by Avery Aames
Buck up, Charlotte. Now! Think!
If only I could get my hands free and pull the wad of paper towels from my mouth. I had lungs. I could scream. The fabric handcuffs around my wrists were soaked with perspiration. My first instinct was to stretch the bonds to slip free, but then I recalled Amy at the breakfast table, playing with the Chinese finger puzzle her mother had given her. The more she’d struggled, the tighter the bamboo braid had become. I’d told her to relax and twist. Would that strategy loosen my fabric handcuffs?
Dane opened the driver’s door, tossed my purse and the basket of cheese onto the seat, and slithered in. “Be glad I didn’t dump you in the truck bed.”
Yeah, like he’d do that. I wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t put me in the truck bed because he knew I might roll around and make a ton of noise.
Like a law-abiding citizen, Dane exited the parking lot slowly. He drove with the same caution. No way was he going to get pulled over for a traffic violation.
Inside the truck, light waned. The sun was setting. Dane began to hum a tune that sounded like a dirge. Visions of funerals—mine, in particular—played in my mind like a bad movie. Determined to change my fate, I twisted like a worm until my back faced away from Dane. Next, I squeezed my wrists together. The silky material slipped down an inch. Hallelujah!
Dane glanced at me and grinned. “Getting comfy?”
I grunted.
“Edsel wasn’t as curious as you. He was willing to drink away his sorrow. He actually liked Harker, the dolt. More than liked, if you really want to know.”
I didn’t. I wanted to break free.
“He had the hots for him.” Dane snorted. “Harker missed the signs.”
I had, too. Was he sure?
“Harker was such a jerk. He only cared for himself.”
I worked at my bonds. They felt looser but not lax enough. The wad of paper in my mouth was wetter, though. I tried to compress it and gagged.
“Julianne was my dream,” Dane went on. “My everything. She loved the color blue. Did you know that? Of course you didn’t. You didn’t know her. Nobody did. She liked music by Usher. And dancing. Man, she loved to dance. And then he came along. Did I tell you Julianne was an artist?” He glanced at me and back at the road. “Me, I sucked at art.”
On the night of the murder, Harker had teased Dane about not knowing the difference between famous artists and Las Vegas nightclub performers. Why couldn’t I have figured out then that he was a phony?
“I only took up art because of her. But Harker had the chops. He swept her right off her feet. She cried when she dumped me, but she said he was so talented, so clever, so handsome. She couldn’t help herself.”
The way he was talking, I wondered if he’d murdered Julianne and made it look like suicide, but then he slammed the steering wheel with his hand. “She shouldn’t have killed herself! She had me. She could have had me forever. But no. If she couldn’t have him, she didn’t want to live.” He glowered at me. “Do you know how that feels?”
Creep Chef hadn’t wanted me, and the rejection still stung, but I’d never contemplated suicide. Not once. Julianne was fragile, Winona had said. When Harker dumped her, she couldn’t face life on her own.
“We’re here.” Dane pulled the truck to a stop and looped the basket of cheese over two fingers. “Want to have a picnic?” He climbed out of the truck and slammed the door. I heard his footsteps on gravel. Seconds later, he opened the passenger door and tugged me by the ankles. The floorboards ground into my right hip, scraped my cheek. I groaned from the pain.
When I was fully out of the truck, Dane yanked me to a stand and I saw where we were. At the Ziegler Winery.
“Apropos, don’t you think?” he said. “Back to the scene of the crime.” He grabbed my elbow with a firm hand. “Move. We’re going to the cellar. I don’t think I’ll kill you. I think I’ll let you rot there. How do you like that idea?”
I didn’t like it a whit.
“Until the rats are done with you, you can contemplate your stupid decision to stick your nose in where it didn’t belong.”
I’d been doing that for the past half hour.
He dangled the basket of cheese in front of my nose. “Maybe they’ll go for the Camembert. What do you think?” He sniggered. “No one will find you. This place is a pariah now. Quinn’s aunt will never get her college off the ground.”
When I first met Dane, I’d figured him for a malcontent, but I had no idea he was as crazy as the rest of the Ziegler family.
