He strolled into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and stood at the side of the sofa grinning at me. “So what are you gonna do now?”
“Here, help me,” I said, handing him another screwdriver.
I pulled the books from another shelf and showed him another hidden door. Demonstrating my expertise with the screwdriver, I opened it and extracted a soft velvet bag. Inside were more sacred hearts and a gold statue about six inches tall of Mary holding the baby Jesus.
“Feels solid,” Drake commented, weighing the statue in his hand.
We found four more caches as he continued opening more cubbyholes, while I followed along, replacing the wooden doors and sticking books back on the shelves, piling the treasure on the sofa. Drake was just pulling the loot from the last hole when there was a loud pounding on the door.
“Shit!” We both said it together.
I stared at the door guiltily. Through the glass panel leading to the ski porch, I could tell that whoever it was had not come into that airlock, but was standing outside. But it could only be a matter of seconds before he’d decide to walk into the ski porch and tap on the inside door. Had I locked the outside door last night?
Without a word to each other and moving in amazing unison, I grabbed the newest treasure and added it to the pile on the couch. Drake replaced the hidden panel and jammed a couple of books onto the shelf.
The visitor pounded again, louder this time. “Police!” he shouted.
“Double shit!” I cursed.
I grabbed a fuzzy afghan from the hearth, planted myself in a corner of the couch and flung the afghan over myself and the goodies. “Tell him I’m sick,” I whispered as Drake approached the door.
“I’m Officer Steve Romero.”
I heard the voices clearly as Drake greeted him at the door.
“You called last night to report a wanted vehicle on your road?” he asked.
Drake ushered him inside.
“Hi, Stebe,” I sniffed. “Don’t cub dear be. I think I caud a bad cold last dight.” I dabbed at my nose with a tissue and mimicked a pretty decent sneeze.
“I just stopped by to tell you that we’ve got a wrecker down the road with that Suburban right now,” he said. “Did you say you’re pretty sure it’s the one you saw Pachevski getting into last night?”
“I’m preddy sure.” I grinned weakly. It really was a miserable cold.
“Well, I’ll let you concentrate on getting well,” he said. “You folks take care. We’ll dust that vehicle for prints and run the registration. I think we’ll have this Pachevski, Palais, or whatever his name is pretty soon.”
“Thaks, Stebe.”
Drake went as far as the front door with him, then came back in.
“Is he gone?” I asked, slipping out from under the afghan.
“Driving away now.” He continued to look through the crack in the drapes until the police car was out of sight.
I got shakily to my feet and hugged him. “Now what?” I asked.
“Maybe we should have just showed him the stuff and let him deal with it,” Drake suggested.
“Well, we didn’t. So let’s take our time and figure out how to handle this.”
The phone rang.
“Charlie? It’s Eloy.” His voice sounded peculiar. “Tell Drake I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come to the hangar today. My mother passed away last night.”
Chapter 24
“Oh, Eloy, I’m so sorry,” I said. “Hold on a minute.”
I told Drake the news and handed over the phone. He spoke some soothing words and assured Eloy that his coming to work would not be crucial.
Not when we were standing here in Eloy’s cabin with a bundle of loot, potentially worth millions, I thought.
“What are we going to do with all this?” Drake asked after he’d hung up.
“Well I think we can rule out the idea of placing them around the room and pretending we’re redecorating,” I said.
“I think we can rule out sleeping at night until we’re rid of it,” he said.
“Let me think about it,” I said. “You guard it while I get dressed.”
I pulled clean jeans and a warm sweatshirt from my dresser drawers. Combed through my hair and bound it into a ponytail with a cloth-covered band. I knew we should probably just turn everything over to the police and let them handle it, but I could just envision all these lovely pieces in an evidence room somewhere for a couple of years until a trial could get underway. I couldn’t help but feel that someone with the church should handle them, at least get them somewhere safe. Surely, for purposes of convicting Anton and his bunch, photos and appraisals would be proof enough. I expressed as much to Drake as we carefully bundled everything back into the wrappings in which we’d found them.
“So, who you gonna trust?” he asked.
“Well I know that Father Sanchez at St. Augustine helped Father Domingo return the first two crosses. He’d know what to do, I think.”
“It’s gonna be pretty nerve wracking, heading into town with all this stuff in the car,” Drake said. “Should you call him first and let him know?”
“In case we’re hijacked along the way? Maybe so.”
I looked up the number for St. Augustine and dialed.
“Father Sanchez?”
“He’s out this morning. This is Father Ralph.”
“I don’t know if you remember me. I came to see Father Domingo about some church artifacts a few weeks ago.”
“Oh yes, Ms. Parker,” he answered. “The two crosses that we sent to the Vatican. Of course I remember.”
“We, uh, we’ve found a few more things. I’d like to bring them to you, if that’s all right. I think the Vatican should get these too, and maybe you can help me pack them up.”
“Certainly, come any time.”
“Right after lunch?”
“I’ll see you then.”
I hung up and turned to Drake. “He sounded happy to hear about it,” I said.
“I guess so. This’ll make him an instant hero, probably get an upgrade to bishop or something.”
