by Catie Rhodes
“When I was a kid,” she said, “I loved to play with Rae and Peri Jean. We listened to old records and sang along to them. Rae liked to sing ‘Midnight Rider.’ Let’s see if I can do it some justice.”
Hannah’s guitar picking turned purposeful. She sang the song slow, her voice a mournful moan. She was good.
The finality of it all hit me with those words about the road going on forever. Rae had reached the end of her road. I bowed my head and let the tears drip off my face.
A white handkerchief found its way into my hand. I glanced up and found Dean Turgeau standing next to me. As soon as I took the hanky, he gave my shoulder a quick pat and walked away. I sobbed into the soft cloth, feeling the heat of a couple dozen stares boring down on me. I hunched my shoulders and tried to make myself as small as possible. I’d analyze Dean’s giving me his hanky later.
The service ended with the last notes of “Midnight Rider.” Our guests milled toward the front door chatting. Embarrassment over publicly grieving kept me rooted to my spot in the corner.
Something tugged at my hair, and I turned to find Rae next to me. No. Not right now. I rose to flee, saw who stood beside me, and let out a little shriek.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Barbara, the woman who gave birth to me, wrapped me in a stiff, perfumed hug.
Barbara released me and inched toward her husband. Their faces morphed into vapid grins, and they clasped their hands together. My mother had cut her long brown hair short, and the color was too rich not to be hiding some gray. Her lilac pantsuit looked like it came out of a magazine. She might have little padding at her bust and hips, but she still had her figure.
“I appreciate you being here, Barbara.” My back bumped the wall. Nowhere to run.
“It’s nothing.” Barbara’s gaze darted to Memaw, who had her back to us as she said goodbye to the Longstreet clan. Memaw turned, probably feeling our eyes on her. She didn’t react to my mother’s presence. She’d known Barbara was coming.
“Do you realize you’re developing a frown line between your eyes?” For Barbara, this was an attempt to bond.
I wished for someone—anyone—else to talk to. Right then, I would have welcomed even Hannah Kessler’s company. Nobody so much as glanced in our direction. Our trio was invisible to the other guests. Where had Eddie Kennedy gone?
Good thing I wasn’t paying attention to Barbara. If I did, I might not have seen the armoire tipping toward my mother and stepfather. I shoved Barbara aside, ignoring her angry protest, and caught the armoire before it gained enough momentum to fall. The cold wood burned my hand. I wrangled it back into place and peeked behind it.
Sure enough, Rae stood there. Anger radiated from her in waves. It mingled with mine, giving her the power she needed to kick up a fuss. She couldn’t have picked a worse time for this crap. Our tangled emotions chilled the air, and Rae’s energy slammed into me, driving me backward. She’d used my energy against me.
I stumbled back and stepped on my mother’s toe. She swore. I turned to face her, an apology on my lips. What I saw there killed my apology.
Mommy dearest stared at me, her lip curled in distaste. She might not know exactly what I’d seen, but understood the gist. What she hated about me all my life had reared its head before she’d been in my presence for five minutes.
“Maybe your grandmother needs to have the house leveled.” Ron the artist acted oblivious to the tension running between his wife and me.
Ron had a head of thick silver hair and a big belly. He wore an expensive looking butter colored shirt and tan trousers. His shoes looked soft enough to sleep in. On one wrist, he wore a heavy gold bracelet.
“It’s cold in here too.” Ron frowned and rubbed his arms now that he had my full attention. “Maybe Mrs. Mace needs to have a carpenter come in and give the place a good going over.”
A little wave of humiliation rekindled my anger at the situation. Memaw and I didn’t have the money to hire a carpenter and didn’t need one anyway. I itched to tell rich stepdad Ron where to get off. An arm slipped around my waist. I halted my angry words.
“Thank you so much for joining us, Barbie.” Memaw was a tiny woman, even shorter than me. Right then, she stood as tall as a giant.
“I go by Barb or Barbara now, Leticia.” Barbara bared her teeth in imitation of a smile, a crocodile facing a lioness at the watering hole.
