Hidden Treasure

by Jane K. Cleland

  I eyeballed the space. “It looks that way. See the beveled edge? It’s a match to the one we lifted out.”

  “Let’s see if anything is under it.”

  I held his camera while he turned the trunk on its side. The shelf flipped over.

  “Maudie might have just moved the one shelf,” he said as he pulled it out and placed it on top of its twin. “You planted the seed when you told her trunks like hers came with shelves. She wanted to find out if she had some. She found them and slipped one in place to confirm it fit.”

  “Theoretically, I guess, you’re right—there’s no evidence that she moved the presentation box and cat, but neither is there evidence that she didn’t. All we know for certain is that they’re still missing.”

  He nodded, thinking.

  “Maybe she took them with her,” I said.

  He shook his head. “They’d be too heavy for her to manage.”

  “Not really. Maudie told me she could bench-press fifty pounds, and I’m certain the box and cat weigh more than that. The problem I see is that it’s twenty-four inches long, which makes it too big for carry-on if she went by plane, and no way would she check it.”

  “Do you have a theory about what happened?”

  “I have several. It’s possible Maudie managed to hide the presentation box as the bad guys were breaking into her unit, then escaped. She’s hiding out somewhere.”

  He scanned the small apartment. “Where could she hide it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who are the bad guys?”

  I stared at the bloodstained spot where Celia had died. “Someone who was enraged and took it out on Celia.”

  “Was Doug that angry at her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Celia’s drama wore him down and he snapped.” I raised my eyes to meet Ellis’s piercing gaze. “Where does Stacy fit into all this?”

  “We’re following all sorts of leads, some more promising than others. You said you had several theories. Tell me another one.”

  “Maudie hid the box after she got back from lunch. She’d made plans to go away. After she was gone, someone came in or broke in and stole it.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “Mountain climbing?”

  Ellis smiled. “What’s your second guess?”

  “She said she wanted to go snorkeling.”

  A firm clap-clap sounded from the brass knocker.

  “One second,” Ellis called.

  It took him ten seconds to slip a shelf into position. I was there with the Bible and letters and lowered them into place as he tossed the duvet over the second shelf. I stayed by the trunk while he opened the door. It was Officer Meade.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir. Mr. Hannigan, the manager, is here. He says it’s urgent.”

  Ellis swung the door wide.

  Mr. Hannigan was just as buttoned up as the last time I saw him, maybe more so. He wore a suit and tie, and his expression was solemn, bordering on grim.

  “I’ve consulted with our board,” he said, “and pursuant to our Residency Agreement, paragraph twelve, subsection (e), we are withdrawing Mrs. Wilson’s acceptance, effective immediately. Due to her continued absence, we’ll be packing up the contents of her apartment as specified in paragraph fourteen as soon as you allow it. We’ll secure everything in a locked unit downstairs and deliver it to any Rocky Point address she specifies.”

  “You’re kicking her out?” Ellis asked.

  “We’ve determined her needs can’t be properly met here at Belle Vista. We will be returning her entry fee.”

  “What’s really going on?”

  “We can’t allow this ongoing situation to continue to upset the other residents. It’s not good for them, it’s not good for us, and it’s not helping her. I understand you need to complete your investigation, but I want to make certain you aren’t unnecessarily delaying it.”

  “We hope to be finished within a day or so. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Not today?”

  “No. But you can go ahead and fix the screen.”

  Mr. Hannigan tightened his lips, his dissatisfaction patent. “Very well.”

  He marched off, and Ellis closed the door.

  “Nice guy,” I said.

  “He’s between a rock and a hard place.”

  “Can you always see both sides of an issue?”

  Ellis smiled. “I always try.”

  “I think Maudie getting the boot is a blessing in disguise. She’d been thinking about a condo on the beach before Celia and Stacy strong-armed her into moving here.”

  There was another knock on the door. This time, Officer Meade said it was Lainy with a question.

