Hidden Treasure

by Jane K. Cleland

  “When did you decide to go to San Francisco?”

  “Last Friday. I know your next question is why I went. Eli and I visited for our fifteenth wedding anniversary. I liked it very much, and when I decided I wanted to meet Dr. Moss in person, I asked myself, Why not? My plan had me in San Francisco for a week, followed by Maui for ten days. I asked Gerard if he knew places in Hawaii to snorkel from the shore, and he recommended Maui.”

  “Black Rock.”

  “I read about that! And the thirty-mile marker.”

  “I love Maui.”

  “I’ll go another time.”

  “So you called Gerard, and off you went.”

  “He got me a first-class ticket on the six P.M. out of Logan. I was so excited!”

  “I can imagine. I found someone who saw you wheeling your tote bag down the street. I’m guessing you had Uber meet you a few blocks away. Why?”

  “I didn’t want to give any of those busybodies something to talk about.”

  “Isn’t wheeling a tote bag down the street more conspicuous than getting into a car in the parking lot?”

  “Not at Belle Vista. Every time I got dropped off by Uber, that busybody Selma peppered me with questions about where I’d gone and what I’d done. Since everyone was used to me walking to stores pulling my grocery cart or tote bag, no one would even notice.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were going?”

  “I didn’t want to listen to all the reasons why my trip was a bad idea. I could hear Celia: What if something happens to you? You’ll be so far from home. Stacy would ask how much it costs. My mother had a saying—don’t give your head for washing. If you volunteer information, you’re giving someone permission to judge. Another aspect is that it never occurred to me that anyone would notice I was gone. It’s not like I saw them on a daily or even a weekly basis.”

  “You called me at lunchtime on Friday and left a message asking me to call or meet.”

  “Oh, my! I never called you back … how rude. What did I want?”

  I laughed. “How would I know?”

  “Good point.” Maudie laughed heartily, and I got a glimpse of her future—free-spirited and open to adventure.

  Maudie invited me to stay for dinner, and I thanked her but declined, explaining I needed to get home. It wasn’t an excuse. It was true. I needed to be alone, to think, to add these new tidbits of information to the puzzle and see if the picture would finally come into focus.

  The essential questions hadn’t changed: Who had a key to Maudie’s Belle Vista apartment or the ability to get in through the window? Who needed money badly enough to take the risk? Who had the wherewithal to spirit away the presentation box and cat sculpture and hide them somewhere they would be safe and accessible, but not accidentally stumbled upon or easily found?

  I fell asleep with those questions revolving in my mind like an unending carousel, and when I awakened, I discovered that the fuzzy image was indeed beginning to resolve itself into one cohesive picture.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  When we arrived at Maudie’s apartment the next morning at ten, it looked the same: grimy, stained, and disheveled.

  She gasped as she entered and steadied herself by grasping the bedroom dividing wall. “How awful,” she stammered.

  “Your niece, Ms. Collins, planned to have Tom Hill clean it,” Ellis said. “She didn’t want you to see it this way.” He moved toward the kitchen counter. “I know you want this to be as quick as possible. If you would start in your clothes drawers and closets … Let me know if anything is missing, large or small, important or insignificant, valuable or worthless.”

  Maudie opened the front hall closet and flipped through her coats and jackets, crouched to peer behind the row of boots on the floor, and lifted scarves and hats from the top shelf. She did the same with another closet, this one packed with dresses, skirts, tunics, and blouses. A shoe caddy hung on the inside of the door. She pawed through her drawers, filled with intimate wear, tops, socks, slacks. She opened her jewelry box and poked around.

  “As far as I can tell, nothing is missing.”

  Maudie stepped into the kitchen and began a methodical inspection, moving from left to right.

  When she reached the cabinet under the sink, she said, “The bleach is missing.”

  Ellis jotted a note. “Can you describe the container? The brand?”

