Hidden Treasure

by Jane K. Cleland

  “None. She planned to ask for a check.” Doug raised his eyes to my face. His lower lip quivered, and he clamped his upper teeth onto it, holding the position for several seconds until he regained control. “I didn’t try to stop her because, well, I couldn’t see any harm in it, and we … you know … fortune favors the bold.”

  “What did Stacy think?”

  “She didn’t know anything about it. If she had, the only thing she would have cared about was that she got her cut. The only thing Stacy cares about is Stacy.”

  “So Celia printed out the consignment documents, signed Maudie’s name, and drove to Belle Vista. She knew Maudie’s signature well, and I didn’t know it at all, so that was low risk, but what made Celia think Maudie wouldn’t be there?”

  “Celia called Maudie at twenty after one,” he said, “just after she spoke to you and Tom, asking if she could come talk to her.” He shut his eyes. “She called from a burner phone she bought last week in Rye.” He opened his eyes. “Maudie told her no, that she wouldn’t be around. I saw Celia smile. Celia had all sorts of plans up her sleeve to get Maudie out of the way, from sending her to get a manicure or a massage, to pretending one of the kids was sick and Celia had to take him to the doctor so she needed Maudie to babysit for the others. With Maudie off somewhere, she wouldn’t need to finagle any of it.”

  “Where did Maudie say she was going?”

  “Celia was so relieved, it didn’t even occur to her to ask. All Maudie said was ‘Let’s catch up in a few days.’”

  “What do you think happened to the consignment forms?” I asked.

  “I hadn’t thought … Someone must have…? I don’t understand. Why would someone take them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He leaned back, raised his chin to the ceiling, and scrunched his eyes closed. “I can’t believe this is happening. I just can’t.”

  His confusion and despondency were hard to witness.

  “I’d feel the same, Doug. I’m so sorry.”

  He opened his eyes and resumed his study of the table. “We had to do it. We were out of options.”

  I aimed for a rational tone, as if planning to steal your aunt’s treasures were a normal, reasonable activity. “But doesn’t Maudie have plenty of money already? Why didn’t you just ask her for help, or a loan, or whatever?”

  “We did. Celia asked a year ago, and Maudie said no, she’d given us money when Eli died and again when Stacy started her business, to keep things even, and that was it, she was done. It’s true she gave us money … she’s always been generous … but that didn’t help us now. I went to her alone when I got laid off. Maudie said her decision was final. She encouraged me to look at the situation we were in now as an opportunity, not a problem, said that someday we’d look back on this struggle and laugh. She told me that the only way to build self-esteem is through accomplishment, that only by standing on my own two feet would I regain my pride.”

  “You must have been devastated.”

  “Mostly I was ashamed. Ashamed I had to ask and ashamed I muffed it. She acted like she was doing us a favor by saying no, like she thought I was lazy, and this would spur me to action. I’m not lazy. I’ve worked like a dog for everything I’ve ever had.”

  I recalled Doug’s humility, his apology for Celia’s grumpiness, and I wondered if it had been all part of an act—no one would think that a man who blames himself for his family’s dire straits would kill his wife.

  While I was ruminating, Ellis walked in carrying a fresh cup of coffee. He placed it in front of Doug.

  “Thanks, Josie,” Ellis said. “I’ll ask you to step out. I need to talk to Doug for a while.”

  I pushed my chair back. “Doug…” I waited for him to meet my eyes. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  As I walked to my car, I rubbed my upper arms, trying to warm myself up. I was chilled to my core, as much from the difficult conversation I’d just had with Doug as from the cool air blowing in from the west.

  * * *

  Halfway back to my office, my phone vibrated, and I pulled onto the shoulder to take the call. It was Wes. He said he had an info-bomb and we needed to meet immediately.

  “Tell me on the phone.”

  “No can do. This is big, Josie, to-the-moon big. It’s going to be my lead on the late edition, but I’m willing to let you in on it early in return for the inside scoop on your conversation with Doug.”