  Ellis said that was fine, to let her in, and Lainy stepped over the threshold. Her big eyes were alive with curiosity, and she looked everywhere at once, peering, registering, filing.

  “Sorry to break in,” she said. “Mr. Hannigan just told me about Mrs. Wilson. I’m so upset … If he’s withdrawing her residency approval, it made me think you must have news about her.”

  “We’re following multiple leads,” Ellis said. “Have you thought of anything else that might help us find her?”

  “No. I wish I had.” She shook her head, her sadness evident—unless she was acting. “And you still haven’t found the presentation box and cat?” She sent her eyes around the room again. “The way Tom described it … those jewels! I’d love to see it.”

  “Any ideas for us on that front?”

  “Sorry, no. The real reason I’m here … I thought maybe you’d like some coffee or a Coke or something.”

  Ellis turned to me. “Josie?”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Lainy. Thank you. I’m fine, though.”

  “I’m good, too,” Ellis said. “Thanks.”

  As he closed the door after she backed out of the room, I said, “That we haven’t found the missing objects will be all over town before you can say I have a secret.”

  “What’s her agenda?”

  “Chronic nosiness. She’s a nice girl but an incorrigible gossip.”

  “It will be interesting to see how people react to the news.”

  “It will indeed.” I paused for a moment. “I have an idea. Let me slip Wes a few nuggets. I could tell him that I dragged you here because I was convinced that there was a hidden compartment in the trunk, but I couldn’t find it. The objects are still missing. I’ll assure him that I’m okay, that whoever attacked me apparently didn’t want to hurt me badly—he or she simply wanted to get away. If you remove the officers and hide cameras around the apartment, nanny cams, for instance, the scene is set.”

  “I can’t do it without Mrs. Wilson’s permission.”

  “We don’t know where she is. Can’t you do it as part of your criminal investigation?”

  “You have an elastic view of privacy laws.”

  “This is a good idea, that’s all I’m saying.”

  He rubbed the side of his nose. “I can certainly set the plan in motion pending her permission.”

  “Shall I text Wes?”

  “That can’t do any harm. Why don’t you have a seat? I need to make a bunch of arrangements.”

  I sat on a bistro chair to text Wes, then stood at the window, half-listening as Ellis spoke to Cathy, asking if there was anything he needed to do right away.

  Maudie and I had talked about the risk of leaving valuable objects in her apartment, that too many people knew about the box and cat. Given her physical capability, I knew she could have moved the presentation box on her own. The tough part would be lifting it out of the trunk, but after that, rejiggering the shelf and lowering the presentation box into the lower section would be a piece of cake.

  It was certainly possible she repositioned the shelf simply to confirm it fit, but I thought it was more likely that she had hidden the box and cat sculpture so they were safe during her trip. If I was correct, she’d planned her getaway; she hadn’t run away on the fly. Maybe her pl
an had come together last minute, but it was a plan, not a flight. Evidently, she’d left within minutes of her return from lunch, and there was no doubt in my mind that Maudie hadn’t been planning on traveling when we talked Friday morning, which meant she’d arranged the trip after we spoke. Something had changed her mind or spurred her on.

  I caught Ellis’s eye and raised my index finger, indicating I wanted to talk to him, and he asked Cathy to hold on.

  “Did you talk to Gerard Martin? Maudie’s travel agent? Maudie’s friend Nessie Wynn told me she gave his name to the police.”

  “We talked to him. Why?”

  “When I spoke to him, he wouldn’t answer any questions. Did he tell you anything?”

  “No. Did you think of something I could use to change his mind?”

  “No.”

  I turned back to the window. A small brown bird flitted from a nearby branch to another one a few feet away, then, a moment later, flew off toward the meadow.

  Ellis told Cathy to connect him to Katie, the police tech expert. When he had her on the line, he detailed what he wanted in terms of hidden camera placement, external feeds, and absolute discretion. When they were finished, Katie transferred Ellis to Detective Brownley, who was charged with overseeing the sting.