  “It was the store brand, fifty-five ounces, if I remember right. I recall thinking that was an odd size, less than half a gallon. The container was white plastic with a built-in handle.”

  “Good. What else?”

  She pointed to a box of large trash bags. “I’d just opened that box. It contains ten bags, and I know we used one … but look … I’m guessing three or four are gone.”

  Maudie continued her examination but didn’t notice anything else missing.

  “What about your grocery cart?” I asked. “The last time I saw it, it was leaning up against the bistro table.”

  “You’re right.”

  I took a step toward the kitchen. The picture snapped into focus. “That’s the last piece of the puzzle.” The grocery cart. The trash bags. The key. A desperate need for money. Easy lies.

  Ellis said something.

  So did Max.

  When Ellis stepped in front of me, I realized he’d been talking to me.

  “Josie?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

  “What? Sorry. I’m fine. I was thinking.” I met Maudie’s eyes, then Max’s, then came back to Ellis. “I know what happened and how and why—and I know how to prove it. I know where the presentation box and cat sculpture are, and I know they’re safe.”

  Ellis demanded that I explain.

  “I think we should get the box first,” I said. “Then I can answer all your questions.” I turned to Maudie, who was standing with her mouth agape. “The police are going to take possession of the box and cat. They’ll be safe in the police lockup.”

  “That’s fine, but I’m going to be a witness. Let’s go.”

  “We’re not going anywhere until I have some answers,” Ellis said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Let me tell you about it en route,” I said, and he agreed. “We’re going to the Gingerbread House.”

  Ellis and I went in his SUV. Max drove Maudie and followed us.

  I described what I’d observed and heard, and when I was done, Ellis asked, “How deep is it buried?”

  “Three to four feet, at a guess.”

  He took his car radio in hand and told Cathy where we were going and why. “I want the crime scene team to do the digging, so we can be certain to preserve the evidence properly.”

  The radio squawks were hard to understand, but I gathered the team would meet us there in ten minutes. Ellis asked for two police officers, too.

  When he was done, I said, “Tom Hill was working for our contractor the other day.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Hauling debris.”

  When we arrived, just ahead of Max’s Prius, Ellis grabbed a roll of yellow crime scene tape from the backseat while I found Monte and told him we were going to be in the back and he should ignore us.

  “Is Tom here today?” I asked. “Tom Hill?”

  “Not now. He worked for me for a couple of hours this morning, then had to go to another job. He said he’d be back to do some watering.”

  “Did he say when?” Ellis asked.

  “After lunch, nothing more specific.”

  We thanked him, and I led the way to the backyard.

  Ellis used the tape to cordon off a wide swath of land surrounding the shed. We stood around, not talking, waiting for the officers and crime scene techs. Occasionally, one of Monte’s crew popped around the corner of the house, checking us out.

  “The dig is going to be all over the news,” I remarked.

  “Can’t be helped,” Ellis replied.

  I took a few photos of the shed surrounded by yellow tape
.

  Two men wearing Rocky Point Crime Scene–branded collared T-shirts marched across the lawn. Each one carried a large rectangular box bearing the same gold-and-blue logo.

  The two officers arrived next, Griff and a young man I’d met a couple of times named Daryl. Griff was stationed at Ocean Avenue to keep curiosity-seekers and the press at bay. Daryl was posted on the beach, just in case trouble came calling from that direction.

  Max, Maudie, and I stood on the sandy incline that led to the water, out of the crime scene team’s way, on the beach side of the stone wall.

  Fast-moving clouds scudded across the pale blue sky. The temperature was dropping, the humidity rising.

  The techs began their painstaking work, digging with miniature shovels, brushing dirt aside, examining the hole, removing another shovelful of dirt, brushing, viewing, over and over again. Ellis rested his hip against the stone wall.

  Wes appeared on the beach, popping onto the sand from a narrow public access path a hundred yards to the south. A Nikon hung across his chest. He jogged toward us, his expression fierce. I looked down again, my gaze fixed on the men digging with archaeological precision.

