshals want to take over the case. I’m just not going to let that happen.”

  “I still don’t get why Emma’s mother doesn’t want Bill to see his son,” Mel said.

  “Probably because he’s a criminal,” I said.

  “Ain’t nothin’ good about stealing money,” Ma said.

  I narrowed my eyes at her, considering that she’d suggested we have a dig-fest in Emma’s backyard just an hour before.

  “That ain’t the same,” she said. “Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

  “Good grief.”

  Aaron and Mel watched what looked like me talking to myself and mumbled quietly to each other.

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this,” he said.

  “You and me both, but at least we have each other to share the craziness with.”

  He leaned his shoulder into hers. “Pretty happy about that.”

  “Me, too.”

  Their romantic moment was cut short when an officer spoke to Aaron on his mic.

  “Detective Banner, Officer Meadows. Uh, we’ve got a situation back here.”

  Aaron responded. “Go ahead, Meadows.”

  “There’s no money under the dogwoods.”

  “Did you check under the deck?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s all clear, too.”

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Bill said. “She did it. She really did it.”

  “Did what?” I asked.

  “Moved the money. Just like I told her.”

  I glanced at Aaron. “She moved the money.”

  “Where to?” he asked.

  I directed my attention back to Bill. “Well?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have a clue.”

  When I told Aaron that, he swore, and Mel didn’t give him a hard time about it because she swore too.

  “Pack it up, Meadows,” Aaron said. “We’re finished here.”

  “Guess we’re goin’ money hunting now,” Ma said, and she and Bill shimmered away.

  “So let me get this straight,” Aaron said, pacing as he spoke. “Bill keeps two million dollars, does we don’t know what with it, and before he dies, makes sure his ex-wife knows. She buries the money in her new backyard after Bill is murdered and then dead Bill tells her to move it—I’m curious to know how that happened by the way. She moves it to God knows where, gets an envelope from an unknown source, sends the kid to his grandmother’s, and then she allegedly falls down the stairs to her death.”

  A nagging pounding in my head increased and I grimaced, knowing it would get worse before it got better. “Sounds about right.”

  “So what do we do?” Mel asked.

  “We don’t do anything. I have a case to solve. The medical examiner should get back to me soon with the results of Emma Marx’s autopsy and we’ll know if her death was a homicide or an accident.”

  ***

  It was late, and the moon lit up the sky. Aaron paced up and down my driveway. “Are they back yet?”

  I checked the time on my phone. “It’s only been an hour.”

  He shook his head. “If they can’t find the money, then I’ve got to.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “What can I do?”

  “I need names. Who did Marx testify against? I know it’s the Texas Syndicate but I don’t have time to go through the case info and the Marshals don’t want to play nice. They’re fighting to keep the case. I need to know who specifically so I can find out who’s trying to get the money ”

  “Hold on.” I wiggled the tip of my nose with my finger. “Fran Richter, come on down.” My imitation of the Price is Right announcer made me giggle, but no one else.

  It didn’t work.

  “Ma, come on. We need you.”

  Still nothing.

  “Bill?”

  Nada.

  “Bueller? Anyone?”

  Then it hit me. “Oh for the love of Mike. Petronilla, please.”

  My mother appeared. “What now? I’m on a money hunt, ya know.”

  Bill popped in beside her. I refrained from smacking them both upside the head, but only because they didn’t technically have heads, and she was my mother, and scared me.

  “Bill, who did you testify against, and who would still be out for that money now?”

  Mel grabbed her notepad again.

  “Jesus Hernandez,” he said. “If you Google him, you’ll find him. He’s part of the Mexican mafia, and not someone you want to mess with.”

  I reiterated that to Mel and Aaron.

  “I’m on it,” Aaron said. He kissed Mel and jogged to his car on my street.

  “We done here?” Ma asked. “We just got started, tryin’ to find the money. We got a lotta work to do.”

  I flicked my hand. “Yes, we’re done. Go. Find that cash.”

  “You betcha,” she said, and they both shimmered away.

  “Two million dollars,” Mel said. “That’s a lotta bank. Where could Emma have hidden it?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me. I wouldn’t be able to hide it. I’d spend it.”

  Mel laughed. “Me, too.”

  “It’s late,” I said. “Maybe we should get some rest and worry about this in the morning?”

  “Or maybe we should go back to Emma Marx’s house and see if we can find any clues?”

  “Um, the last time we broke into someone’s home we ended up barfing all over their bathroom, remember?”

  “Totally different. We already know there’s nothing rotting in Emma’s house.”

  “Maybe, but we’ll still be breaking and entering, and that’s illegal.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You always get caught up in the details.” She practically bounced into my kitchen and grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter. Back in the garage she skipped over to me and grabbed my arm. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “Yeah, getting arrested sounds like a blast. Can’t wait.”