  “Since Hannigan plans on moving Mrs. Wilson out of here ASAP,” Ellis told the detective, “we can use that as a cover story. We’ll tell him that we’ll be in and out all day today, completing our investigation. Other than repairing the screen, he has no reason to be in here, which means you can control access. Once I receive the go-ahead from Mrs. Wilson, we can activate the hidden cameras. If it’s a go, I’ll want eyes on the camera feed nearby, maybe in a car parked around the corner. Under different circumstances, I’d try to coordinate with management to use a room on-site, but the facility is now hostile to our presence, so I don’t want to involve them. Wherever the placement will be, it needs to be unobtrusive, but close enough to make an arrest, if needed.”

  I continued listening with one ear, but most of my brain was thinking about Maudie, to try to differentiate truth from lore. Not all lies are equal. I’d learned that lesson young. My dad told me that sometimes lying was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.

  I’d been in the eighth grade, and none of my friends knew what to do or say when my mom died, even my best friends. One girl was especially insensitive, asking prying questions about Mom’s cancer, her last days, her pain. I tried to stay strong and tough, but after a few days of what felt like a thousand pricks, my dad caught me crying and dragged the story out of me. He told me to avoid the issue, and if that didn’t work, to lie. He said I should thank her for her concern and smile and walk away. If she pursued it, I should say that Mom had no pain at the end, that her passing was peaceful. No one but us, he said, needed to know about her agony or frailty. He explained that it was completely okay to lie when answering a question no one had a right to ask. It worked like a charm. Soon she lost interest, and I was allowed to grieve in peace.

  Two of the three antiques appraisers I’d recommended, Melvin Farrow and Lisa Rollins, had spoken to Maudie on Friday morning, the day I’d given her their names. Dr. Edward Moss, the third on the list, told me he hadn’t. Perhaps Maudie had decided that he was out of contention based on his distant location, but there was another possibility worth considering. People who work in the high-end art and antiques field have to develop finely honed skills of deception. A husband who discovers that his wife charged a pair of antique cuff links wants to know if she told you who they were for. You know it was some hottie named Sam, but you don’t reveal that tidbit because her relationship with Sam is none of your business. The husband has to be put off, hopefully without alienating him, because after he recovers from the shock of her betrayal, he may want to buy a set of antique cuff links for himself. A daughter whose father has recently died insists that you tell her the details of the consignment deal you just struck with her brother. You have to explain you never reveal who is or isn’t a client, nor any arrangements, because while you’re plenty excited he decided to consign his share of his dad’s antiques to your firm, you want her share, too.

  Ellis continued his instructions to Detective Brownley. “The bottom line is that everyone has to believe that we haven’t found the missing objects—which, by the way, we haven’t. I’ll get Officer Meade to park herself inside the unit until you arrive.” Ellis listened for a while, responded to some questions, then ended the call.

  As soon as he was off the phone, I said, “Do you have a colleague you can trust in San Francisco?”

  He pocketed his phone, his eyes on my face. “As it happens, I do. Why?”

  “Who?”

  “You first. Why?”

  “Because I think Dr. Moss, that Egyptologist I told you about, is a really good liar.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Ellis was a good listener. As I detailed why I thought Maudie might be in San Francisco, he kept his eyes on my face, his attention absolute.

  I concluded by saying, “I think it’s worth talking to Dr. Moss in person. It’s easier to fib on the phone than it is face-to-face.”

  “I can ask the SFPD to help out, but I’d rather keep my interest in one of their city’s upstanding citizens unofficial if I can. Let me call a buddy of mine who moved out there, Vincent Stein. We were in Homicide together in New York. When he retired, he took a job as head of security for one of those high-tech start-ups. He’s been out there as long as I’ve been here in Rocky Point, a dozen years or so. From what he tells me and what he doesn’t say, I suspect he’d like to get back out in the field and do some detecting.” He gave me a once-over. “While I’m trying to locate him and finalizing the arrangements here, you are to sit and chill. Then we’re going to get something to eat.”

