This Bitter Treasure: a romantic thriller (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 3)

by S. W. Hubbard

  Ty jerks his head at Kyle and Jamal. “We all outta scratch, bros. Time to head out.”

  “We’d better walk out with Ty, guys. We’ll meet Uncle Sean at the car.”

  “No! Not yet! We still have some tickets left.” They wave a handful of strips. “Let’s ride the Viking Boat one more time, then we’ll go.”

  Chrissy hasn’t ridden the boat at all yet, and she begins to whimper that I promised to ride it with her. True, true. We don’t have enough tickets for Kyle and Jamal to join us, so I urge Ty to go.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. See you on Monday.”

  Watching Ty go, I know how the passengers on the Mayflower must have felt when the last glimpse of England faded from view. Now I’m on my own, fully responsible for three children I barely know. How could Sean have done this to me? If he’s intentionally ignoring my texts, I’ll kill him.

  But what if he’s physically not able to answer? What if something’s gone horribly wrong?

  I try to stuff my anger and anxiety deep down in my gut where they tumble and scratch at each other like two cats in a bag. The line for the Viking Boat inches along. Up close and personal, the boat is really big. Chrissy gulps as she watches how high it swings, how close it gets to vertical. And every time it reaches the apex, the riders let out a unison scream. “Aiyeeeeee!”

  I’ve counted how many people are ahead of us. “We’ll definitely get on in this batch,” I tell the kids. The boys cheer. Chrissy looks green.

  “I can’t do it.” She grabs my arm and tugs. “Please don’t make me, Audrey. I’m scared. Let’s go on the Ferris wheel instead.”

  “I can’t leave the boys, honey. We all have to stick together.”

  “Chrissy, you’re ruining everything!” Her brothers turn on her, screeching hyenas of rage.

  She curls into a ball on the ground. “I can’t do it. I’m sca-a-ared.”

  “C’mon lady,” a guy behind me nudges me forward. “The line’s moving.”

  Frantically, I scan the crowd for Sean. I’ve texted him our current location, but still no response. I start texting him again as the line pushes us forward.

  “Just let us go,” the boys plead. “Nothing can happen on the ride. It’s no different from the haunted house. We’ll wait for you at the exit. We promise.”

  The line shoves us further. I drag Chrissy to keep her from being trampled. Sean hasn’t responded to my text. What should I do? This is a nightmare.

  The boys reach the head of the line and hand over their tickets. They scoot through the gate.

  The decision has been made for me. I guess they’re right. Now that they’re on the ride, what can happen?

  Chrissy and I duck under the barrier and leave the line. “Okay, let’s go wait by the exit for the boys.”

  “No-o-o-o!” She tugs on my arm. “I want to ride the Ferris wheel. The boys got one last ride. I get one too.”

  “But you gave up your ride on the Viking Boat.”

  My logic escapes her. Chrissy begins to wail at the top of her voice. “You pro-o-o-mised.”

  A mother passing by turns to give us a “should I call Social Services?” stare. Managing children is insane. I’m not cut out for this.

  “That’s enough.” I try to use Sean’s firm tone, but it backfires. I’m not her mother or even her aunt. I’m nobody. She sizes me up with shrewd fourth-grader eyes. Then she pivots and races toward the Ferris wheel.

  I chase after her, but the crowds slow me down. Where Chrissy can slip between people, I have to dodge around them. I scream her name, but she doesn’t listen. People can see the child I’m chasing, but no one moves to stop Chrissy. They watch us like we’re part of the evening’s entertainment.

  In an instant she melts into the throng. I lose sight of her pink sweatshirt and break into a sweat. I glance back at the Viking Boat. The boys are older and at least they have each other. What choice do I have but to follow Chrissy?

  My heart races as I dodge through the crowd, and it’s not because I’m running. What if I can’t find her? She’s ten—a little girl alone in a crowd of possible drug dealers and drunken teenagers and skeevy carny workers who are probably all parolees and pedophiles.

  I will kill Sean for abandoning me like this.

  He’ll kill me for losing his niece.

  I arrive panting at the Ferris wheel. Surely Chrissy will be there, tapping her foot waiting for me to arrive. I blink, willing her to appear when my eyes open.