  “What makes you think I talked to Doug?”

  “I have ears and eyes everywhere. I thought you knew that. Meet me at our dune in fifteen, okay?”

  “Even if I spoke to Doug, I couldn’t tell you anything about our conversation.”

  “Sure you could.”

  “No, I really couldn’t, Wes. I look forward to reading your late edition. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Wait! I have news about Doug’s interview at Jestran’s, too. Let me ask you some questions. If nothing else, you can confirm what I already know. I won’t quote you.”

  I agreed, as Wes had known I would, and drove straight to the beach.

  * * *

  I struggled up the still-wet sand. The sun was trying to break through the clouds, a losing battle. The wind riffled the water, but the ocean itself was calm.

  I had a niggling feeling that I had overlooked something significant, that a comment I’d taken at face value had deeper implications than its surface meaning, and I’d missed it. I stared at the waves rolling to shore, replaying my conversations of the last few days, but nothing leapt out at me. The more I tried to recall the memory, the fuzzier it grew.

  Wes arrived a minute later, and the memory slipped away, its tendrils evaporating like ether.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Talk to me,” Wes said as he scrambled up the dune. “What did Doug say about the murder?”

  “I haven’t acknowledged that I spoke to Doug.”

  “I know you were with him at the police station. Don’t try to snooker me.”

  “I’m not trying to snooker you. I told you I couldn’t tell you anything, and I meant it.”

  “I won’t quote you.”

  I turned to face the ocean. Far out to sea, a big tanker was steaming north. “What’s your info-bomb?”

  Wes sighed, his disappointment evident.

  I knew he was waiting for me to turn, to meet his eyes. I also knew I could outwait him. He wanted to share his news, whatever it was, more than I wanted to hear it. He’d insisted we meet in person not so he could try to wheedle something out of me, although he certainly hoped he could; rather, he was expecting a megareaction and wanted to enjoy it.

  “All right … I’ll tell you, but you’re gonna owe me, Joz. You’re gonna owe me big-time. When Celia was killed, Stacy wasn’t in Boston like she said.” He leaned in close, his voice vibrating with energy. “She was in New Hampshire.”

  Stunned, I spun to face Wes. “What?”

  “Yup.” He grinned, pleased at my astonishment. “The police confirmed that Stacy’s investor meeting ended at ten thirty.”

  “So? Maybe she went shopping or something.”

  “They have evidence she hotfooted it to New Hampshire. Here’s how the police are figuring it: Consider motive … as far as the cops know, there’s no one who benefits from Celia’s death. She didn’t even have life insurance. Killing her was either an accident, during a struggle to claim the presentation box and cat, for instance, or necessary to remove the threat of exposure, like if she walked in on the thief. So that takes care of motive, and means is evident—the rolling pin was in plain sight. Which leaves opportunity, so the police are checking everyone’s alibis. And Stacy was definitely here in New Hampshire. Want to guess how they proved it?”

  “She had a rental car equipped with E-ZPass and they traced it. They have a photo showing her passing through the toll booth, entering New Hampshire.”

  Wes’s eyes shone with excitement. “Her E-ZPass wasn’t used.”

  “She pai
d at the cash lane.”

  “Nope. She wasn’t photographed at the toll booth.”

  I thought through the options. “She drove up Route One. It’s the only other option.”

  “Bingo! There are two security cameras close to the border, one a red-light camera, the other attached to a bank’s roof facing the entrance to their parking lot, which takes in a chunk of Route One. The police used facial recognition software, and boom! They got her! She passed by both cameras just before noon.”

  I looked out over the ocean again, puzzled by Wes’s revelation. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not?”

  “If she had nefarious intentions, she would have disguised herself and taken the bus. In today’s world, surely she would have assumed she’d be caught by a camera at some point along the way and acted accordingly. Therefore, she had another reason for lying. Maybe she had an appointment she wanted to keep private.”

  “You’re skipping the obvious: She’s a New Yorker—she doesn’t drive much. She doesn’t even own a car. I bet things like red-light cameras didn’t even occur to her.”