  “I’m not tired and I’m definitely not hungry.”

  “If you’re not tired, you’re not human, and if you’re not hungry, you’re more injured than I realized.”

  I was about to argue the point but stopped. There was no reason for me to try to tough it out. “You’re right—I’ll be glad to sit down, and I should have something to eat.”

  I sat on Maudie’s sofa, and after a minute, I fluffed a red velour toss pillow and stretched out, nestling my head in the soft cushion. I dozed while Ellis spelled each of the officers on sentry duty, giving them short breaks, left messages for Vincent on his cell and at his job, and touched base again with Detective Brownley, reviewing the tech plan and discussing contingencies.

  “Are you asleep?” Ellis whispered a while later.

  “No,” I said, opening my eyes and smiling. “Just resting my eyes. Is it time to go?”

  “Yes.”

  I sat up and took stock. My shoulders ached, my neck was stiff, and the top of my head was tender to the touch, and truth be told, I was weary to my bones, not so much sleepy as worn out, the exhaustion that follows a fright-fueled adrenaline rush.

  Ellis told Officer Meade to come in, directing her not to leave the apartment until Detective Brownley arrived. Once the detective was on-site, Officer Meade was to resume her post outside the unit until she was relieved or dismissed. He told the officer standing outside that he, too, was to stay in place until Detective Brownley told him he could go.

  Ellis’s phone vibrated. It was Vincent. After an exchange of greetings and one-minute personal updates, Ellis described what he needed, and as he had expected, Vincent was eager to help. Ellis gave him the details, asking him to confirm, if he could, whether Dr. Moss had heard from Maudie, and if so, when. Any information he could garner about her present whereabouts would be a bonus.

  “Okay, then,” Ellis told me after he’d ended the call. “He’ll call back as soon as he’s spoken to Dr. Moss.”

  I struggled to my feet and shuffled alongside Ellis to the parking lot. I didn’t want to flame out before I knew Maudie was all right and helped her, if I could. She was in for a terrible ordeal—the shock of her niece�
��s murder, the stress of the investigation prying into the corners of her life, the distress that her presentation box and cat sculpture were missing, and the tumult of losing her apartment.

  I insisted I was fine to drive. I followed Ellis to a small coffee shop in an industrial park, anonymous and utilitarian. It was brightly lit and decorated in yellow and turquoise, too cheerful for my mood. When we arrived, just after one, more than half the tables were occupied. Ellis chose a table by the window. I opted for the house special: half a sandwich and a cup of soup. I went with grilled cheese and, since Zoë was making me tomato soup, chicken orzo. I also ordered sweet iced tea, black currant, heaven in a glass.

  “Thank you,” I said after I’d taken two bites of the sandwich. “I didn’t know I needed this, but you might have just saved my life.”

  “Good. And after this, you go home.”

  “I’m not going to argue, so long as by ‘this’ you mean tracking down Maudie.”

  “I don’t. I mean after lunch.”

  “Stop coddling me.”

  “I’m not coddling you. I’m reacting to your limited mobility and frequent grunts of pain.”

  “I haven’t grunted once. I don’t grunt.”

  “Don’t be stubborn.”

  “I’m tenacious, not stubborn.”

  I’d just requested a refill on the iced tea when Vincent called back.

  Ellis listened for more than a minute, then said, “Good deal. When?” He glanced at his watch. “A full hour, that’s a lot of conversation … Okay … Got it … When did she make the appointment?” He listened for another minute. “All right, then. Let me tell you what I think we should do. We’re about to dump a whole lot of bad news on her, out of the blue.” I listened while Ellis described his plan. “Whatever Mrs. Wilson needs, I want to be certain she gets. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I just want to be prepared … Good … Great … Skype, I think.” The two men finalized the logistics, and Ellis tapped the END CALL button. He smiled at me. “Maudie is fine. She’s been in San Francisco since Friday, staying at the Fairmont.”