by Terri Thayer
I turned to leave.
“Do you have brothers or sisters, Quentin?” I asked.
He shook his head. It figured. He was one of those only children who romanticized the idea of siblings. He didn’t want to hear anything about the reality of trying to get along with them. Especially grown ones and the women they marry.
I looked at him. His face was perspiring. Kym must have convinced him this was life or death. “Let me tell you something. Drama is my sister-in-law’s middle name, Quentin. She’s not happy unless she’s stirring the pot.”
His voice deepened, and he growled, “Come with me, Dewey. Now.”
Something had shifted. He didn’t sound like the easy-going guy Freddy’d introduced me to. I glanced up. We had walked away from Merrill Hall, away from the other buildings. The entire conference was inside at Mercedes’ memorial, hearing testimonials about the woman who’d brought them together. Buster and Tony were off stalking their own prey.
He was pointing a gun at my midsection. I felt the muzzle graze my arm, and every hair stood on end.
My mind couldn’t catch up with the change in him. What was he doing? I looked down at the gun and up at him. I couldn’t compute what was happening.
Quentin’s agenda had changed. I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t going to like what he had planned.
I forced myself to look at the gun. I’d had guns pointed at me before. It was never a good feeling, but like most things in life, facing it head on was better than ignoring it.
Hold on. I’d seen that piece before. I let out a long, slow exhale. My whole body relaxed, giving me a sick sensation as the adrenaline dissipated.
I said, “Did you take that from Mercedes? That gun’s not real.”
I took a step away. I was getting away from this nut job as soon as I could. I thought about Tony and Buster, hiding in the woods, tracking a four-legged monster. I needed to get away from this two-legged one. Quickly.
But Quentin poked me again, hard and laughed. An evil laugh. “Not real? Why don’t you ask Mercedes about that? I think the bullet that killed her was very real.”
He leaned in, his breath on my neck causing me to shudder. I tumbled to the truth. Mercedes had pulled a real gun on Paul, and then Quentin had used it against her. That’s why the fake one in her room had never been found.
My mouth went dry. “What do you want?”
“The Rose Box complete, that’s what I want. And I will do anything to get it.”
He tightened his grip on my arm. A squeal of pain slipped through my lips.
“You’ve been very clever, so far, Ms. Pellicano. You figured out that the Rose Sewing Box was the true treasure.”
Talking was not killing. I’d keep him talking while I figured out what to do next. “I saw it in Mercedes’ room before she was killed. It was gone afterward. Stands to reason that it was the prize.”
“But you didn’t tell the police you’d seen it. That was your major mistake. You thought you knew who’d killed her, but you didn’t take into account that the box was missing, too. You overlooked that in your zeal to get Paul Wiggins.”
“Not exactly.”
“I know that tool is here somewhere. You seem to be the connecting thread as well as the erstwhile sleuth, so I’m going to let you do the work for me.”
“I don’t know where it is.” I wasn’t going to tell him I knew who had the sewing bird. Ursula.
“Find it.”
“Where do you suggest I look for it?”
“That’s up to you. You have two hours.”
“And why would I do this?”
“I’ll show you.”
He pointed down a set of concrete steps cut into the hillside that I hadn’t noticed before. We went down two flights into an underground parking garage. A bright red PT Cruiser with a license plate holder that read “Quilters Do It on Every Block” was right in front of me, mocking me.
The garage walls were painted bright blue. Low light came from overhead fixtures. The place was deserted. With all the quilter’s car keys still in Kym’s possession, the parking garage was sure to be the last place anyone was coming tonight.
From here we entered a low-ceiling room marked “Utilities.” Quentin unlocked the door and pulled it open with a loud crack. He nudged me into the room and the door slammed behind me. It was completely dark. My breath caught. I could feel the cold seeping from the underground walls.
Quentin moved me forward, pushing the gun at my back. I gasped as I felt the barrel in the small of my back, a crawling sensation moving up as though the uninvited nudge was too much to bear.
I loved when Buster touched me there, when we were out in a crowd. Just a gentle finger right above my waistline, where my back curved inward. The little stroke made me feel safe and secure, and loved. A little hello. I’m by your side. A gentle reminder that he was with me.
This felt like a cruel parody of my lover’s touch. I fought not to shiver in fright, feeling my teeth ache from holding myself in check. I swallowed hard, grateful he was behind me and couldn’t see how difficult it was to complete the swallow. I had no saliva.
I tripped over something, and nearly fell. I gasped. Quentin steadied me.
Over my own frightened exhales, I heard breathing. An irrational fright, visceral and ancient, tore through my body. Something was in here, alive. A picture of the mountain lion passed through my brain, overloading my already taxed nervous system. Tears sprang to my eyes. I didn’t dare wipe them away.
Quentin turned on a lantern. The light was low and took several minutes to reach the inner recesses of the room. The walls were lined with gray utility shelving. I’d bumped into a yellow bucket on wheels with a huge string mop stuffed into it.
The light reached into the recesses of the room. Finally, I saw what was breathing so hard.
A blindfolded Kym was curled in the corner on a cot, her breathing erratic and shallow. A sleeping bag was at her feet. Her hands were tied behind her. I started toward her, but Quentin jerked me back.