  Wes began taking photos, of the scene, the techs, the witnesses. He called to Ellis from the beach side of the wall. “What are they digging for, Chief?”

  “Nice to see you, Wes. No comment.”

  “Come on, Chief.”

  Ellis ignored him.

  Wes peppered me with questions, too, and when I didn’t answer, he tried to provoke Maudie into an indiscretion.

  “How does it feel to be betrayed by someone you love?” Wes asked, edging closer to her as he spoke.

  Max laid his hand on Maudie’s shoulder, indicating she shouldn’t react. He stepped between them, blocking Wes’s view of Maudie.

  “Why do you need a lawyer, Mrs. Wilson? Are you a suspect in your niece’s murder?”

  Max glared at him. Maudie didn’t seem to hear. Her eyes remained on the men methodically working, digging, brushing, assessing.

  Wes gave up with a heartfelt sigh and resumed taking photos.

  We waited.

  After fifteen minutes, one of the techs called, “Chief, we have something.”

  Ellis peeled off the wall and walked toward them.

  Wes placed both hands on the top of the wall, preparing to vault over, onto my lawn, and probably land on one of the iris beds.

  “Stop!” I yelled, punching the air with my hand like a traffic cop. “Private property. Stay off.”

  “Come on, Joz! It’s me.”

  “Look where we’re standing—only the police are allowed on the lawn.”

  He sighed again.

  Ellis helped stretch out a clear plastic tarp. The two techs worked together to haul out a heavy-seeming green trash bag.

  “That’s one of my trash bags,” Maudie said.

  “It appears similar,” Max corrected.

  “That looks like one of my trash bags,” Maudie said, nodding.

  The men laid it on the tarp.

  We all leaned in closer as they opened it up and drew out a second, seemingly identical bag.

  “Can you believe it?” Maudie whispered. “The killer took time to double-bag it after murdering Celia.”

  The techs slipped the box clear, and I took in a deep, satisfying breath. The clicks from Wes’s camera punctuated the silence.

  Max kept his eyes on the presentation box. “Jazzy.”

  Ellis looked over his shoulder and smiled at me. “Well done, Josie.”

  I pointed at the box, embarrassed by his praise, glad to change the subject. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Those look like emeralds,” Ellis said.

  “They do indeed.”

  “Are the red ones rubies?”

  “Probably garnets.”

  “Why?”

  “Garnets were common in ancient Egypt. Rubies weren’t.”

  “What are the blue stones?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe lapis lazuli and turquoise.”

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t open it?”

  “No.”

  Ellis snapped on plastic gloves and lifted the lid. He stared at the unimpressive cat sculpture without comment. After a moment, he asked me, “Do you recognize these objects?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Everything looks the same as when I first saw the box and cat in Maudie’s trunk.”

  “Mrs. Wilson?”

  Maudie looked stunned. “Me, too.”

  Ellis called out instructions to the techs, arranging for a video recording of the objects and the hole where they were found, and for their transport to the police station.

  “Stay off this property,” Ellis told Wes. He turned to Daryl. “Officer, if he encroaches, arrest him for trespassing.”

  I heard Wes’s gobbled protests until we passed under the lattice. When we reached the street, Ellis stood by his SUV with Max on one side and Maudie on the other, the three of them facing me. I felt as if I were facing a tribunal.

  “I need details, Josie,” Ellis said.

  Before I could say anything else, Tom drove up, his pickup clanking as he rolled to a stop on the rocky shoulder. He smiled and jumped down from the cab.

  “Hey, Maudie! Josie!” His smile dimmed. “Chief Hunter.”

  Ellis introduced Max as Maudie’s lawyer.

  “Perfect timing,” Ellis said. “Monte said you’d be back after lunch, and here you are.”

  “When it’s this hot, I like to give the irises a little extra water.”

  “You’ll have to skip today. We need to talk.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Ellis followed Tom’s pickup to the police station. Max brought up the tail.

