Hidden Treasure

by Jane K. Cleland

“He must be out of his mind.”

  “Pretty much. What’s your impression of him?”

  “I only saw him a couple of times, and under difficult circumstances.”

  “And your impression?”

  “I thought Doug was devoted to Celia, and earnest. I thought he was worried about her.”

  “Worried about what?”

  “Celia was totally stressed out, a taut wire about to snap.”

  “Have you had any responses to the stolen-object postings?”

  “Not yet.”

  He adjusted position, resting his elbows on the table. “No matter where I look or who I talk to, the unifying element in Celia’s death and Maudie’s disappearance seems to be the presentation box and cat sculpture. I need your help.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What were Maudie’s plans for the objects? Were her nieces in line with her ideas?” He paused for a moment. “I’ll tell you what I really want to know if you’ll agree to keep it between us.”

  “Of course.”

  “I think there’s a chance that Celia planned on steamrolling Maudie into selling the box and cat whether Maudie wanted to or not. Celia’s been telling people, relative strangers included, that her aunt is getting forgetful. Labeling a relative as senile might serve to cover a multitude of sins. It’s also possible that Celia planned to steal the objects outright. The thing is, I can only ask Doug whether his wife was a crook so many ways. I ask. He says no. What do I ask next? It’s not reasonable to expect a man to say anything bad about his wife, even if telling the truth might help catch her killer.” Ellis flipped a palm. “If I’m off base, I’m wasting a lot of time barking up the wrong tree.”

  “If you expect Doug to help, you must think he’s not the killer.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “If Celia planned to steal the objects one way or the other, she’d need a partner,” I said, “someone wise in the ways of antiques.”

  “Also not necessarily.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “She might have been prepared to sell the box for the jewels and be done with it. So will you help us out?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get Doug talking about Maudie and Stacy and the antiques.”

  “I’ll try.” I stood. “May I ask you something?”

  He stared at me for a few seconds. “What?”

  “Did you find my company’s consignment forms in Maudie’s apartment?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Were they in Celia’s purse?”

  “No.”

  “How about her key to Maudie’s unit?”

  “What’s going on, Josie?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m just trying to piece things together.”

  “The key was on her ring, and the ring was in the purse.”

  “Did you find Maudie’s checkbook?”

  “No.”

  “Maudie might have taken her checkbook with her,” I said.

  “That’s what I think. She’s old-school about payments. She writes checks for all her regular bills. From the receipts, which are neatly filed, she never pays anything online or uses her debit card.”

  “She has a credit card, though. She has to—she uses the Uber app.”

  “More than one. Why are you asking?”

  “If Celia was up to no good, she would have had to forge Maudie’s signature on the consignment forms. If they’re missing, it’s likely that whoever killed her stole them.”

  “Why?”

  “To protect Celia’s reputation.”

  “Do you really think a killer would care about her reputation?” he asked.

  “Doug would. Or Stacy.”

  He smiled. “You think Stacy would care about Celia’s reputation?”

  I smiled back. “I think it’s possible. I got the impression Stacy loved Celia … really, I did. More to the point, though, Stacy cares about her company’s financing. If her sister were charged with grand larceny, bye-bye investors.”

  “That sounds right. Do you want to wait here or in the lobby?”

  “The lobby, I guess.” I stood. “Can I ask you something else, something unrelated to Celia or Maudie?”

  He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “That’s one of those questions.”

  “You know me.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “I already don’t like it. Go ahead.”

  “I have a question that is in the none-of-my-business category except that Zoë has kind of made it my business.”

  He dropped his hand. “Zoë?”

  “I’ve tried to think of how to ease into this, but I can’t, so I just have to ask you directly.”

  “Cut to the chase, Josie.”

  “You have to promise you’ll tell me the truth.”

  “Not knowing what we’re talking about, I can’t.”

  “Promise me you’ll tell me the truth or you will refuse to answer.”

  He walked back to the guest table and sat down, pointed to the chair I had just vacated, and said, “Sit.”

  I sat.

  “Are you in trouble?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Is Zoë in trouble?”

  “Yes, but not the way you mean, so no.”

  “Are we discussing a crime?”

  “No.”

  “Enough of twenty questions,” he said. “I promise to answer truthfully or decline to answer at all.”

  “Do you want to marry Zoë?”

  “What?” Ellis jerked back so quickly his chair rattled against the desk, then righted itself.

  “You heard me.”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Answer me and I’ll tell you.”

  “Yes. I’d love to marry Zoë. I adore her. The timing hasn’t been right.”

  “That’s what I suspected. You’re wrong, though. The timing is perfect.” I smiled. “I have a plan.”

  * * *

  Back in the lobby, sitting on the hard wooden bench, I called Cara and got the word that nothing required my immediate attention. I sat there enjoying a moment of private pleasure, recalling Ellis’s reaction to the one-minute version of my plan. After a minute, I got up and walked to the front window, saw nothing that interested me, and sat down again. I drummed my fingers on the wood, trying to channel my impatience into productive thinking, without luck, when the front door opened and Julie stepped in.