  “I have connections, remember?”

  “Good grief.”

  Mel put the pedal to the metal and drove like a crazy woman back to the Marx house. I only feared for my life twice, thankfully. Once there, we sat in the car on the street and stared at the house. “So, what do you suggest we do, boss?” I asked.

  Sh
e pointed to her chest. “Boss? Me? Nope. I’m just the sidekick. You’re the boss.”

  “Uh, not in this situation, no. This was your idea, buddy, not mine.”

  She shut off the car. “Yup. You’re right. So let’s do this.”

  “And what do you propose we do?”

  “Uh, duh. Go in and search for anything that might lead us to finding the cash, obviously.”

  “I’m so going to regret this. I just know it.”

  “Don’t be a spoil sport.” She got out of the car, and I followed suit, though I really didn’t want to.

  The front door was locked, but that didn’t really matter.

  “Why, summon the great Petronilla, of course,” Mel said, giggling.

  So I did, but I coughed a little while doing it. “Petronilla, we need your assistance, please.”

  “Ah, I love that. The way the name rolls off your lips. Petronilla. So beautiful. So much better than Fran,” My mother said, after shimmering in with Bill Marx by her side. “And whatcha doin’ here?”

  I pointed to Mel. “This is her idea. She thinks we might be able to find something that’ll lead us to the money.”

  Mel got that my mother was there. “If we find the money, we turn it in and eliminate the threat to Justin. There’s got to be something here that’ll lead us to where she hid the money.”

  “Why can’t we just ask Emma?” Ma asked.

  “She’s not really been all that forthcoming with information, Ma.”

  “Have you tried lately?”

  I hadn’t, so I shook my head.

  “Well, come on then,” she said, and flicked her arm. “I gotta teach you everything, don’t I?”

  I did my best to summon Emma Marx. I focused on her face, talked to her out loud, and in my head. I told her we wanted to help her, to keep her son safe, but she didn’t show. I didn’t know if she’d heard me or not. The last I saw her she was lost and confused, and it was very likely she would remain that way until she came to terms with the fact that she was dead. I had no clue how long that would take.

  “Well, that didn’t work,” Ma said. “Guess we gotta go in and start lookin’.”

  “The door’s locked,” I said.

  Ma disappeared and seconds later the door swung open.

  Mel smiled. “Ah, the perks of having a ghost around.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  We kept the lights off and used the flashlights on our phones to look around. “Bill, what do you think we should look for?” I asked.

  “I’m not quite sure.”

  “You’re not helpful,” Ma complained. “Think about your wife. What did she like? What meant something to her?”

  Go, Ma. Who’d have thought she’d be so intuitive?

  Mel made her way into the family room, and seconds later we heard a loud thump, something fell and crashed to the ground and Mel dropped an F-bomb.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She dropped another F-bomb, so I assumed she wasn’t, and did my best to get to her in the dark. “What happened?” I shined my light around the room and gasped. The room was in shambles. Pictures once hung on the wall were scattered on the floor. The couch and chair were upturned with the pillows thrown aside. Tables were flipped over, the glass on them cracked. The gas logs from the fireplace were tossed onto the carpet. Framed family photos had been ripped from the frames, the frames broken into pieces on the floor. The corner desk was trashed, papers and other desk items strewn haphazardly around the room. Mel lay on the floor, her left leg bent one direction, her ankle twisted another.

  “Ouch,” I said. “That’s gotta hurt.”

  “It does, like a son of a beach ball.”

  I suppressed a giggle. Mel must have forgotten the few F-bombs she’d just dropped, or else she remembered them and repented. “Let me help you up.” I bent down and pulled her to stand, but she pushed back and sat on an old trunk near the fireplace.

  “The trunk,” Bill said. “That’s it. That’s something special to Emma.”

  “The trunk,” I said.

  Mel glanced down at her seat. “What about it?”

  “It’s the only thing she was allowed to bring from our previous life. It’s got to be a clue,” he said.

  I filled Mel in and grabbed her hand, pulling her up. She hopped over to a chair, which my mother somehow flipped upright without touching.

  “Thanks, Ma,” Mel said. She glanced at me. “It was Fran, right?”

  “Petronilla. Shine your light over here. I’ll check it out.”

  I searched the trunk, but it was empty. “There’s nothing here.”

  Bill floated over. “The bottom comes out. Push down on one side and pull up on the other.”

  I pushed down on the left and the right side popped up, so I latched onto it and pulled it up. The entire bottom lifted off. I tossed it to the side, and flashed my light into the trunk, and hit gold. Well, something pretty darn close to it at least.