  Wes made a valid point. When I lived in New York City, I didn’t own a car either, and I didn’t pay any attention to motor vehicle laws or policies. “What does she say about it?”

  Wes grinned again. “She says it’s none of anyone’s business how she spends her time.”

  “Have they tried to place her in Rocky Point after noon?”

  “Yeah, but no luck so far. The police are still checking security cameras all around town.”

  “So she didn’t enter through the front door at Belle Vista—that’s the only place they have a camera.”

  “Right. But she still could have gotten in.”

  “I know. Just for the heck of it, I tested it myself. It was easy.”

  Wes asked for details, which I provided once he accepted my terms—that he attribute the story to a source who insisted on anonymity, which would, I suspected, lead most people to assume that Wes got the information from someone on the Belle Vista staff.

  “Hot bananas!” he said when I finished.

  “Did Doug get the job at Jestran’s?”

  “You first. You’ve gotta give me something.”

  “I just did.”

  “I need more. Did Doug confess?”

  “No.”

  “Is he going to? They’re leaning on him hard.”

  Doug had described his lonely childhood, contrasting it to the stability, love, and contentment he’d found with Celia. What would it feel like to see the dream life you’ve constructed for yourself through sweat and devotion slowly, inexorably slipping away through merciless, seemingly insurmountable financial difficulties? Some men would dig deep and rise to the occasion. Others might go feral.

  Wes was waiting for my assessment. “So … will he confess?”

  Since lots of people knew I’d talked with Doug, I decided to acknowledge the meeting and share my impressions. “I doubt it. His focus was on his kids, his responsibilities. His grief.”

  He pinned me with his eyes. “Josie, you were with him for a long time. What did the chief ask you to do?”

  “Talk to him about antiques.”

  “And?”

  “Doug respects the history behind the objects.”

  “You mean about that missing box and cat.”

  “That’s right. He said he has no idea where they are, and I believed him.”

  “You’re not being very helpful here, Josie.”

  “I warned you. What about Jestran’s?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “What kind of question is that, Wes?”

  “Whatever. Do you think Doug was the mastermind? Is that it?”

  “I think that until we have answers, we need to track everyone and everything, seeking out inconsistencies or anomalies. Did Doug get the job?”

  “Yup. They’re a little nervous, though, because the position comes in at ten percent less than he was making before, and that’s a surefire recipe for see-you-later-alligator. You know how it goes … Some people see that as an insult and begin their next job hunt before they even start.”

  “Not Doug. I bet he said that was fine, that he just wanted to work.”

  “That’s nearly word for word. How’d you know?”

  “Because I have a fair sense of Doug’s character. He needed the job, so he didn’t allow his pride to get in the way.”

  “That’s all well and good, but how does he expect to make ends meet? He couldn’t do it before, and now he’ll be bringing in even less and have childcare expenses to boot.”

  “He’ll take a second job. He’ll ask Maudie for help, and this time he’ll approach her with a plan, not merely a request. He’ll ask community or church groups for help. He might qualify for certain government aid. He’ll find his way.”

  “You make it sound doable. What else you got?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Can’t you give even a little color? How did Doug look?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Good, good. What else?”

  “That’s it. You know I tell you what I can when I can.”

  “See you do,” he said sternly. “Catch ya later!”

  Wes slid-walked down the dune, and within seconds, he’d fired up his car and driven away. I stood a while longer, watching the sun trying to pierce the clouds, thinking.

  My initial shock on hearing about Stacy’s lie had passed, leaving me more stunned than surprised. I suspected Stacy embraced situational ethics as her philosophy of choice, maybe even veering into what might be called flexible ethics, where she’d consider it wrong to lie, unless it was necessary. Which begged the question: Why would Stacy lie about when she got back to New Hampshire? Sometimes the obvious answer is the truth—it was certainly possible that Stacy had killed her sister unintentionally, in a panic-heightened rage, or on purpose, to hide another crime, like the theft of her aunt’s treasures. While sororicide was rare, it wasn’t unheard of.