  Nothing.

  The line contains mostly teenage couples planning to make out high above St. Bart’s field. I run up to a couple in the middle of the queue. “Have you seen a little girl with strawberry blonde hair in a pink sweatshirt?”

  They shrug and edge away, treating me like a panhandler on the subway.

  Dear God, where can she be? The Ferris wheel is visible from everywhere on the carnival grounds. She couldn’t have lost her way. Either she went somewhere else, or someone…

  The possibility is too horrible to imagine.

  “Chrissy!” I shout at the top of my voice, but my cry is swallowed up by the roar of the music and the crowd. Strangers surge around me. Tall, short, fat, skinny, but no little girl in pink.

  I resist the impulse to plunge headlong back into the fray. Be rational, Audrey. Think. Think like a child.

  Not easy for me. Even when I was a child, I didn’t think like a child. What could have distracted Chrissy between the Viking Boat and the Ferris wheel? She had to pass the fishing game. I charged right by it, but maybe she paused to look at the prizes. I backtrack in that direction, pleading that a little pink flamingo will emerge from this infernal flock of starlings.

  As I elbow my way through the crowd, something familiar does catch my eye: a man in a backwards red Devil’s cap.

  In my frantic state, I turn toward him, not consciously aware of why he is familiar, but knowing I saw him earlier tonight. Can he help?

  “Hey! Have you—” I reach out my hand and catch a corner of his black hoodie.

  He grabs my wrist and wrenches my arm, flinging me out of his way.

  Losing my balance, I crash to the ground with a spine-jolting thump. As he races away, I realize my mistake. That was no friend; it’s the guy Sean was after. The guy cutting a deal in the haunted house.

  People step around me, probably thinking I’m just another drunk girl fighting with her boyfriend. I struggle to make sense of what just happened. That kid recognized me…

  I pull myself upright. My God, where is Sean?

  This has gone on long enough. I’ve gotta call 911. Someone has to help me.

  As I fumble for my phone, something warm slips into my hand.

  I look down. An angelic freckled face gazes back up.

  “C’mon, Audrey. Uncle Sean is waiting for us.”

  A wave of orgasmic relief passes through me. She’s alive!

  The first wave is quickly followed by a second wave.

  Of fury. The little brat is perfectly fine, while I nearly had a nervous breakdown.

  Chrissy tugs me along toward the Ferris wheel. “Why were you way over there? Don’t you know when you’re lost, you’re supposed to stand still?”

  I could cheerfully stuff a wad of cotton candy down her throat, cardboard cone and all.

  I grab her shoulders and spin her around to face me. “Why did you run off like that? You could have been hurt, kidnapped! Never run into a crowd again. Never!”

  A heavy hand falls on my shoulder. “Ease up, Audrey. You’re scaring her.”

  I spin around.

  Chapter 20

  “You!” I pound Sean’s chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I was gone twenty minutes. You couldn’t handle that? Why did you leave those kids alone?”

  “Twenty minutes my ass! It was forty-five. And I didn’t leave them; they left me.”

  Sean and I face off, and by the look on the kids’ faces they must think they’re about to see some video game martial
arts battle played out right before their eyes.

  Sean backs down first, unwilling to put on a show that will be reported back to his sister. We drive to Deirdre’s house in cold silence, but as soon as the kids are inside, the fireworks begin.

  “Is this what it’s going to be like when we have a family?” I demand. “Whenever your job calls, you’re going to run off and dump our kids on me, whether I can manage or not?”

  “Who can’t manage a ten-year-old? She weighs fifty pounds, tops.”

  “So I was supposed to use brute force to restrain her? That’s your approach to all problems, isn’t it?”

  Sean grips the steering wheel as if the car might fling itself off the overpass onto Route 287 below. “A case that I’ve been working on for weeks was about to break wide open. I thought I could count on you to help me out for a few minutes. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  “You haven’t told me one thing about this case. I think you saw your buddies were going to make a bust and you wanted to be in on the action. You claim to love those kids so much, but you didn’t hesitate one second to ditch them and run off to bask in some glory.”