  She looked tired, not a surprise, given her schedule, two jobs and school. She half-smiled at me as she walked to the counter. She gave her name to Cathy. I overheard Cathy tell her to have a seat, that she’d let Chief Hunter know she was there.

  Julie perched on the edge of the bench across from me. I said hello, and she nodded but didn’t smile.

  “You, too?” she asked, her tone somewhere between serious and sarcastic.

  “What are you here for?” I asked, adapting a technique I’d learned from Wes. If you don’t want to answer a question, ask one instead.

  “They want to go over my last conversation with Maudie, you know, when we went to lunch. I don’t know what they think I’ll remember.” Her shoulders lifted an inch, then dropped. “Or maybe they just want to know more about orange marmalade.”

  “Orange marmalade?”

  “It’s just an example of the nothing things we talked about. I was with Maudie a few weeks ago when she took my recommendation and bought a new orange marmalade, the store brand, and during lunch, she told me that she liked it. She laughed at herself for paying extra for a fancy brand all these years.”

  “There’s a lesson there.”

  “Be poor?”

  I laughed. “No. Don’t be a snob.”

  “Only rich people worry about things like that.”

  “Do you think so? I think everybody, or almost everybody, has a little bit of keep-up-with-the-Joneses in them. Regardless, it doesn’t matter, that’s for sure. What e
lse did you talk about?”

  Julie bit her lip for a moment, thinking, replaying the event. “She said you got her thinking about those shelves, for the trunk, that it showed how knowledgeable you are—you hadn’t studied the trunk, you simply knew it came with shelves. She mentioned that she was going to reread all of Eli’s love letters but couldn’t bring herself to do it yet.” She sighed. “We talked the whole time, but not about anything special.” She shrugged again. “We ate lunch, then I walked her back. I picked up my tote bag, which I’d left in her unit, and left.”

  “It sounds like a fun lunch.”

  “Always. Maudie’s wonderful to me.”

  “How did the children’s injections go?”

  She smiled, an unexpected easing of tension. She looked younger and less careworn. “I got an A, so Tom and I are going to celebrate. We’re going out for Chinese. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a real treat for us.”

  “That’s great, Julie.”

  Ellis walked into the lobby from the hallway on the left.

  He nodded at me but spoke to Julie. “Thanks for coming in, Ms. Simond. We’ll be with you shortly.” He turned to face me. “Ready?”

  I stood, realizing that I wasn’t ready at all. I hoped I’d find my way and told Julie I’d see her later.

  I agreed with Ellis that Doug knew something. He had to because Celia had, and if she did, he did. If I could ask the right questions, worded in the right way, and in the right sequence, maybe I could ferret it out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  As Ellis and I approached the interview room where Doug was waiting, I checked my phone. It was nearly one, later than I thought.

  “I’m hungry,” I said. “Can you bring in some food? For me and Doug.”

  “We asked Doug already, and he said he didn’t want anything.”

  “Let me ask him again.”

  We stopped in front of Interview Room Two. Doug sat at the far end of the long rectangular table with his back to a pair of windows and a human-sized cage, reserved for what the police called “unruly guests.” The windows, which faced the rear parking lot, were covered by off-white curtains. Detective Brownley sat at the head of the table, close to the entry door. One of the uniformed officers who’d come to Belle Vista, Officer Meade, sat with her back to the wall, a pad of lined paper on her lap. A blue plastic tray holding a box of tissues, a pitcher of water, and a stack of paper cups sat next to the detective’s right hand. Red pricks of light on the three video cameras mounted high on the walls indicated they were recording. As I entered, the only sound I heard was the soft, steady hum of the central air-conditioning.

  Doug slumped in his chair, his eyes fixed on a deep scratch in the wooden table. He didn’t look up when I came in, not even when I sat next to him.

  Ellis stood by the door. “Doug?” Doug raised his eyes to Ellis’s face. “You know Josie Prescott.”

  He swiveled to look at me, but there wasn’t even a flicker of recognition. His skin was blue-white, as if he’d lost blood or was half-frozen.

  I nodded at him. “I’m so sorry, Doug.”

  He kept his eyes on my face, but he didn’t reply.

  “As you know,” Ellis said, “Josie is an antiques expert. I asked her to talk to you a bit about that box and cat.”

  Doug turned back to face him. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  “And I appreciate it. Josie’s asked for lunch. What do you want, Josie?”

  “I don’t know … a grilled chicken Caesar, I guess. What about you, Doug? Do you like salads?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Do you prefer sandwiches?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Let’s get a large chicken Caesar salad and a large turkey sub. Doug and I can share. You like turkey, don’t you, Doug?”

  “I told you … I’m not hungry.”

  “How about something to drink?” I asked.

  “I guess a cup of coffee would be all right. Regular.”

  I turned to Ellis. “I’ll take an iced tea, please. Sweet, if they have it.”