“Stay put,” he said. “She’s fine. And she’ll remain okay as long as you deliver the goods.”
“Let me straighten her out. Cover her up at least. She looks uncomfortable.” I wanted to touch her. My brother would be so upset to see her like this.
“She’s sedated. Don’t worry about her.”
He jerked my arm roughly, turning me around. His breath was rank. I took a step back, and he squeezed. Hard. I grunted with the effort of trying to break away from him. The place where Ursula had hit me throbbed.
“You’ve got to give me some time, Quentin. I’m not up to speed on this one. I thought Paul killed Mercedes, remember?”
He laughed—a shrill laugh that cut my spine in half. I felt my knees buckle. He let go of me, and I leaned against the wall for support. The cold concrete helped bring me back to the present.
Quentin kicked, sending an empty Diet Coke can skittering across the floor. The noise was tiny in the space.
“That bitch! I wasn’t out to kill anyone, just to get back what was mine. I never should have confided in Mercedes. She knew what I needed. She knew I would pay to get it back. She just didn’t know when to stop pushing.”
Mercedes was a pushy broad, there was no doubt about that.
“The Rose Box is my heritage. My father was a gambler, a wastrel. He sold everything of value that we’d ever owned, including anything that was precious to my mother, including her collection of sewing kits. I’ve spent the last four years gathering what I could, off eBay and at quilt shows. I’ve traveled this country from coast to coast. My mother is a broken woman, devastated that her family’s heirlooms have been scattered.”
His eyes unfocused. “That sewing bird is the final piece. The last thing I needed.”
I was not dealin
g with a sane man. My mind kept repeating the word “Nutso” over and over again. I shook my head to stop the loop.
“You’ve got two hours. I’ll keep Kym alive until one o’clock this morning,” he said.
“Why then?” Two hours wasn’t much time.
“The cleaning crew starts work again by six. Do you want them to find your sister’s dead body?”
“Sister-in-law,” I said automatically. I was scanning the room, trying to find a way out. There was none. No windows. No way out except the door we’d just come through. No one would hear us. It was a concrete room, in the underground parking structure.
“Find the sewing bird, give it to me, and I will let Kym go free. If you go to the police, I will kill Kym and disappear. I want that sewing bird and the complete set, but not enough to ruin my life,” he said. “Your clock is ticking. Go.”
“I need to make sure she’s okay first,” I said.
He looked at me, assessing my intention. He opened the door and let me go in. He didn’t look at Kym. He’d already shifted to treating her as though she was a thing, an object that could be dispensed with as needed. That meant he was truly dangerous.
Kym raised her head. Her chest was heaving and I could hear the wheeze in her throat. She was having trouble breathing. Without her inhaler, she was in danger of having an asthma attack. That wouldn’t be good.
Her skin looked awful, the blisters watery and white. the allergic reaction had intensified. She tried to focus on me.
“Dewey,” she croaked.
My heart hurt at the pitiful sight of her.
“Your soap cure made me worse,” she said.
Of course, blame me. I laughed, a bitter sound. “Oh, Kym. You’ll never change.”
“My throat keeps closing up. My lungs hurt. I need my inhaler,” she said in short bursts.
“I’ll get it and bring it to you,” I promised.
“No, you won’t,” Quentin said from outside the room. The acoustics in here were such that he could hear us whispering. I frowned at Kym and patted her hand, in what I’d hoped was a reassuring manner.
“Tony?” she croaked.
“Sssh,” I said. Quentin knew Tony was my brother, but he didn’t need to be reminded in this moment that I had a law enforcement connection. He needed to believe that I would get what he needed, so he could escape and let Kym go.
Quentin grabbed me and pulled me away. Kym’s head lolled and her eyes closed. She was out again.
Quentin said, “Your sister-in-law will be unconscious for another hour or so. You don’t want to know what will happen to Kym if you’re late.”
I bristled under his touch, but he was strong for a little guy. His forearms were ropy from hours of quilting and he pulled me into him.
“Don’t fuck this up. I didn’t want to kill Mercedes. I wouldn’t have had to shoot if she’d just stuck to our agreement. I had her cash, but she wanted more.”
I felt a twinge of sadness. Mercedes’ greed had killed her.
Quentin said, “I don’t want to kill again. Find the Rose bird and bring it back to me, and nothing will happen to your beloved sister-in-law.”
He pushed me out the door. I stood in the parking garage, panting, trying to regain the regular rhythm of my breathing.
My beloved sister-in-law? Dude had the wrong Pellicano, but I was the only one who could save her.
Buster and Tony would be gone all night. There was no chance I’d find either one of them before the deadline. I was on my own.
I raced up the steps and outside.
A deer raised her head at my appearance, assessing the threat I posed. My danger was out of sight, but still very present and scary. Kym was being held in a hidden chamber underneath Asilomar. Still, the pine trees swayed in the wind, wild flowers bloomed in the grass. Beyond, I could see the ocean and knew that it was sending wave after wave onto the sand, relentless and unstoppable. Like Quentin.