He pulled a keychain from his pocket. One of Urso’s identifying tags hung from the loop, and I moaned. He must have filched those at the same time he took the engagement ring. If windows weren’t broken in the mansion, no one would guess I was trapped inside.
“Let’s see, which one? Aha! Here it is.” He slotted a key into the front door lock and twisted. “Success.” He pushed open the door. “You know the way. Go.” He propelled me forward with a jolt to the middle of my back.
I coughed hard.
“Oh yeah, you don’t need that gag anymore. Nobody will hear you. Scream all you want.” He plucked it out with two fingers and winked.
I didn’t scream. He knew I wouldn’t. What good would it do? I wanted to save my vocal cords in case I needed them when I was fleeing to the road. I felt the scarf handcuffs give a little bit more, but still not enough. Dang!
He opened the cellar door. “Down we go, lady first.”
The dank odor hit me head-on. My throat swelled with fear. I didn’t want to be buried alive. I tripped over the threshold.
“Uh-uh, no falling.” He grabbed my forearms.
I prayed the dim light would keep him from noticing how loose my bonds were.
“Harker had it so easy,” he said as he prodded me forward. “A classy family. Girls falling all over him. He didn’t deserve it so good. He deserved to die.”
“Nobody deserves to be murdered,” I said.
“Sure they do. Bad guys do.”
“Do you?”
“I’m not bad. I’m making a judgment call. Trust me; the world will thank me for my noble act. Harker used women.”
“So do you.”
“Bull.”
“You used Quinn.”
“Did not.”
“You used her scarf as a murder weapon and set her up to take the blame. That’s not a noble thing to do.”
“She was a minx. She toyed with me.” Dane pushed me forward and forced me to sit on the flagstone floor next to the brick wall. He set the basket of cheese beside me.
“I know why you built the brick wall,” I said.
“Do you really?” He chuckled. “Enlighten me.”
“You built it to honor your surname. Cegielski means bricklayer.” With my hands out of sight, I jammed my wrists together. The handcuffs slipped another half-inch. “You thought you were so clever.”
“I was.” He grinned. “I am. What about those jewels that were scattered around? They kept everyone guessing, didn’t they? By the way, there is no treasure here. No jewels, no gold doubloons, no pirates. Believe me, I’ve searched.”
“In January, when you staked out Providence and the winery, you went to the museum. Who were you with? I don’t think it was Edsel or Winona. Another student?”
He kept mute and eyeballed a spot beyond me. “Let’s see. Shall I tie you to the iron bars? No. I’ll stuff you in the hole for the dumbwaiter and seal it up so nobody will ever find you. I still have a bag of mortar in the truck. On your feet.”
“Why did your mother commit suicide?”
Dane stiffened then forced a smile. “You’ve been doing your homework.”
“I left an Internet page open on the computer at The Cheese Shop. My staff will see it.”
He sighed. “The Internet is way too helpful. I’ll make sure it’s erased.”
“Chief Urso will get here soon. He put a tracer in my shoe,” I lied.
Dane snorted. “Don’t make me laugh. This isn’t
some stupid TV show.”
His words made me think of Rebecca and a nervous titter burbled out of me.
“What’s so funny?” he said.
If only I had one of those silly plastic bracelets with WWRD emblazoned on it. What would Rebecca do? She’d tell me to use my environment, as I’d been taught in self-defense class. Except there was no environment in this cellar. There were no lamps, no chairs. Not even a blasted shovel.
“On your feet.” Dane whacked my upper arm.
I flinched.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
He had to be kidding. My nose wasn’t bleeding any longer, but every bone in my body ached. I tried to stretch my scarf handcuffs wider. This time, they came loose and fell softly to the floor.
“Get up,” he ordered.
As he straddled me to hoist me by the armpits, my elbow nicked the cheese basket, and I nearly cheered. The cellar had environment, after all. I groped for the cheese basket handle, snagged it, and swung out. The rattan crackled as the basket made contact with Dane’s ear. The jar of jam sailed into his jaw.
He wailed and released me. He stumbled backward.