  Sean slams on the brakes as a traffic light turns from yellow to red. He turns to face me, eyes on fire. “That’s why you think I do my job? For glory?”

  I feel this argument spiraling out of control. We’re both saying things that can’t be unsaid. But I can’t stop myself. “We’re not ready to have kids, Sean. I can’t shoulder the entire responsibility for their welfare while you pop in to be Fun Dad whenever it’s convenient. That’s was fine for your mom, but it’s not going to fly with me.”

  When Sean pulls up in front of my condo, I spring out of the car and run to the door.

  He doesn’t follow.

  I let myself in and collapse on the couch. Ethel jumps into my lap. With shaking fingers, I dial my father’s home number. As I knew would happen, Natalie answers; Dad hates talking on the phone. Tearfully, I choke out the story of my evening. “How can I possibly have children?” I ask her. “I don’t know how to control them.”

  “You don’t control kids, you raise them. You guide them.” Natalie’s voice is gentle and kind, but I’m not soothed.

  “Well, I clearly don’t know how to do that either. Deirdre’s kids ran right over me. They wouldn’t listen to reason. And when I lost Chrissy, I was terrified. It was like the time Ethel got lost chasing the man who attacked me, only a million times worse. I was devastated, choked with fear, thinking of her hurt and helpless.” I’m blubbering now, not sure if I’m talking about Ethel or Chrissy or both of them.

  I bury my tear-stained face in Ethel’s neck. “How can I possibly live like that on a daily basis, knowing something terrible might happen to our child every time he’s out of our sight?”

  “I won’t lie to you, Audrey. Parenting involves moments of terror, no doubt about it. So does being married…owning a pet…having a friend. But what’s our alternative? To live in total isolation from everyone who might bring us joy…or pain?”

  “That’s what Dad did for thirty years,” I whisper.

  “Yes, it is. And he still struggles with that regret.”

  “Tell him I’m coming over to have breakfast with him tomorrow. I’ll bring the bagels.”

  Chapter 21

  Too wound up to sleep, I roll through the TV channels looking for some fluff to numb my brain. Law and Order—too grim…Big Bang Theory—too insulting to math geeks…Seinfeld—I’ve seen that episode twenty times…Keeping Up with the Kardashians—I’m not that desperate. Five hundred channels and nothing to watch. I roll through again and this time a familiar face fills the screen. It’s the ten o’clock New Jersey news. A peppy, hairsprayed anchorwoman speaks earnestly into the camera as a threatening mug shot looms behind her.

  “Police this evening announced the arrest of Darlene Hayes, who had been sought as a person of interest in the investigation of the murder of elderly Marjorie Eskew. Ms. Hayes had disappeared from the home where Eskew was killed on Friday. She turned herself in to state police this afternoon, and after extensive questioning, they announced the arrest at 7:00 PM. Hayes is being held without bail at the Palmer County Jail.”

  I lean toward the TV and clutch Ethel so tightly that she whimpers and squirms away. Darlene has been arrested! What did she tell the police? Could it be that Sean was right all along? I’m loath to admit that. I hope for more information, but the newscasters are shaking their heads over the tragedy and murmuring that the police have not released any further details.

  Immediately I grab my phone and look at my Twitter feed. No one can expect breaking news from TV or the creaky Palmyrton Daily Record. The only source with truly current news is the guy who runs the PalmyrtonNow website and blog. Sure enough, he’s been live-tweeting from the courthouse since six. I read the stream of tweets and learn what’s happened 140 characters at a time. Darlene turned herself in for questioning. After a long interview, the police announced the arrest. Sources close to the investigation unwilling to be quoted for attribution claim that a plea bargain is in the works. Darlene will plead guilty to manslaughter.

  I stare at my phone until the words on the screen blur. Manslaughter? How can someone pound an old woman’s head in and be charged with manslaughter? Is “plea bargain” a red flag for another poor person gets railroaded into confessing to something she didn’t do so the police can close a high-profile case?

  I think this case stinks to high heaven. Justice is not being done here. Either not to Mrs. Eskew. Or not to Darlene.

  Or maybe not to both.

  And the one person who might be able to provide some insight into what’s going on is the one person I can’t call.