  “It shouldn’t take too long,” Ellis said. “Detective Brownley and I are going to step out and organize the food. Officer Meade will stay here in case you need anything. Doug, I want to thank you again for your cooperation.”

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Doug asked, “Have you been deputized?”

  “Not at all. It’s just what he said—I’m here as an antiques expert.”

  “But this isn’t a casual chat. There’s a police officer in the room and video cameras whirring away.”

  “True. We’re all just so concerned, Doug.”

  He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then took in a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without Celia. She was the best mother. The best wife.”

  “You don’t need to decide anything just yet.”

  “Sure I do,” he snapped, anger flaring. “I have three kids and no job. That sounds pretty darn urgent to me.” The anger seeped from his eyes and voice, replaced by sadness. “I have no family. My folks died when I was a kid. I was raised in foster care.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m keeping the kids home from school for a few days.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Our next-door neighbor is taking care of them. Celia would never let Stacy watch them. Stacy gets distracted, and they’re too young.”

  “How did your interview at Jestran’s go?”

  He leaned back. “I guess good, but who knows.”

  “There’s plenty of help available, Doug, until you get back on your feet.”

  I reached for the water pitcher and a cup. I poured one for him, then one for myself. He drank some. I took a sip, then pushed it aside. It was lukewarm.

  “I’m worried about Maudie,” I said.

  “The police are, too, but I’m sure she’s fine. She likes to be up and doing.”

  “Would she go away without telling anyone?”

  “She’s done it before. Lots of times.”

  I nodded. “And she might not be checking her messages.”

  “Almost guaranteed.”

  “She pays attention to the news, though.”

  “Has Celia’s murder made the news anywhere but here?”

  “You make a fair point,” I said. “Who are Maudie’s best friends?”

  “I don’t know. When we see her, it’s all family stuff.”

  “She’s never mentioned a name?”

  His shoulders lifted, then sank. “Not to me.”

  “How often did Celia see her?”

  “It varied. If Maudie needed something, like when she was packing to move, fairly often. Otherwise, a couple of times a month, maybe less frequently.”

  At a soft knock, Officer Meade opened the door and spoke to someone outside. A few seconds later, she slid a white paper bag onto the table. “We got extra,” she said. “Just in case.” She extracted two deli-packed salads and two white-paper-wrapped subs, laying them near me, along with a large coffee cup encased in a cardboard heat-protector, a bottle of lemon iced tea, and a cup of ice.

  “So quick,” I said. I divvied up the food and started in on one of the salads. “I know Maudie wasn’t particularly fond of the presentation box and cat. Did you like them?”

  “I appreciated the history and the sentiment, but I thought the box was ostentatious, flashy. And the cat was just ugly.”

  “Did Celia and Stacy agree?”

  Doug forked some salad and ate it, then did it again. I wasn’t sure he knew he was eating.

  “Not really,” he said between bites. “Neither one of them appreciated the history or the sentiment.”

  “You know that nothing Celia did can be held against her now.”

  Doug tilted his head to the side, his eyes boring into mine as if he were trying to see inside me.

  “You were very open with me, Doug, about your financial challenges
, being out of work and all. Anyone determined to protect her family would think nothing of selling the box—all those jewels! No one would blame her.”

  “You’re assuming the jewels were real.”

  “Not at all. I’m assuming anyone trying to save their family would think it worth finding out if they were real.”

  “You’re saying Celia stole it.”

  “I’m wondering about that, yes. If I were in her position, I’d sure as shootin’ have been tempted. It wasn’t like she was taking food out of someone else’s mouth.”

  He took the last forkful of salad and pushed his plate aside. I unwrapped one of the sandwiches and moved it closer to him.

  “No more for me, but thanks.” He glanced at the empty salad container. “I guess I was hungry after all.” He drained his cup, too.

  I turned to Officer Meade and asked, “Any chance Doug could get a refill on the coffee?”

  She said, “Of course,” and texted someone.

  I moved the leftover food aside. “No one seemed to like either the box or the cat. You’re the first person I’ve talked to who even appreciated its history.”

  Doug lowered his gaze to his long, bony fingers resting on the table. “Celia thought it was petty and mean for Maudie to insist on keeping it.”

  “That Maudie was selfish.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t. Maudie’s helped us a lot over the years.”

  “What was Celia’s plan?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “To sign Maudie’s name on the consignment documents?” I prompted.

  His shoulders rounded, and he seemed to sink farther into his chair. He nodded.

  I drank some iced tea, trying to place myself in Celia’s shoes. “Celia thought that when Maudie found out, she’d keep quiet. After all, Maudie didn’t care about those objects, but she did care about her nieces. This would show Maudie how desperate things really were.”

  “Celia was certain that Maudie would see that it was best for everyone.”

  “So she printed our consignment forms at home,” I prompted.

  “She couldn’t use the e-sign option because an email would go to Maudie automatically,” he said. “Maudie doesn’t use email often, but she checks periodically.”

  “What bank account did Celia plan to specify for the direct deposit once the sale was completed?”