Hidden Treasure

by Jane K. Cleland

  I took another step toward the trunk, heard a whoosh on my right side, and whirled. Something struck me, a jarring blow to my left upper arm.

  “Uh,” I exclaimed, a grunt, surprise tempering pain.

  Off balance, I teetered a few steps, trying to right myself, confused and frightened.

  A second blow landed on my upper back between my shoulder blades, and I tumbled forward, crashing headfirst into the trunk. I collapsed, facedown, the wind knocked out of me, heaving, trying for air, covered by glass confetti.

  Pounding footsteps added to my terror, and I raised my arms to protect my head. I wanted to roll over, but I was scared that the glass covering my arms and back would cut me or fall into my eyes. The pounding footsteps stopped abruptly, followed by a scraping sound, metal on metal, then silence, punctuated by birds chirping and calling. I closed my eyes and willed my racing pulse to slow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Don’t move.”

  I recognized Ellis’s voice, but I didn’t understand why I was hearing a police command. Was I being arrested? It didn’t make sense. I was one of the good guys. I decided I must have heard wrong. “What?”

  “Don’t move.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re covered with glass, and you might have a back or neck injury. An ambulance is on the way.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “It’s not optional. Did you lose consciousness?”

  “No. I haven’t moved because I was scared of getting cut.”

  “Good thinking. Do you know who attacked you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “I’m kind of crampy from being in this weird position, but other than that, no.”

  “I’m going to take some photos and video while we’re talking so we can study the glass distribution pattern later. Does your head hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Your neck?”

  “No.”

  “Your back?”

  “No. I told you … I’m not hurt.”

  “What were you doing here?”

  “Looking at the trunk.”

  “Looking? Or approaching?”

  “Approaching. The attack came from behind me. I was struck twice, once on my arm, the other time between my shoulders. You need to get some officers here to make sure no one messes with the trunk.”

  “I will. This apartment is a crime scene again. It will be sealed.”

  “Station officers in the hall and on the lawn. Remember, Stacy and Tom are coming at eleven. I think Stacy will be here sooner. Maybe she already was.”

  “You think she attacked you?”

  I recalled the footsteps, which I’d described to myself as pounding. They weren’t the higher-pitched patter of high heels. They were the thumps of boots.

  “I don’t know.” I recounted my recollection. “The only times I’ve seen her, she’s been in heels. Maybe she wears boots when burgling.”

  “Could it have been regular shoes?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Sneakers?”

  “Probably not. They’re too soft.”

  “Bare feet?”

  “No.”

  Voices sounded from somewhere close by, followed by footsteps. The paramedics had arrived.

  * * *

  One of the EMTs told me to keep my eyes closed and used a small brush to sweep the glass bits off me. They slipped on a neck brace and strapped me to a spinal board. At the hospital, I was x-rayed, examined, monitored, and assessed for signs of confusion, and I passed every test with flying colors. I was bruised, and I had a small bump on the top of my head, but nothing was broken, and I hadn’t been cut by flying glass. I wasn’t dizzy or nauseated, and I had no memory loss. All signs indicated that I was fine.

  The doctor gave me a list of symptoms to watch for and told me he didn’t expect me to have any problems. I thanked him and prepared to leave.

  I didn’t want Ty or my staff to hear about my misadventure on the news, so as soon as the doctor finished with me, just before noon, I texted Ty that I had been attacked but was fine and didn’t want him to worry. I also texted Gretchen so she could alert everyone at Prescott’s to the situation. I called Zoë to ask her to spend the night, just in case any problematic symptoms appeared, and she agreed, announcing that she’d start cooking tomato basil soup. I laughed. Zoë was the soup queen, creating delicious concoctions for every occasion, and sometimes for no occasion. Ellis said he’d arrange for a police officer to drive me home in my car, still in the Belle Vista lot.

  “I’m fine, just a little bruised up. I still want to show you something in Maudie’s unit.”

  “While you were here, I had detectives go over the trunk again. There’s nothing there, Josie.”

  “Yes, there is.” I stood, preparing to leave. Sitting still, I’d begun to stiffen up, and my upper back ached. “Five minutes. That’s all it will take.”

  * * *

  I winced as I struggled to get into Ellis’s huge SUV.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked, helping me step up.

  “Absolutely.” I was feeling more battered than I wanted to let on. My hot tub was calling. “It’s important.”

  “If you’re feeling good enough to do this, you’re up to hearing that I still haven’t decided whether to charge you.”

  “Me? What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t actually break and enter since the door was unlocked and unlatched, but I could definitely charge you with trespassing and maybe with tampering with evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  “The trunk.”

  “I didn’t touch it.”

  “You know you did the wrong thing, Josie. We arranged to meet. I was on time. You had no excuse for going in without me.”

  I turned to gaze out the side window. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You could have been seriously injured.”