I tried to clear the cobwebs that fear was setting up in my brain. I needed to be hyperalert, like the deer, attuned to danger on the wind. She put her head back down, assuming I wouldn’t hurt her. I wished I could return to normal so easily.
Now what? I’d been looking for Ursula ever since I saw her yesterday. She’d not been where I’d thought she was. How was I going to find her in two hours?
I gathered my bearings. This parking garage was not the one that Buster had parked in the other night. This one was closer to the Stuck-up Inn. I fought the urge to go back to my room and pull the covers over my head, but Kym would be lost if I did that.
I’d seen Ursula last at the Pirates’ Den. I headed back there. The staff would be around to lock the doors at midnight.
Most of the group was still at Merrill Hall, just a few hundred yards to the north. I could see the lights and hear the tinkle of piano music. A huge laugh went up. The memorial for Mercedes was going strong.
I entered the living room and closed the door, feeling its weight as I shut out the rest of the world.
___
I looked around the room. I’d seen Lucy’s pictures from her grandfather’s album. Back then, the dorm had been one large room, with bunk beds laid out next to each other. The space was used to its maximum. When the state took over, in the fifties, the rooms had been completely remodeled. Walls had been put up to divide the rooms into smaller sleeping rooms with the privacy that tourists or conventioneers would require.
Ursula had been in here. She’d had the sewing bird and laid it on my fabric. I pictured how it might have happened. I breathed in, letting the salty, slightly musty air fill my lungs.
I knew she’d been near the table by the window, where I’d left my fabric. She’d opened the curtain, letting the sun shine in, at least for the few minutes needed to expose my fabric. Why?
Mercedes had had her meeting with Quentin downstairs in her room. Ursula waited above in the living room. That didn’t feel right. Why would Ursula wait out here in the open? This room was always unlocked during the day. Anyone could have walked in on her. Paul could have walked in on her.
She had to be hiding, at least for part of the time she was waiting for Quentin and Mercedes to need her. She had to be available, ready to join them and hand over the sewing bird.
Mercedes wouldn’t want Ursula to know she was hitting Quentin up for more money, so she kept Ursula out of sight until she was finished. I could imagine something got Ursula’s attention and she came out and looked out the window, laying the sewing bird on my fabric. She’d not found out what was going on.
I was sure she hadn’t heard a shot, or if she had, she mistook it for a car backfiring or a branch cracking. A .22 like the one Mercedes had made a very small noise. If the lunch bell had been ringing or the ravens squawking, Ursula could have easily heard nothing.
I tried to picture Mercedes’ room below me. The living room was on the hillside. Her room was not directly below the living room because of the slope. I went into the short hall that led to the bathroom. Now I was directly over her room. I went into the bathroom stall. The walls were concrete block; there was no access to the downstairs.
I walked back into the living room. The closet was over the space that Mercedes’ room occupied. I opened the closet door and went in, banging on the walls. Had Ursula hidden in here all day? That would be majorly uncomfortable.
How was Mercedes going to signal to Ursula that it was time for her to show up with the bird?
I thought about the walkie-talkies Kevin had gotten one Christmas. He sent me into all of the rooms of the house, into the attic and the crawlspace that served as a basement. Reception was not great. Technology was vastly improved now, but I hadn’t seen any evidence of Mercedes having one.
I went outside. There was a small window that was up high in the wall, like a basement window. I peered
inside, but could see nothing. It looked like it should have been part of the room that Mercedes had stayed in, but with the slope of the hill, it was hard to tell.
I went back inside. I had to think harder. Faster. Ursula had seemed to appear in the room. She hadn’t entered by the door that I’d gone through. So where had she come from?
I tired to picture where I’d first seen her. It was in the corner. I knocked on the wall, trying to hear if there was a dead space. I found the closet door, and opened it. It was too dark to see anything.
I opened the door wide, trying to get light into the small space. I grabbed the desk lamp, and used it to illuminate the dark. I tapped my foot on the floor, stomping and listening. The floor gave the same hollow sound, until suddenly it didn’t.
I tapped again. There was dead air beneath the far end of the closet. I got on my hands and knees and rubbed my hands along the worn floor. A splinter worked its way into the meaty part of my thumb, and I stopped to suck it out.
As I sat back on my haunches, my foot hit something hard. I turned and spotted a wrought iron handle on the floor.
I pulled on it. Nothing.
I felt with my fingers. There was an area about four feet square where the boards of the floor had been scribed. I moved away, being careful not to stand in that area.
I pulled again. The four-foot section of floor came up in my hands. With it open, I could see something leading into the space below.
I wished I had a flashlight. I listened. I couldn’t hear anything in the space. It was completely dark, like going down a tunnel.
I reached my hand through, trying to feel for a way down. I felt the top rung of a crude wooden ladder.
This had to lead to Ursula. A picture of Kym in another dark, dank space flitted through my mind. I lowered myself onto the first rung and tentatively took a step.
My heart beat unmercifully. My breath caught. I had no idea what was beneath me. This was torture.
Before I could think any more, I scrambled down the ladder. I was always in favor of ripping off the band-aid. Kevin preferred the slower way.