I swung again, but he grabbed the basket out of my hands and hurled it away.
“Sorry, Charlotte. An empty basket doesn’t have the same sting.”
He dove at me.
I dodged him and sidled, like a crab, along the brick wall. I groped the top ledge to keep my balance and felt a brick give under my hand—one of the bricks I’d loosened when I’d broken into the winery in search of Rebecca. Wasn’t it ironic that, for a guy with bricklayer as his surname, he wasn’t very talented at the craft? He’d probably used too much water in the mix. I swung the brick with force. It made contact with the side of his head.
Dazed, he careened into the iron bars. He slumped to the ground.
Moving fast, I unknotted the scarf I’d shed, pulled Dane’s hands through the iron bars, and fastened them with a set of knots that would have made my Girl Scout leader proud.
Let’s hear it for macramé!
Footsteps resounded overhead. In the foyer.
I glanced at Dane. Did he have an accomplice? Had he been pulling my leg with all that talk about Edsel being his enemy?
The door to the cellar creaked open.
“Anybody here?” a woman called with operatic gusto.
Was it Winona? Was she Dane’s partner in crime? Had she snowed me? Snowed all of us?
I charged forward, prepared to hurl the brick at her, but stopped when I made out Sylvie, not Winona, in the dim light.
“Charlotte, are you all right?” Sylvie scuttled down the stairs and squinted into the gloom. “I saw that ratty purse of yours in the truck outside, and I got worried that something had happened to you.”
Ratty? I didn’t think it was ratty. It was well loved.
“Oh, dear, you’re hurt.” Sylvie tapped under her nose, indicating the dried blood on my face.
“I’m okay.”
She spotted Dane. “Who’s that? Did he force you down here? Is he dead?”
“He’s going to wake up with a very bad headache.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She threw her arms around me.
Within seconds, the two of us became quite uncomfortable. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d hugged, if we ever had. We pushed apart.
I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?” I didn’t need to ask. She was dressed in camouflage, complete with boots, and she carried a tote, most likely filled with tools to search for treasure. “You truly believe the pirate rumor.”
“I don’t just believe it. I know it. I found the doubloons.”
“You what?”
“I thought I’d take one more look since my last try was, well, cut short. See, I read Zachariah Ziegler’s diary at the museum. Lovely place, by the by. The museum docent let me read it because I was wearing gloves. Such a silly rule. Anyway, the old man gave clues as to the treasure’s whereabouts.”
“Clues? What kind of clues?”
Sylvie pulled a diary from her tote and waved it at me. “Shhhhh. I’m just borrowing it.”
Yeah, that’s what the Grinch said.
“He fancied himself a pirate.” Sylvie flipped to a page and showed it to me. “He wrote where he’d stashed the treasure using paces. You know, forty this way, ten that. I figured his paces would have been much longer than mine, so I added a few here and there, and I found it buried outside the mansion. Just beyond that fireplace, in fact.”
I glanced where she pointed, the nook where Quinn had hidden on the night of the murder.
“I think that used to be an entrance to the cellar,” Sylvie said. “Ziegler sealed it up. Clever old chap, don’t you think?”
Clever Sylvie, was what I was really thinking. I hadn’t given her enough credit.
Sylvie chewed her lip. “I’m not going to keep the money. It belongs to the town.”
“That’s noble of you,” I said, though I wondered what her game plan was. Did she think that her gracious act would win back Matthew’s heart? Surely he was smarter than that.
She fluffed her hair. “Should we call Chief Urso?”
Oh, no, you don’t. She would not use this little scheme to win over Urso. Not on my watch.
“I’ll call him,” I said. After making sure Dane was still out for the count, I bolted past Sylvie, up the stairs, and out of the mansion to the truck. I fished my cell phone from my purse and dialed. Urso answered. I’d never been so happy to hear his voice.