I packed the artifacts into two ordinary-looking duffles while Drake got dressed. We carried the duffles out to the Jeep and made the trip into town uneventfully, although I couldn’t help watching out for any sign that we were being followed. With the sun out, last night’s snow was melting rapidly here in town, leaving the streets wet with muddy water. When we passed the turnoff to the veterinarian’s office, I stared wistfully.
“We can stop by and check on Rusty when we finish at the church,” Drake suggested.
“Let’s do. I’d feel better if I could at least see him awake.” The memory of leaving his inert body with the vet, despite her reassurances, bothered me.
“I’d like to make one stop, if you don’t mind, before we go to the church,” Drake said. “Eloy said he would be at the funeral home around noon. He sounded like he could use some support. Do you mind?”
I wouldn’t be entirely at ease until we had dropped off our treasure, but figured one stop wouldn’t hurt. We pulled into the parking area of the Mitchell Funeral Home, an adobe colored flat roofed structure, and parked beside Eloy’s truck. I made sure the duffles were on the floor in the back seat, out of sight of prying eyes, then locked the doors and double checked them. Surely, right here on the main road through town no one would be brazen enough to smash their way into a vehicle.
The carved wooden front door swung silently inward, admitting us into a soothing room with thick beige carpeting, rose colored drapes, and massive floral bouquets on Queen Anne tables. A discreet sign with changeable letters directed the way to various viewing rooms.
“May I be of service?” a smoothly polished voice inquired. The man wore a light gray suit and plain blue tie. Everything about him was designed to comfort anyone who encountered him.
“Romero?” Drake asked.
“The family is in here,” he intoned, directing us to the first room off a short ha
ll. It was a graciously furnished office containing a cherry desk with four chairs arranged in front of it. No one was sitting.
“Eloy,” Drake said.
“Oh, Drake, Charlie, I’m glad you stopped by.” Eloy looked fit, as usual, but strain showed around his eyes and mouth. “We’re just discussing the funeral plans.”
He turned to indicate the two other people in the room.
“You’ve met Mike Ortiz?” he asked.
I indicated that I had and shook Mike’s hand. I introduced Drake.
“And this is my sister, Maria.”
She was a miniature female version of Eloy, with his facial features, glossy dark hair, and small bone structure. At a little under five feet, she looked like a porcelain doll that you’d want to dress up and put on a shelf for safekeeping.
“Are you doing all right, Eloy?” I asked.
His eyes cut briefly to Mike. “Yeah, fine. We’re just working out the details now. Her death wasn’t unexpected, you know.”
I glanced at Mike and saw the same lines of tension etched there that showed on Eloy’s face.
“The funeral mass will probably be on Saturday,” Eloy said. “Please, come if you’d like.”
“It will be if we can agree on anything,” Mike broke in.
Drake and I both looked at him, startled.
“Well, Eloy seems to feel like money’s no object here, and Maria and I just feel like we should be watching the pennies a bit.” He put his arm possessively around Maria’s shoulders to demonstrate their solidarity. She winced a tiny bit.
Drake and I shuffled a little, knowing this really wasn’t any of our business.
“No,” said Eloy, noticing our discomfort, “tell me what you think. Mama was always there for us as kids. I think we can spend a little to show our respect.”
“And what? Take out a loan?” Mike retorted. “You won’t have any of the old lady’s money until some property gets sold.”
Maria’s mouth tightened at the term ‘old lady,’ but she didn’t say anything. Mike’s arm was still tightly around her shoulders.
“Don’t speak about my mother that way,” Eloy growled, balling his fists. “If he had his way, he’d just toss her in the garbage.” His voice cracked.
Drake subtly stepped between them. “Sounds like tempers need to cool a little here so you can work out a compromise.”
Eloy dropped his hands and relaxed them. Mike was still glaring at his brother-in-law.
The funeral director had vanished and I wondered whether he shouldn’t be here to referee. Surely he dealt with highly-charged situations like this all the time. He could probably suggest something that would be agreeable to both sides. I glanced around, hoping to spot him.
“Look guys,” I said, searching for a soothing tone of voice to use, “I’m sure they offer something that’s a nice middle ground between all and nothing. Why don’t you just sit down and talk to the nice people here about it. They’ll help you come up with something.”
I backed out into the hallway, caught the eye of the funeral director, motioning him to get his gray-suited little butt in here. He took a deep breath and entered the room with a deeply concerned look pasted to his face. I got the feeling that he desperately wanted to go outside and have a cigarette. I flashed him a look that said straighten this out.
He cleared his throat and, directed the family members to sit. Drake and I edged out and fled to our car.
“Whew! Glad to be out of there,” he chuckled.
“Aren’t family occasions wonderful?” I started the car and headed south toward St. Augustine.
We each grabbed a duffle bag from the back seat and headed toward Father Ralph’s office. The priest stood to greet us.
“So, what do you have?” he asked.