  Ethel and I arrive at my father’s place at seven-thirty in the morning bearing a bag of everything bagels and a container of scallion cream cheese. Dad answers the door wearing his moccasin slippers and pilly cardigan.

  “Natalie has gone off to Sunrise Yoga,” he says. “I’ve got the coffee made.”

  We sit at the table. Stir, slice, chew. When half a warm bagel fills my gut, I speak. “I don’t think I can do this, Dad. I don’t think I can be the wife Sean wants. I don’t know how to be part of a big, traditional family. I don’t know how to be a mom.” I twist the diamond engagement ring on my left hand. “This fight we had doesn’t feel fixable.”

  My father ponders this quietly. He’s not one to rush in with reassuring platitudes.

  “Sometimes the very qualities that attract us to another person are the qualities that drive us crazy. We seek to fill a hole in ourselves, but…”

  “But what?”

  Dad shrugs. “The hole is what makes us who we are. The hole doesn’t want to be filled…not completely, anyway.”

  “So, do I want a big, traditional family or not?”

  Dad gives me the sweet, sideways-sloping smile that has appeared in every photo of him from baptism to his latest driver’s license shot. “You want a family. It won’t be traditional. Sean knows that. It’s why he’s drawn to you. But old habits die hard. You need to retrain him.”

  “Ha! Like I’ve trained Ethel? The world’s oldest dog who doesn’t know what ‘come’ means?”

  Ethel wags her tail, oblivious to insult, ever hopeful that some bagel scraps will soon be falling to the floor.

  “Perhaps ‘train’ was a poor word choice. I suspect that Sean knows he was wrong to saddle you with the kids. He’s probably full of remorse this morning. He’ll call you eventually to apologize, and when he does, accept the apology. Don’t prolong the spat.”

  My father and Sean, the introvert math professor and the extravert cop, are improbably fond of each other. But I won’t be marrying just Sean. I gaze into my father’s eyes. “How do you feel about marrying into the Coughlin family? You realize that if Sean and I have kids, you’ll be sharing grandchildren with Frank and Mary.”

  He tosses Ethel the scrap she’s been waiting for. “I anticipate a division of labor. Those two
can handle Yankee games and the St. Patrick’s Day parade. Natalie and I will manage the Museum of Natural History and Lego construction marathons.”

  His tone is light, but his words make my eyes prick with tears. “You’ve been thinking about this grandfather role, haven’t you?”

  He drops his gaze and gives a little shrug like a kid caught searching for hidden Christmas presents.

  “Dad, I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m not certain this will really be happening. If Sean can’t accept being the kind of father I need him to be, I can’t…I can’t…”

  Two fat tears slip down my face. Dad reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Whatever decision you make, Audrey, I’ll support you.”

  When I leave my father, I feel simultaneously peaceful and anxious. Even though Sean and I are not reconciled and I have no rational reason to believe things will work out as Dad predicts, I feel like I’ve off-loaded a burden. My father has offered his unconditional support, and he’s shown me a path. I’ve decided I’ll wait for Sean to call me, however long it takes. If he can’t realize himself that what he did at the carnival was wrong, then nothing I can say will persuade him.

  Ethel and I take a long walk in the park. When I get home, I find myself with unanticipated free time. My work on the Eskew house has certainly been put on hold by the murder. Yet I can’t get the house, or the family, out of my mind.

  What was Mrs. Eskew afraid of? Despite the latest news, I simply can’t believe it was Darlene. I check the Internet for more news, but there are no further developments. Then part of my conversation with my dad resurfaces, the part where I said he’d one day share a grandchild with Sean’s parents. I think about Mrs. Eskew’s grandchild, Jean-Claude, who’d been named even before he was born. Why the French name? Who were that baby’s other grandparents? I Google Parker and Leonie Eskew’s obituary to read it again.

  “Survived by Jean and Clothilde Savatier of Summit, NJ.”

  So I Google those names and learn that Jean Savatier died of a heart attack shortly after his daughter’s death. He’d been in international banking. Leonie had been their only child. And with a little more digging, I discover that Clothilde now lives in a very upscale retirement community halfway between Summit and Palmyrton—Bretton Pines.