Rae fed off our blustery emotions, her spectral form flickering in and out of my sight. She appeared behind Barb and Ron. Malice radiated from her translucent form. I wished her away, which did absolutely no good.
Barbara broke the staring contest with Memaw and strolled around the living room. She paused at an old picture of herself and my father from before they got married. She’d been pregnant with me, but hadn’t known it yet. She traced the faces in the picture and glanced back at me. The picture popped off its shelf and plunged to the floor. The glass broke and went everywhere. Barbara shrieked and jumped back.
I tried to leave the room to get the broom and dustpan, but Memaw beat me to it. That old woman moved fast when she didn’t want to be somewhere. Why had she browbeaten Barbara into coming here? Surely, she knew it would end like this.
“Are you seeing anyone, Peri Jean?” Barbara relaxed a little as Memaw left the room. “I saw that man give you his hanky. He’s very good looking.”
“He’s investigating Rae’s murder.” I didn’t comment on Dean’s looks. It irked me that Barbara found him attractive too. I didn’t want to share the same taste in men with her.
“Do they have any ideas on who did it?”
“They’ve searched Chase Fischer’s mobile home.” In response to Barbara’s confused expression, I clarified. “Rae and Chase were seeing one another.”
“It’s usually the husband or a boyfriend.” Ron spoke with all the authority of a true crime television addict.
“Well, you never know. The curse of the famed Mace lost fortune might have gotten her.” One corner of Barbara’s mouth raised in a vicious smirk.
I thought the lost Mace fortune was hogwash, too, but I stiffened at Barbara’s snotty dismissal of it. “A lot of people still believe it’s out there. They did a TV documentary about it.”
“Your father and his brother certainly believed it. They believed it enough for Jesse to kill Paul—” Barbara shut up as Memaw hustled back into the living room carrying a broom and dustpan.
“Jesse did not kill Paul. My sons loved each other.” Memaw faced Barbara. The eight inches height difference didn’t matter.
Barbara stiffened and widened her eyes. Ron made a study of the old hardwood floor. Memaw and Barbara engaged in another staring contest. Memaw ended this one, turning her back on Barbara.
“It’s been a long day for me, Peri Jean. I’m going to my room.” Memaw’s footfalls thumped down the hall, and she slammed her bedroom door hard enough to rattle the pictures hanging in the hallway.
Barb’s neck had broken out in red blotches. She raised a shaking hand to smooth her perfect hair. A wave of longing hit me as I watched her. I wanted her to look at me with pride and love in her eyes. But that would never happen. She saw me as something that embarrassed her and held her back. I held my palm over my chest as though that had the power to soothe the ache there. My desire for her to leave clashed with my wish for another chance to win her love.
“Nobody’s ever found the first clue to the treasure anyway.”
“You don’t know about the one in your family Bible?” Barbara’s own frown line appeared between her eyebrows. Just like mine. “You’re the only Mace who doesn’t then.”
Ron eased up behind my mother and slipped his arm around her waist. He spoke into her hair. “We need to get going, Barb.”
“Let me show you.” Barbara elbowed Ron away and marched to the bookcase where she pulled out our ancient family Bible. She peeled back the inner cover.
I yelped and reached out to stop her. Memaw would be furious if I let Barbara tear up a family heirloom.
Barbara gave me a fierce hiss, and I dropped my hands. She shoved the Bible at me. The inner cover hid an ink drawing of four slim drawers with tiny pull knobs. My heart leaped with a giddy, but foreign excitement. Was this the treasure fever I heard about all my life?
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“Neither did your father.” Bitterness puckered Barbara’s cool, attractive features and aged her about fifteen years. “They searched and searched for a piece of furniture with a secret compartment in it.”
“I don’t remember my father having treasure fever.” I tried to recall his voice, the way he smelled. Nothing came. My only memories of him were from pictures. His life was just as big a mystery to me as his death. Uncle Jesse still claimed he didn’t kill his brother.
