by Dana Mentink
He kicked at a broken chunk of brick. “Anyone that could put up with an old coot like me was some kind of special.”
“Did she have family?”
He shook his head. “Said she was better off without anyone.” He made a great show of folding the newspaper into a small bundle and tucking it under his arm before he fired a look at her. “Maybe she was right. Family can get you into all kinds of trouble.”
She knew he was talking about her father. “I don’t want to argue.” She turned to go. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
He stopped her. “I’m not saying it’s your fault. My old man wasn’t what I thought he was either. Didn’t see that until he walked out of my life when I was nine. “
Brooke felt as though she’d been slapped. “You’ll find it interesting that it was my mother that left us, Mr. Tuney. My father has been both parents to me.”
Tuney considered for a moment. “Doesn’t matter. My dad used me and my mom, just like your old man is using you.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. “I’ve got to go.”
“You’re just a pawn, honey, and the sooner you realize that the better.”
“Good night, Mr. Tuney.”
“’Night.”
She felt his gaze following her as she entered the dorm again. She did not want to think of her mother, who was the real betrayer of their family. Shadows hugged the walls, and she hastened her pace. Her room was gloomy, so she snapped on the small lamps and sank down on the bed, dialing her home phone once more.
Still no answer.
As she lay down on the bed, Tuney’s words circled in her mind.
Just a pawn.
It wasn’t true. Her father would never use her. He was a stubborn man, wrapped up in a love of art that sometimes felt stronger than his love for her. Maybe her mother felt the same, and the feeling caused her to leave.
No. Mom left because she couldn’t handle Tad, a kid the rest of the world labeled “mentally deficient.”
Her fingers tapped in the number before she had time to think it out. The director of the group home answered and put her through to her brother.
“Hi, Taddy. How are you today?”
“Hi, Brooke.”
Tad told her about the new pad and pen set Aunt Denise brought him and the upcoming outing to a community play. She listened to him babble on, her heart swelling up inside her.
“It’s gonna be bedtime soon. You sing it?” he asked.
Her throat thickened. “Okay.” She began to sing softly, the “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” song that had remained Tad’s favorite since he was five years old. Now at twenty-two, he still asked for it.
“Will you take me home soon?” Tad asked.
The question that had haunted her since Tad’s anger issues boiled over, leaving her father unable to handle him. Things had come to a head when she’d gone off to college to start a new life. Maybe if Brooke had been home instead of trying to improve her own life, she could have helped, and maybe, just maybe, Tad wouldn’t have lashed out. He didn’t mean to, he never meant to, but he was a child trapped in an adult body.
“Will you?” Tad repeated.
“Yes, honey. Soon as I can. When I come back from San Francisco, we’ll go see a baseball game.” She whispered good-night and clicked off the phone, gasping when she saw Victor standing in the doorway holding a paper bag. His face was uncertain.
“Excuse me.” He held up the bag. “Didn’t think you should stay alone, so we brought dinner in.” He shifted slightly. “Nice singing.”
She shrugged, face flaming. “My brother, Tad. He likes the song.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-two.” She saw his eyebrows rise in surprise. “He has Fragile X Syndrome.”
Victor nodded. “Mentally disabled.”
Brooke clenched her jaw, hating the words. “He’s okay. They take good care of him at the facility. I’m going to bring him home when we can afford to hire a caregiver to watch him while I work. I teach dance classes, so it doesn’t pay too well.”
“Your aunt Denise can’t care for Tad?”
“She’s got her hands full with my father. He has FXTAS. It’s a genetic disorder.” She was surprised as the words tumbled out.
“I’ve read about it. Tremor Ataxia Syndrome, related to Fragile X but the patients can have no problem, extremely high IQs even, until their fifties when…” He broke off.
“When they develop tremors, balance problems and dementia.” She looked away.
“Tough thing to live with.” Victor put the bag down on the table and parceled out sandwiches and chips, arranging the napkins and rearranging them. “I didn’t know what you liked so I went for turkey and Swiss.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
She went to the window and toyed with the curtain, wondering why she’d spilled the family’s dark genetic secrets to Victor Gage. Was he examining her now? Looking for signs of the FXTAS in her? She stilled her hands. “I talked with Tuney. I think he was in love with Fran.”
“Didn’t let on about that back in your hotel room.”
“No. I don’t think he’s the kind of man that would,” she said thoughtfully. “He said I’m being kept in the dark by my father, that I’m just a pawn in this whole game between him and Colda.”
Victor shoved his hands in his pockets. “And what do you think?”
She stared through blurry eyes. “I don’t know anymore,” she said, feeling the tears threaten. “I only want to find the painting and go home because I love my father and I’m trying to hold what’s left of my family together. That’s my whole motivation. Can you understand that?”
After a hesitation he nodded. “Yes, I can.”
Swallowing hard, she joined him at the table as Stephanie entered.
“Hi, roomie,” she said, slicking back her damp hair. “I tried out the showers, and you’ll be happy to know there’s plenty of hot water.”
In spite of her worry, Brooke smiled and they started in on their sandwiches. After a few pleasantries, the conversation faltered until they were eating in silence. Brooke’s mind went back to Tuney.