  “I thought maybe Julie would be with him,” I said as we drove. “She often is.”

  “We need to talk to them both. I’ll have someone pick her up.”

  While Ellis dispatched an officer to the Rocky Point Diner, where Tom said Julie was working, he set Detective Brownley talking to Maudie. Tom was left alone in an interview room.

  Ellis took my statement himself, explaining this was preliminary, that he would no doubt have many more questions, but they could wait. All he wanted now was for me to repeat for the video camera what I’d already told him in the car. I described the torn-up lawn behind the shed, the missing grocery cart, all the disparate details that finally coalesced into one clear picture.

  When I was done, he thanked me and chased me away, asking an officer to drive me back to my car.

  “What’s your next step?” I asked.

  “Scoot. Time for you to go.”

  “I’d like to speak to Maudie first.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to offer to help. I’ll ask one innocuous question, that’s it.”

  “Nothing you do or say is innocuous.”

  “Ha!”

  He brought me into the next room, the same one where I’d talked to Doug. Maudie’s mien remained stolid, aghast. Max sat next to her, a legal pad in front of him. They each had a paper cup of water nearby.

  I waited for Maudie to look at me. “I suspect you’re not in a mood to talk about anything as mundane as packing, but I wanted to offer. If you’d like, I’ll go there now and get your clothes and jewelry and anything you want right away, so you won’t have to go back. I have boxes and packing materials in my car.”

  “Thank you, Josie, but don’t do anything today. The way I’m feeling at this moment, I don’t want to see anything that would remind me of this wretched experience. I may donate everything … I don’t know. I’m too upset right now to decide.”

  “I understand.” I turned to leave, then paused to add, “If I can do anything to help, please call.”

  * * *

  I drove to work. Everyone was busy, and nothing needed my attention.

  To distract myself, I called Gretchen for an update on the dragonfly situation and learned that my big surprise would be ready in a week. We talked
about ways and means of keeping Ted away for an entire day, the time required to implement my plan, no easy task. She said she’d consult with Winnie.

  I picked up a report on a marketing plan Gretchen had asked an outside firm to prepare, but couldn’t concentrate. I tried to read my emails, but found my mind wandering. Wes called, and I let it go to voicemail. He texted, too, wanting a quote. After a frustrating half hour doing nothing productive, I drove home.

  I ate a bowl of Zoë’s soup and some salad, then changed into jeans and hiking boots and set off on one of my favorite walks, a trail through the woods. After a mile or so, the packed dirt path swung left and zigzagged through some wetlands. The trees grew tall and close, the leaves forming a high canopy. On bright days, with the sun dotting the path, it felt cozy. On cloudy days, it felt bleak. Today was in between. Speckles of sun penetrated the leaves, but the light was pale, washed out.

  I called Ty and got him between meetings. He said he’d be home by seven and expected to be able to stay home for the next week. Then I filled him in about Maudie and the presentation box—and Celia’s killer.

  “How sure are you?” Ty asked.

  “A hundred percent. Ellis will never get a confession, though. There may be evidence, but only of the theft … Maudie’s checkbook, for instance.”

  “You don’t think Lainy stole the checkbook? She was in the apartment to steal.”

  “No—it wasn’t her.” I paused where the trail curved. “I wish I knew what Ellis was doing right now.”

  “Half a story … you’ve always hated that.”

  “True, but also—” I broke off when call waiting clicked in. “There’s another call. Hold on.” It was Ellis. I asked him to hold and went back to Ty. “It’s Ellis. I’ll let you know what he wants. Love you … See you tonight!” I clicked back over.

  “Cara said you went home. I’m outside your place now.”

  “I’m in the woods. I’ll turn back.”

  Between the wind whipping up fallen leaves and the storm clouds that were rolling in fast, I was glad to reach open terrain.

  Ellis stood in the driveway I shared with Zoë, chatting with Emma.

  “How was the museum?” I asked.