“Ask Eddie Kennedy if he’s still around here.” Barbara hugged herself. “Those three used to get together with Adam Kessler and talk treasure all night. I’m surprised Paul found time to knock me up. Of course, the curse of the Mace Treasure got both him and Jesse just like it did your grandfather. This supposed treasure sure is hell on your family.”
“Barbie, it’s time for you to go back where you came from.” Memaw stood at the end of the hallway wearing her fuzzy robe, fists on her hips. Barbara shrank under Memaw’s burning stare. That wild mix of emotions ran through me again. I wanted to fix everything so maybe my mother would decide she liked me. I loved Memaw for standing up for me. I wished Barbara and Ron the artist had stayed home.
Barbara and Ron left without saying another word. They just got into their rented Mustang and drove away. I saw the relieved look on Barbara’s face through its window. She didn’t even wave as they drove down the driveway.
Tears stung my eyes as I watched my mother leave. I wished I’d told her I loved her just to see what she said.
I went back to the bookcase to put the Bible away. A little sparkle caught my eye. I rubbed on the cover and examined my finger. Glitter covered it. I had cleaned Rae’s glitter off the bookcase in my cleaning fit but apparently missed the Bible.
Rae must have known about the drawing in the Bible. That and the list I found in the barn hinted her treasure hunt entailed more than just talk. Hannah must have given her some information. Rae’s possession of Hannah’s business card suggested that much. But who else had information about the treasure?
One name came to mind: Eddie Kennedy.
13
I trekked all over looking for Eddie Kennedy. He usually separated himself from the herd and stood off to the side, watching people.
Eddie’d been my father’s best friend. The two of them, along with Adam Kessler, Hannah’s father, went through school together and remained friends as adults.
After my daddy’s death, Eddie tried his best to be there for me. Problem was, Eddie could barely be there for himself. He suffered from bad luck with jobs, bad luck with women, and bad judgment in general. He did two things well: made things with wheels go and built exquisite items ranging from antique replica furniture to horse-drawn carriages.
I couldn’t believe I had forgotten—or never knew—about Eddie and my father hunting the treasure. Had hunting the treasure caused Eddie’s bad luck? An accomplished athlete in high school, a car wreck his senior year exempted him from any scholarships. That kicked off a string of choices that always ended with him getting the short end of the stick.
I loved Eddie like family. He taught me how to throw a punch and how to lift things without hurting my back. Things my daddy might have taught me had he lived to do it.
I ended my circuit of his favorite hiding places with the conclusion he’d gone home. I changed into some beat up clothes, sent him a text message, and drove to his house—a mobile home on two acres.
My text to Eddie claimed I needed him to look at my Nova, which was making a funny sound. The truth was I wanted to ask him about Barbara’s revelations regarding the treasure. Now that I knew Eddie’d been interested in the Mace Treasure, Rae’s interest in the treasure plus her death equaled one too many coincidences for me to stick my head in the sand. Deputy Dean had no interest in looking into this aspect of the case. I’d just have to pick up his slack.
“What’s wrong with this thing, munchkin, is it’s about wore out.” Eddie’s big butt stuck out from under my Nova’s hood.
“You can’t fix it?” Eddie’s bulk kept me from seeing much. He backed away from my car and straightened to his full six foot six inches and glowered down at me.
“Can a dog lick his balls?”
I glanced at Eddie’s one-eyed, one-eared, three-legged dog named Ugly. He gave me a big doggie grin. I shrugged.
“’Course I can fix your car.” Eddie shut my hood. “Won’t be cheap. You gonna have to buy a new alternator, and soon, munchkin.”
“You’re kidding.” I never expected such a grim diagnosis.
Eddie scowled at me. He never kidded about cars, especially not my father’s old Nova. He took keeping it in running condition seriously.
“Can I ask you a question on an unrelated matter?”
“Can I tell you to kiss my fat ass if I ain’t interested in answering?” Eddie washed his hands in a filthy sink and wiped them on an even filthier shop towel.
“Do you think Rae was looking for the treasure?” I held my breath. Eddie discouraged questions about my daddy and the past. I hoped this didn’t qualify. Otherwise, it could irritate him enough to kick me off his property.