CHAPTER 31
The next night, a crowd huddled around the buffet table in the Providence Playhouse foyer. The table had been draped with a white linen tablecloth and decorated with multiple vases of daffodils. Colorful platters of appetizers held bite-sized pizzas, prosciutto-melon-Havarti kebabs, and macaroni-and-cheese tarts. I stood amid the throng, my ears peeled for disgruntlement regarding the play they were about to see, but everyone seemed primed to enjoy No Exit with Poe. Talk of the bad Internet review circulated, but most of the patrons dismissed it. Many of the guests said that Bernadette Bessette knew what she was doing, words that filled me with pride.
As I stood at a beverage table waiting to pick up a cup of juice, Freddy, Winona, Quinn, and Edsel strolled into the venue. Freddy gave a nod, and I smiled back. Winona whispered something to him and he laughed. I noticed Edsel had his arm around Quinn, and lo and behold, she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying his attention. When Freddy and Winona split off toward the buffet, Edsel turned to Quinn and looked at her so lovingly that I was sure the gossip Dane had spewed about Edsel was faulty. I chalked it up to sour grapes. Dane was the kind of person who felt if he couldn’t be happy, then nobody deserved to be.
I caught sight of Meredith and Matthew entering the theater. Both were smiling. Their gleeful moods worked like a magnet. I abandoned my quest for a beverage and made a beeline for them. We met in the center of the crowd.
“What’s got you jazzed?” I said.
Matthew grinned so broadly that his pearly white teeth reflected the gleam of the chandelier. “Meredith gets to go ahead with the college plans.”
“Isn’t that great?” Meredith’s smile grew megawatt bright.
“Congratulations.” I high-fived her.
“The town council is behind it,” Matthew continued. “And with the new influx of cash from the treasure that Sylvie found, money is not an object.”
“Share your news, too.” Meredith elbowed Matthew.
“I won the custody suit. Mr. Nakamura was, in a word, brilliant.”
“Brilliant,” Meredith echoed.
“The girls will be staying with me. Sylvie can have visitation rights, approved by me.” Matthew beamed with confidence.
“Wow! That’s super.” I squeezed my cousin’s arm. “Have you told Amy and Clair?”
“Are they here?” Meredith slipped her hand into Matthew’s. “I heard this production might be a little, you know, adult.
”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Pépère is playing cards with them in the green room. The broadcast speakers have been turned off.” I gazed at Matthew. “So how did Sylvie take the news?”
“Charlotte!” Rebecca glided to my side and hitched her chin. “You’ve got to see this.”
I followed her gaze and spotted Jacky entering with U-ey. Dressed in a pinstriped suit and soft blue shirt, he looked like a hunk, and I felt a little tickle of something. Not jealousy. Delight, perhaps? I couldn’t remember him ever looking so self-assured.
“Yoo-hoo, Rebecca,” my grandmother said as she waltzed between the guests. As always on opening night, she glowed with energy. “Somebody’s looking for you.” She jerked a thumb then proceeded on.
Ipo Ho, his impressive chest pressing at the seams of his Hawaiian shirt and leather jacket, stood by the far wall. He held a single rose in his hand and seemed to be mumbling words, as if rehearsing a speech.
Rebecca said, “Not again.”
“Not again, what?” I said.
“He’s probably going to propose again. He’s such an innocent.” She glanced at him. “Isn’t he cute?” She giggled and trotted toward him.
Left out in the couples department, I felt my heart grow heavy. Jordan and I hadn’t made plans to meet at the theater, but I’d hoped he would appear. He knew I’d be there. Maybe he was having second thoughts about asking me to go on the trip to Gruyéres. After the run-in with Dane, my picture had made the front page. Maybe Jordan figured that being with me might blow his well-designed cover.
I turned back to Matthew and Meredith. “So, where were we? Oh, yes, how did Sylvie take the pronouncement? Not to tragedian proportions, I hope.”
“In her inimitable Sylvie way,” Matthew said. “With a tight smile and a flip of her ice-white hair.” He mimicked the gesture. “Thankfully, she’s going back to England today.”
“No, I’m not.” Sylvie strutted to our group, her faux ocelot coat replaced with a chartreuse knee-length coat, her hair streaked green to match.
I bit back a laugh. Had she glanced in the mirror? Did she really think she looked fashionable? Maybe at the age of sixteen. In Soho.