You’re just a pawn.
Why hadn’t her father or Denise told her about their visit to Colda?
A pawn.
The word circled in her head.
Pawn.
She stood so suddenly the bag of chips fell to the floor, scattering the contents across the worn tile.
Victor sat, sandwich frozen on the way to his mouth, staring at her.
“What it is?” Stephanie said.
“I just figured out what’s wrong with the painting, the one in Colda’s apartment.”
EIGHT
Victor couldn’t understand Brooke’s chatter as she thumbed her phone to life, but the excitement on her face was undeniable. It lit something inside him and his breath grew short.
“It’s the board, the chessboard in the painting,” she said, coming between them and laying her phone on the table so they could both see. Squeezed in, her soft shoulder against his and the sweet smell of her hair made his stomach quiver. He shifted slightly and refocused on the tiny screen.
“I knew there was something different about it, but I didn’t put it together until just this minute. Colda’s painting of the chessboard is different in these four squares.” She used a pencil to point to the screen. “The Contemplative Lady shows a chessboard with pieces in the initial positions—the rook, knight, bishop, queen, king, bishop, knight and rook all in the first row. The second row…”
Stephanie interrupted. “Is for the pawns, yes, but there are four black pawns on the wrong side of the board. I didn’t notice before.”
“Colda put black ones on the white side.” Victor’s eyes widened. “He painted them wrong on purpose?”
“I can’t see him making that mistake unless he did it intentionally,” Brooke said. “There are definitely four black pawns where they don’t belong.”
“Are you sure? C
an you remember the original that well?” he said.
Brooke laughed, a silvery sound. “I spent hours examining that painting, but if you don’t believe me,” she said, pulling a photocopy from her backpack. “Here’s a photo of the painting my father bought at the estate sale.”
Victor looked, then leaned back with a whistle. “Sure enough, but what does it mean? Could be Colda’s little joke? The guy is odd, to say the least.”
No one answered. Instead they stared fixedly at the screen.
“Four pawns out of place,” he said thoughtfully. “If we look at rows, that’s one in the first row, one in the second, one in the third and one in the fourth. Does that scream a message to anyone?”
Stephanie paced the room. “I can’t think of one.”
“How about the columns? I don’t remember much about chess but the columns are lettered, right? A through H?”
“Okay, let’s factor that in,” he said. “The first row has an out-of-place pawn in the G column. Row two has one in the A position. Third row has another pawn in the G column and row four has a misplaced piece in column E.” He pulled a piece of paper from his briefcase and started jotting.
Victor felt a shock ripple through him as if he’d been touched by an exposed wire. “It’s the column letters. Rearrange them using the row numbers. Column A, row two, so we put A in the second spot. Column E, four, so the letter E goes in the fourth position, and column G has pawns in the first and third positions, so the Gs go there.”
The two women stared at the paper as he wrote it out.
G-A-G-E.
For once, Stephanie looked completely astonished and Brooke’s face shone with excitement. “Maybe he was leaving a message about where he hid the painting.”
“In Gage Library?” Victor said, going to the window and peering out into the darkness. “How would he do that without anyone noticing?”
Brooke shook her head. “I’m not sure, but there’s a reason he spelled this out.”
“For whom?” Stephanie said. “And why?”
“Maybe for himself,” Brooke suggested. “He forgot things all the time, maybe this was a refresher in case he couldn’t remember where he’d hidden it or how to get there.”
Stephanie gaped. “This is like an Indiana Jones movie.”
Victor’s and Brooke’s eyes locked and they both laughed.
“What?” Stephanie demanded. “You don’t think this is really some code, do you? A clue in some crazy treasure hunt? It could be unrelated, just some inside joke Colda used to amuse himself.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“And the library is nowhere near the spot where Colda was seen exiting the tunnels.”
“Also true,” Victor said.
“So we’re just going to ignore that fact?” she pressed.
“No,” Victor said, pulling out his laptop. “We’re going to research the old campus until we find out the connection. If there is any.”
Stephanie sighed and sat down at the table, turning on her own laptop. “This isn’t going to be easy. The records are old. Much of the campus was destroyed in a fire along with the records two decades ago.”
“Good thing you’re persistent,” he said with a chuckle.
“Like trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack,” she said.
“Or a treasure in a tunnel,” Brooke said.
Victor’s spirits rose. It was a new avenue to investigate. Whether or not it led to another dead end remained to be seen. He found himself surprised that he enjoyed the camaraderie. He could ordinarily go days without seeing or talking to anyone except for his brother and sister. Normally he was content to be alone. Not this time.
They hooked up a printer, and when their efforts yielded anything of interest, they produced a hard copy, which Brooke perused, papers fanned out across the bed.
The hours crept along until it was midnight and Victor got up, unfolding his tall frame in a bone-cracking stretch. Brooke rose, too, walking around the room and meandering to the window.