  “I know.” My phone vibrated. “I need to take this—it’s Ty.” I tapped the ACCEPT button. “Hey.” He asked how I was, his worry pulsating through the phone line. “I’m fine. Ellis called an ambulance as a precaution. You’ll be glad to know that other than a couple of bruises, I’m perfect.”

  “I knew you were perfect a long time ago. What happened?”

  I gave him the one-minute version and told him we were going back to Belle Vista and then I was going home. I reassured him that there was nothing to worry about since Zoë had agreed to stay with me overnight.

  “There’s no need. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s already been too much fussing over a minor incident.”

  “Maybe your injuries are minor, but the incident isn’t.”

  “You sound like Ellis. He’s just been yelling at me.”

  “Good man.”

  He told me he loved me, and I told him I loved him back.

  I had a dozen voicemail messages and just as many texts. I appreciated my staff’s many expressions of concern and good wishes, and I wasn’t surprised by Wes’s nonstop demands for information, but I wasn’t going to respond to anyone now, and I didn’t want to be bothered. I turned my phone to silent.

  * * *

  The same uniformed police officer I’d seen on the lawn before was back in position. Ellis asked him if he’d had any problems. He said Wes Smith had been sniffing around, taking photos and asking questions of anyone passing by until Mr. Hannigan, the director, tossed him off the property.

  When we went inside, I saw Lainy was back at her station, her expressive eyes radiating concern. I asked Ellis to give me a minute and went to say hello.

  “We were so worried,” she said.

  She looked more stunning than ever in a lilac sundress with beige lace-up chunky-heeled boots.

  “You’re very kind. I’m okay. Listen, before I forget, Max said to text him—he’s glad t
o talk to you about auditioning. Let me give you his number.” She tapped it into her phone as I called it out. “He’s a good guy and very knowledgeable. Ask him anything.”

  “Thank you, Josie. I really appreciate this.”

  “You look excited.”

  “It’s funny how sometimes the stars align. First you put me in touch with Max to help me learn how to audition well, then I found this open showcase in New York next fall—agents looking for new talent. New York City! That’s always been my dream.” She giggled and lowered her voice. “‘Excited’ doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling. I’m going to text Max now and try to connect with him in the next few days. I’ve been preparing an audition piece from Chicago, too. Between you and Maudie … all the encouragement … I’m going to give it the old college try. Thank you, thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome. I think it’s great, Lainy!”

  She scanned my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Fighting fatigue and an inclination to hunch over to favor my bruised shoulder, I smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. I rejoined Ellis, and we walked to Maudie’s apartment. Officer Meade leaned against the wall.

  “Anything I need to know?” Ellis asked her.

  “No, sir. Everything’s been quiet. The crime scene techs finished at eleven thirty.”

  “Call over for me, will you? Ask about fingerprints or anything else they can give us. Call Detective Brownley, too. I want to know the whereabouts of Doug and Stacy during Josie’s attack.”

  She took her phone from her pocket as Ellis opened the door.

  The room looked the same as I recalled. The floor was littered with bits of iridescent yellow and orange glass, which I recognized as coming from one of the marigold glass candlesticks. The other one was intact and lay on the floor. I had no idea why it hadn’t broken, too. The window screen had been punched or kicked out.

  “Did Stacy or Tom show up?” I asked.

  “Both, separately. Stacy arrived around ten, Tom at eleven. Needless to say, they were shocked and upset to hear about your attack.”

  “What was Stacy wearing?”

  One corner of Ellis’s mouth shot up. “Jeans and black leather half-boots.”

  “Her housekeeping outfit. Any alibis?”

  “It’s too early to reach any conclusions.”

  “The attacker must have been hiding in the bathroom.” I pointed to the dividing wall that ran parallel to the kitchen. “The candlesticks were on this ledge. Whoever attacked me must have grabbed one of the candlesticks and swung it at me. I dodged just enough to escape the brunt of the blow, and it didn’t break but skittered onto the floor. The attacker swung the second candlestick and got me on the back. Lucky for me, he—or she—gave up, probably because I catapulted into the trunk and hit the deck, so there was time to escape.”

  “You didn’t see anyone, is that correct?”

  “Right. Not even a shadow.”

  “How about a smell? Any perfume or cologne? Aftershave?”

  “No.”

  “Cigarette smoke?”

  “Stacy smokes.”

  “And?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Coconut oil?”

  His question seemed such a non sequitur, I found myself momentarily confused. “Coconut oil?”

  “It’s popular now. It’s an ingredient in certain shampoos and skin creams. It has quite a distinctive aroma, and it lingers.”

  “You’ve asked people what shampoo and skin cream they use?”

  “I’m very thorough. Did you smell any coconut oil?”

  “No.”

  “As it was happening, did you think it had to be so-and-so?”

  “Stacy, but only because I’d gotten it into my head that she’d be arriving early.”

  “If you were me, trying to identify your attacker, what would you do?”