  I couldn’t stop watching the ebb and flow of the water. The waves were mesmerizing.

  If Stacy had flipped out after her Boston-based investor abandoned the deal, she might lie to hide what she would certainly consider a weakness, thinking that her emotional fragility was no one’s business but her own. She might also be concerned that if the word got out, other investors would think twice about partnering with a woman on the verge of ruin.

  I wasn’t a mind reader, and there was no question I could think to ask that would force Stacy to reveal her true reactions to the loss of three investors, two of them in the past week. When I’d seen her at the police station, she’d been visibly upset, and she’d made no secret of her frustration.

  My phone vibrated, startling me. I didn’t recognize the number, although it was from a local area code.

  It was Lainy. “If you still think your lawyer friend wouldn’t mind talking to me about auditioning, I’d love to take you up on the offer.”

  “I suspect Max will be more than happy to chat with someone who shares his love of theater. I’ll contact him today and let you know what he says.”

  “I appreciate it.” She lowered her voice. “Did you hear Wes Smith’s announcement just now? About Stacy lying to the police?”

  “I did. I wasn’t expecting that at all.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know. It could mean something, or it could be nothing.”

  “But she lied to the police! How could that be nothing?”

  “Not all lies are equal. You fibbed about Mitch, remember? Maybe what Wes calls a lie is something like that—an innocent fib.”

  “Because she was embarrassed, like me?”

  “It’s possible. Or to protect someone else.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t judge, and I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I deal with that all the time at home, and I hate it.”

  “No one likes to be judged.”

  “If no o
ne likes it, why does everyone do it? In any event, she just called to confirm the police seal had been removed. She wants to get the unit cleaned so Maudie won’t come home and see all the bloodstains and police guck and grime. Ick. I mean, that’s really nice, but yuck. It’s so awful to think about.” A ring chimed in the background. “Oh! There’s the phone. I’ve got to go … sorry. Thanks again for introducing me to Max.”

  And she was gone.

  I still found it hard to imagine Stacy undertaking cleaning her aunt’s apartment without one heck of an ulterior motive. The Stacy I knew was far more narcissistic than altruistic. Her warmth was professional, not personal, and could be turned on or off, as needed. I wished I could see Stacy simply as a loving niece, but I couldn’t. The truth was that I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn that she didn’t think the presentation box had been stolen after all, and that she planned to search for it. Sure, since Maudie had signed an authorization form, Stacy could enter her apartment anytime, but that would call attention to herself. If she wanted a cover story, overseeing the cleaning was a beaut, and if I was right, she’d arrive before Tom.

  Oh, Maudie, I thought as a fresh wave of fear washed over me. Where are you?

  * * *

  While I was on the phone with Lainy, Gretchen had texted me to ask if I had time to meet Winnie, the dragonfly savior, at four, in half an hour. I replied that I did, and she suggested the Rocky Point Diner. I said that was fine, knowing Julie wasn’t scheduled there today. I was excited to meet Winnie and go over my plan. I knew Gretchen could make it happen. If anyone could handle a cloak-and-dagger operation of goodwill, she could.

  I shivered. Standing on the top of the dune, buffeted by the sharp wind, I’d gotten chilled. I was glad to get back inside my car. Since I had the time, I decided to take the scenic route to the diner. Circling Old Mill Pond, I was able to catch glimpses of slate-blue still water.

  My phone vibrated again. This time, it was Tom. I pulled onto the shoulder next to a grassy slope that ran into the pond.

  “Sorry to bother you, Josie, but I wanted to clear a schedule change with you. I hope it’s okay. I’m at your place setting up the rest of the raised beds and planned on moving the irises tomorrow. Here’s the thing: Stacy called. The police say she can access Maudie’s apartment, and she wants me to clean it tomorrow at eleven. So I thought I’d call and ask you if it’s all right if I reschedule the move.”