I told him how we’d found the artifacts in the cabin, and how we suspected that members of the art theft ring had broken in and searched the place, then tried to run us off the road, in order to get the items themselves. I told how Father Domingo had kept clippings about the thefts and how Leon Palais, also known as Anton Pachevski, was here in town and was wanted by the police. I told him my theory of how the theft ring had blackmailed Ramon Romero into participating, using his prize assignment to the Vatican to gain access to the items he was forced to steal for them. How Pachevski had been forced to disappear in the Caribbean for several years, but that the FBI knew he was back and were again actively searching for him.
It was my first confession to a Catholic priest. I took a deep breath when I was done.
“Don’t worry, my children,” he smiled. “I know exactly what to do with this.”
We picked up the two duffles and headed toward the hall. “Come,” he said. He stood aside so Drake and I could precede him. “The last door on the left.”
We walked down the tiled hallway and I reached for the handle of the last door. The room was dark.
“Set your bag down and you’ll find the light switch on your right,” Father Ralph said.
When I switched on the light, I found myself face to face with Anton Pachevski, who had a gun aimed right at me.
Chapter 25
Instinctively, I backed toward Drake, but Father Ralph nudged him in the ribs with a pistol and we both stumbled into the room.
“I should have thought of this in the beginning,” Pachevski said with his hint of a French accent. “Having you find the treasure for us was so much simpler than looking for it myself. And it was so kind of you to deliver it, as well.”
His white hair was still perfectly slicked back, his European clothing perfectly tailored, his cultured voice unnerving. I reached for the handle of the duffle.
“Push it over here please,” he instructed.
I hesitated.
“Don’t think I won’t use this.” His voice rose a touch as he corrected his aim so the pistol was pointing straight at my chest.
I thought of Father Ramon’s blood soaking into the church steps.
“Yours too,” he said to Drake. “Just set the bag down and push it toward me.”
Drake kicked the bag gently and it slid across the tile. It stopped just short of Pachevski’s feet.
“Now, let’s take a little ride,” he suggested, as if this were a Sunday jaunt to the park. “Ralph, some blindfolds, please.”
The priest nudged us both to the middle of the room so there was no chance of making a dash for the hall, then proceeded to tie a silk scarf around Drake’s eyes and another to bind his hands together. He did the same to me, then I felt a jab in my ribs.
“Out to the car, kids,” Ralph ordered. His normally soothing voice had turned ugly.
“So you were in on these thefts from the beginning?” I asked, turning to face the sound of his voice.
“Now!” he shouted.
“And did you cause Father Domingo’s death too?” I taunted. “Just because the old man insisted on sending the first two crosses back?”
He shoved me roughly in the back and I stumbled.
“Do what they say, Charlie,” Drake said quietly. He didn’t sound submissive—more like he was formulating a plan.
Anton walked in front of us, Father Ralph bringing up the rear. We turned to our right, into the small side entry I’d used on my earlier visit. Cold air brushed my face when Anton opened the door.
“Step down,” Anton coached. “Now, just follow my voice.”
How could someone not notice that two bound and blindfolded people were being forced at gunpoint? It was the middle of the day, for heaven’s sake. I wanted to scream or shout or cause a scene but had no way of knowing whether there was anyone within earshot. In the distance I could hear cars on the road, but that was nearly a block away, with buildings and trees between to muffle any noise I might be able to create.
I heard a car door open.
“Get inside,” Anton instructed. “Duck your head.”
I sat and he pushed my legs inside. On the opposite side of the car, behind the driver’s seat, I c
ould hear Drake doing the same thing. I leaned into his body for reassurance.
Cold air breezed the back of my neck. Behind me Anton was stashing the two duffles into a cargo area. We were in a sport utility vehicle of some kind. He slammed the hatch back down. From their voices I could tell that Father Ralph was taking the driver’s seat, with Anton riding in the front passenger’s seat, undoubtedly keeping his pistol trained on us.
“You know where to go,” Anton instructed Ralph.
The vehicle cranked to life and we bumped our way out of the rutted dirt parking lot. We made a right hand turn and the road became smooth. I assumed we were on the paved highway, which turned into Paseo del Pueblo. From the traffic sounds around us and the number of stops and starts we made, we were going right through the middle of town. That meant we were heading north.
Didn’t anyone notice that the car had two blindfolded people in the back seat? I hoped like hell that a cop would spot us. After several blocks, however, it became obvious that Anton and Ralph weren’t worried. I began to assume the vehicle’s windows were tinted so darkly that no one could see in. I concentrated on trying to picture exactly where we were. On TV the captured heroine can always later tell the police when they crossed over the railroad tracks and she’d hear the rushing water of every stream. In reality it didn’t work that way. We made a series of twists and turns and I was thoroughly lost. I guessed that fifteen or twenty minutes had gone by, but in my current state of hyper-alertness, it could have just as easily been five minutes or an hour.
Eventually, the road straightened and the car picked up speed. We were on an open stretch of highway somewhere. Just as I was trying to calculate how many miles we might have gone, the car slowed and abruptly made a turn onto a dirt road. The first pothole lifted me off my seat, making me wish our captors had at least had the courtesy to buckle us in.
It seemed like we traveled miles on the dirt road, but then time flies when your brains are being jostled into Jell-O.
Honeymoons Can Be Murder: The Sixth Charlie Parker Mystery (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) Page 19