  “Look for fingerprints on the unbroken candlestick and footprints outside the window.”

  Ellis walked to the window and peered into the dirt. “Nothing distinct, just a mush of footprints.” He crossed the room and opened the door. “Anything?” he asked Officer Meade.

  “Yes, sir,” Officer Meade replied. “No forensics. Doug was meeting with the principal at his kids’ school. Stacy was on the phone to a London-based investment committee.”

  “The whole time?”

  “Yes, sir. Both.”

  “Did you hear?” Ellis asked.

  “Yes.” I walked to the door and stood on the threshold. “Come stand beside me.”

  Standing shoulder to shoulder, we filled the doorway.

  “I was standing right here,” I said. “The trunk was in the same place it is now, maybe a little closer toward me. Squat so you’re my height. Look at the trunk … What do you see?”

  Ellis crouched next to me, dropping his height by almost a foot.

  “A large black book with the word ‘Bible’ written in gold on the cover. A pale blue ribbon that appears to be wrapped around a bunch of envelopes.”

  “You can stand now.” He did so, and I continued. “When I opened the trunk in the Gingerbread House pantry, I was standing six inches away and had to lean in to see both the Bible and the letters. Now I can see them plainly. If I couldn’t see the Bible and the envelopes in the pantry, why can I see them here?”

  “What are you saying? That they’ve been raised up somehow?”

  “I asked Maudie about shelves. She said there weren’t any. Nineteenth-century dome-topped trunks like this one came with two shelves. Julie told me that Maudie said she was going to look for them. She must have realized that what she thought was the bottom of the trunk wasn’t. Instead, it was the missing shelves stacked on the bottom.”

  “So she installed one. So what?”

  “Why? What’s underneath?”

  Understanding lit up Ellis’s eyes. He tramped across the room to the trunk. “I’m going to take some video.”

  I watched for a moment, then took my phone and duplicated Ellis’s efforts. I couldn’t send Wes anything now, but if and when I was able to deliver it to him, my debt would be wiped clear, and then some.

  He extracted some plastic gloves from his jacket pocket. “Anything I should know before I lift the Bible and envelopes out?” Ellis asked.

  “We need to find a safe place, a clean place, to set them down. How about on the bed, under the duvet?”

  He tossed back the duvet and laid the objects on the clean bottom sheet; then, together, we peered inside the trunk. The shelf fit snugly on the ridge below it.

  I pointed to a slight half-moon-shaped opening on the left side of the shelf. “Do you see that half-circle indentation? Whatever tool came with the trunk to lift the shelves is probably long gone. I’d use a hooked probe or something similar. Slide the implement in and tug. Maudie had a metal crochet hook in the pantry to work the dumbwaiter, which would, I think, work well on this, too. I gave it back to her. Anything like that, even a metal knitting needle, for instance. You don’t need the hook, now that I think of it. All you need is something strong to act as a lever.”

  We both scanned the living areas. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a basket filled with yarn on the floor by a chair or the sofa, but there wasn’t one.

  I pointed toward the kitchen. “The crochet hook might be in one of those drawers. Or she might have a lobster pick.”

  “What about a knife?”

  “Too wide.”

  “So we need a knitting needle. You’re saying you don’t have one on you?”

  “Funny. Do you?”

  “I left mine in the car.”

  I laughed. “My toolbox is in my car for real, but I don’t think we need to get fancy.” I slipped my penknife out of its sheath, used my fingernail to access the narrowest blade, and held it up. “How about this?”

  “I have one of those.”

  “Beat ya.”

  I eased the blade into the aperture and pried up the shelf. When I’d ra
ised it about an inch, Ellis asked if I could hold it there for a minute so he could continue his video recording, and I assured him I could.

  I was wondering how I could sneak in a few shots myself when he said, “If you promise not to give any of the footage to Wes until I give the go-ahead, I’ll take some with your camera, too.”

  “I wasn’t going to hand it over to Wes.”

  “Not now, anyway. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you shooting video earlier?”

  “I think you notice everything.”

  “You’re right. Promise not to share it with anyone until and unless I give the okay?”

  “I promise.”

  When he’d finished recording using both our phones, he worked his fingers under the shelf and lifted it clear of the trunk. He carried the shelf to the bed and placed it on the clean sheet next to the Bible and stack of letters.

  “Did you peek?” he asked as he returned to the trunk.

  “No. It felt like it should be a shared experience.”

  He smiled. “That’s what I thought, too.”

  We looked inside the trunk together.

  It was empty.

  My stomach plummeted, and I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the empty trunk. “We’re too late.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ellis and I stood in front of the trunk. “The trunk may be empty, but it was a good idea, Josie.”

  “Someone had the idea before me, and they stole Maudie’s presentation box and cat.”

  “You’re thinking Maudie repositioned the shelf so no casual observer could see what was in the lower section … that was clever of her.” He pointed at the bottom. “Is that another shelf?”