  Mel hobbled over from the chair? “What is it? Cash?”

  “Ah Madone,” Ma said.

  Mel latched onto my arm and leaned over to peer into the trunk. “What the?”

  “That’s what I said,” Ma said.

  I shook my head, not at all interested in playing interpreter for them. I stared at the single small item in the trunk. “Well, that’s not what I thought it would be.”

  “Not so much,” Mel said.

  I bent down to pick up the white envelope and Mel, still attached to my arm, stumbled forward, crashing into the trunk headfirst.

  Ma let out a laugh so loud I swore the room shook. I grabbed Mel’s waist and yanked her out. Leaning on me for support, she hobbled back to the chair, singing a stream of curse words the whole way.

  She’d retrieved the contents of the trunk during her head dive, and handed it to me. “Remember when you lost your virginity?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “The first time you had sex? Remember it?”

  Ma hovered next to Mel, eyes wide, nodding repeatedly. “Yeah, I remember mine. Wasn’t all that and a bag a chips, you ask me. Kinda a let down.”

  I realized where Mel was going with her question, but opening the trunk and finding the envelope wasn’t the same as losing my virginity. “Not a valid comparison.” I flipped the small white envelope in my hand. I almost made a crack about the flimsy envelope and my high school sweetheart but couldn’t bring myself to knock him, the memories too sweet to stain with sarcasm.

  “Well, whadda you waitin’ for?” Ma asked. “Open the darn thing.”

  I glanced at Bill. He simply shrugged, so I carefully opened it and pulled out a single piece of paper. “Ten twenty-five.”

  Mel tilted her head. “Huh?”

  I showed her the paper. “That’s what it says. Ten twenty-five.”

  I held the paper to Bill. “What’s it mean? Any idea?”

  He shook his head. “Not a clue.”

  “Well that’s what it is,” Ma said. “A clue.”

  “I think you’re right,” I said.

  “Who’s right?” Mel asked.

  “Ma thinks it’s a clue.”

  “A clue to what though?”

  I shrugged. “No clue.” I glanced at Bill. “It’s got to mean something. Think about it. Ten-twenty-five.”

  He shrugged. “I just don’t know.”

  “An anniversary?” Mel asked.

  When Bill shook his head, I shook mine too.

  “Birthday?” Ma asked.

  “Not a birthday either,” I told Mel. “Bank code?”

  Another head shake from Bill.

  “Garage code?” Mel asked.

  “Part of a license plate?” I asked.

  Bill just kept shaking his head.

  After running through every possible option without success, we gave up. I needed to get Mel home to ice her sprained ankle anyway.

  I played interpreter on the ride hom
e, filling Mel in on what Bill and my mother said.

  “We need to tell Aaron,” she said.

  “Jesus Hernandez,” I said.

  “The Mexican Mafia man?” Mel asked. “What about him?”

  “Maybe the number has something to do with him?”

  “Like a case file or something?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Call Aaron.”

  She put him on speaker and we gave him the 411.

  “You need to go to the ER,” he said. “Your ankle could be broken.”

  I rolled my eyes. Boyfriend had taken precedence over detective. I made a mental note to tease the crap out of him about that.

  “It’s not broken,” she said. “Just sprained.”

  “And that’s not the point of the call,” I added. “The point is the numbers. Ten-twenty-five. It’s a clue, Aaron. At least we think it is.”

  “First, let’s discuss the breaking and entering, into the crime scene of an active investigation, nonetheless.”

  My eyes met Mel’s.

  “Ouch,” she said. “Maybe I should go to the hospital. My ankle really hurts.”

  I gave her a thumbs up.

  “Nice try, babe,” Aaron said.

  I flipped my thumb down.

  “Do you know what kind of trouble you could be in for this?” he asked.

  “First of all, we did not break in,” I said. “The door was unlocked. And we didn’t disrupt anything—“

  “Except for the trunk,” Mel interrupted.

  I gave her my death stare. “You’re not helpful.”

  She shrugged.

  “Do I want to know how you knew to check the trunk?” Aaron asked.

  “I’m guessin’ you already know the answer to that question,” I said.

  “I’d prefer the answer be Emma Marx.”

  “You and me both,” I said. “But then we wouldn’t need to decipher the code, would we?”

  We ran through the gamut of options for what the numbers meant, and Aaron said he’d check on a few. It wasn’t a guarantee of finding the money, but at least it was a start.

  “And by the way, why did your guys leave her house in that kind of mess? That was kind of rude.” I asked.

  “What kind of mess?”

  I explained the condition of Emma’s house to Aaron and he let out a stream of curse words that definitely made up for the ones he’d not used since he’d tried to stop swearing.