“Fog’s rolled back in,” she said. “This is sure different from Southern California.” Pulling the curtain aside she gazed into the night until she jerked back from the window with a scream that went right through him. He was at her side in a second. She turned into his arms, breath caught and eyes wide with fright. “I saw a man. Out there.” She pointed a shaking finger toward the courtyard.
“Stay here, and I mean it this time,” he said before racing down the hall and out into the damp air.
The overgrown shrubbery in the outside courtyard threw strange shadows on the pavement. He heard the sound of his own breathing, the wind rustling the leaves. Motionless, he listened for any noise of an intruder but he heard nothing.
Prowling the other side of the small stone wall, he looked for evidence of a man’s presence. The grass was flattened in some places, but he could not be sure it was the result of human feet. After another ten minutes of searching, he turned up nothing of interest. Had she imagined it? All the talk of treasure and tunnels, the shooting at his office, worry about her father and her brother, had it preyed on her nerves to the point where the shadows came alive in her imagination?
He trudged back to the dorm, suddenly tired. The euphoria of their earlier discovery was wearing off in the face of this complication. What was he doing chasing after a man she might have dreamed up? Brooke was emotional, spiritual and stubbornly illogical. A dancer, a dreamer surely, to believe they would find a Tarkenton and somehow restore her father’s reputation. What was he doing buying into her fanciful notions?
Then again, wasn’t he also dreaming, to think this adventure might somehow lead him to his wife’s killer? For some reason the anger that perpetually hummed in his veins had quieted the past couple of days. Probably just dulled by the intrigue of finding a treasure. He felt off-balance, prone to a slight disequilibrium he couldn’t explain. The thoughts followed him back to the women’s dorm.
“I didn’t find anyone,” he said, stopping so quickly his shoes squeaked on the tile.
Standing between the women was a man he’d never seen before.
“We did,” said Stephanie, her voice grim. “Or rather, he found us.”
* * *
Brooke’s heart was still hammering from the stranger’s arrival. He was young, not more than mid-twenties, with dark skin and a wild head of springy curls. Dressed in boots, jeans and a sweatshirt, with Sea World marked in faded letters, he looked as though he might be arriving after working a night shift driving a truck. His eyes glittered appraisingly as he gave them a thorough inspection.
“Who are you?” Victor barked, moving closer.
“Stryker.”
“Stryker who?”
He shrugged and moved to the chair, sitting heavily. “Just Stryker.”
“What do you want?”
He cocked his head. “You the only one that talks? Chicks aren’t allowed?”
Victor took an angry step forward. “Listen.”
Brooke jumped in quickly. “Stryker, this part of the campus is closed. Why did you come here?”
“To find you.”
“Why?”
“Low on cash. Looking for some employment opportunities.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly would we be hiring you to do?”
He stared back at Victor, dark eyes gleaming. “I’m an urban explorer. Anyplace dark, deserted and abandoned, I’m there. I’ve seen tunnels all over California. Happen to know you’re interested in tunnels.”
“How did you happen to know that?” Stephanie said.
“Not hard to figure out. Since the campus was emptied, this is the perfect place to explore. Saw you coming out of the dorm the other day with the banged-up dean.”
“Saw us? Maybe you had something to do with turning out the lights?”
He shrugged. “I was poking around. Saw you, is all.”
“Are you a student here?” Brooke asked.
He laughed. “Nah
. I’m an out-of-work cabbie.”
“Then how did you know that was the dean?” Victor asked.
“Saw his picture in the paper, right after I moved here. He was talking about a missing professor who worked at the college.”
“Do you know anything about that?” Victor said.
He shook his head slowly. “It’s not difficult, big man. You have some reason to want to go into those tunnels. I can take you. I’ve been exploring all over Bayside. I know places.”
“Know any places around Gage Library?” said Stephanie, ignoring a warning glance from Victor.
“Maybe. How much is it worth to you?”
“Mr. Stryker, no offense, but you’re a complete stranger to us and you let yourself in uninvited. Why would we trust you in any way?”
He shrugged. “Hey, man. I’m just looking to save up some cash to go start over with my girl, somewhere warm.” His lip curled. “I hate this city. Cold even in the summer and not enough work for cabbies. I don’t figure on staying here long. If you don’t want my help—” he held palms up to the ceiling “—no sweat. I’ll find something else, but you’re never going to find your way around on your own.”
“Why so sure?” Stephanie said. “We might be better than you think.”
He gave her an appreciative grin. “Maybe, but down there it’s a different world. You could get lost for a long time, a really long time, before somebody found you.”
Victor exhaled before he spoke. “Tell you what. Why don’t you meet us there at the library tomorrow and if you can show us something, then we’ll talk about payment.”
“I’ll be there.” Stryker paused a moment. “Don’t mention me to the dean. He’s had the security people kick me out before.” Stryker helped himself to a bag of chips from the table before he left. Stephanie locked the door behind him.
Brooke squeezed her hands together to stop them from shaking.
Victor laid a hand on her shoulder, fingers grazing her collarbone. “Okay?”
She nodded. “He scared me, is all. Do you think he can really show us more of the tunnels?”
“Maybe, but I don’t trust him. I figured we’ll let him think we’re playing along. That way we can keep tabs on him.”