Without a word, Eddie turned and exited his shop. I jogged to keep up with him as he crossed his yard in a few long strides. Eddie came to an abrupt stop in front of his vintage early eighties mobile home.
“I’m having a beer. You want water or juice?” He needed a beer to answer me. That meant he knew at least some of Rae’s activities during her final days.
“Water’s fine.” The demon of self-doubt begged me to tell him to forget it. Eddie refused to interview for the TV documentary about the Mace Treasure. His appearance on the film consisted of a brief clip of him saying that part of his life ended with his best friend’s death. This little interview could turn to shit on a dime and leave me right back where I started. But it might go the other way, too, and that convinced me to go through with it.
My usual lawn chair groaned as I sat down in it. Ugly ran to me and put his head in my lap. I scratched his one ear absently. I had my theories about Eddie’s silence on the treasure. Most of them tied in with his refusal to talk about my father’s murder. Why had he broken his silence for Rae?
Eddie returned holding a bottled water and a six-pack of tall boys. He passed me the water and sat down in his own lawn chair, one he’d constructed out of heavy metal to withstand his bulk. Ugly immediately disregarded me and ran to his owner.
“Why you want to know this?” Eddie held a sheaf of paper in one huge mitt. The beer hissed as he cracked it open, and the smell of yeast hit me.
I started with Rae asking me about the treasure the day she died, then told him about the auction list I’d found in the barn and what Barbara showed me in the family Bible. Eddie snorted and cursed under his breath. His words sounded a lot like “stupid bitch.” I pretended not to hear. Getting him started on Barbara would only keep me from learning what I wanted to know.
“What I’m about to tell you would put me in the doghouse with your grandmother on account of your granddaddy dying while looking for the treasure and on account of the trouble between your daddy and your uncle.” Eddie’s expression was more severe than I’d ever seen. “Only reason I’m telling you is I don’t want you snooping around on your own. This is serious business.”
“What’s serious business? Memaw always said the treasure was just a bunch of malarkey. She thinks crazy old Reginald Mace burned his money and forgot about it.”
“That might be so. But he hid some things around here, and I don’t want you trying to find none of them. Now, if Leticia finds out I told you any of this, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Eddie had always treated me like a favor
ed niece. This seriousness went against his grain. My curiosity pulled at me, stronger than quicksand. I’d promise anything to hear what Eddie had to say.
“Your cousin come by here first week she got outta the pen.” Eddie paused to light a cigarette while I mentally reeled. Rae spent the final eight months of her life looking for the treasure, and I never knew.
“She remembered her daddy and me and Paul looking for treasure.” Eddie stopped speaking and regarded me with his head cocked to one side. “Don’t you remember none of that?”
I shook my head.
“Well, Rae did. She musta paid better attention than you.” Eddie grinned. “She said she could pay to learn what I knew.”
“Did she? Pay you?”
“Naw. Told her I didn’t want her money and didn’t want to talk about that old shit.” Eddie drained his beer and cracked open another one.
“So how did she convince you?” I could only imagine the ways Rae tried to manipulate poor Eddie.
Eddie pressed his lips together and fidgeted. “Let’s just say she knew some things I thought nobody did and leave it there. That girl collected information like some people collect antiques.”
“I don’t understand. Did she threaten you?” I remembered the blackmail note from the barn.
“I ain’t gonna tell you. Ain’t safe for you to know what she knew.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “She knew too much. I think the wrong person found out.”
Eddie’s pained expression warned me against asking more. He’d told me all he would. Begging would only make him clam up.
“So what’s that?” I pointed at the papers in his hand.
“Paul and I bought a trunk of old papers from Joey Holze’s daddy—remember Big Joe? —at a garage sale. The trunk and the papers was supposedly part of the Mace estate.” Eddie leaned forward and handed me the papers. Mostly copies, they consisted of scribbles, doodles, and some faded drawings.
“See them plans?” Eddie cracked open his third beer. I leafed through the papers again and decided he meant the drawings. I picked them from the pile and squinted at them.
