Treasure Trail

by Morgan Brice

  “What?”

  Monty’s expression darkened. “The back of his head was bloody. So I don’t think he died of old age.”

  Well, maybe that confirms whose bones were in that closet.

  “And no, he didn’t tell me who killed him. But he looked seriously pissed. Can’t say I blame him.” Monty gave Erik a look. “Did he try to hurt you? Because I can try to send him on if he’s dangerous.”

  Erik shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen him. And at least now I won’t freak out—quite so much—if I do. I just don’t think it’s a coincidence, Cafaro and Chason showing up like this.”

  Monty had been fiddling with a pencil while they spoke, a nervous habit. Erik wondered if the big man got jumpy around people or had a touch of social anxiety. If so, a job that let him be out in nature might be a perfect fit.

  “I’ve lived here all my life,” Monty said, still turning the pencil back and forth between his fingers. “Some local ghosts have always hung around. Like my own little spooky gang.” The self-deprecation in Monty’s voice told Erik that not everyone had easily accepted him or his abilities. “I didn’t pick them, but they don’t hurt anything, and they’re not bad company. They don’t usually say much. But lately, they’ve been around more than usual.”

  “Protecting you?”

  “Maybe. Or scared. Cafaro and Chason weren’t nice people when they were alive. People don’t change after they die—they just get more so. Cape May’s ghosts are a pretty stable bunch. Most of them have been here for a long time. They don’t hurt anyone. They just don’t want to move on. It’s a nice place. I can’t blame them.” Monty’s pencil twirled faster. “I keep an eye out when there’s a violent death or a bad accident, and if I sense a vengeful spirit, I take care of it. Unofficially, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t know why Cafaro and Chason showed up. But whatever drew them back, I don’t think it’s a good thing. I’d take it as a warning if I were you,” Monty said, growing very serious. “I am.”

  Erik shook his head. “I’m not sure what to do. A warning only helps if you know what you’re being warned about. Someone tried to break into my shop last night. But I’ve got no idea who. So I wish the ghosts would quit with the charades. Aren’t they supposed to be able to fog up windows and write messages?”

  Monty laughed. “Only on TV. It would take a scary powerful ghost to do that. Be careful what you wish for.”

  Erik got up. “Thanks for seeing me. If any of your ghost buddies decide to start whispering, please call me.” He passed Monty his card. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  Monty nodded. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll get in touch if I find out something.” He met Erik’s gaze. “You have a gift. Not just the ghosts. Something else, too. It’s real, and you have it for a reason. Don’t hide from it. Opening yourself up to it might just save your life someday.”

  “I’m not sure how to do that, but I’m getting the feeling that I’ll need to learn,” Erik replied.

  Erik had one more contact to meet, Aggie Fletcher, who had worked at the Commodore Wilson’s front desk during the Ambrose years. As he drove the short stretch back into town, he kept thinking about what Monty told him, and what he’d learned from Jenner and Sparks. Chason and Ambrose had been dirty. Maybe in a different way from Cafaro, but ultimately all of them were in deep with the Mob.

  They’d found a skeleton that might be Chason’s. Erik had suspected what Monty confirmed, and he didn’t doubt that the crime lab would back that up. He had the clock linked to Cafaro, with the damning items inside. But so far, nothing from Ambrose had surfaced.

  Then again, he hadn’t finished going through Justin Kramer’s box.

  Erik wanted to go back to the shop and dig into the box, but he’d already set things up with Aggie and couldn’t reschedule now. He’d arranged to meet her at Crumble, a good neutral spot where they could talk. All the nearby parking spots were taken, so Erik had to parallel park across the street. He checked both ways, then jogged toward the coffee shop.

  Tires squealed as a battered white van bore down on Erik. Erik dove out of the way with seconds to spare, landing hard on the hood of a parked car and rolling across to the other side. He landed in a squat, ribs and back aching, just as the car alarm went off.

  “Are you all right?” A woman helped Erik to his feet. Passers-by had stopped, and people started coming out of the coffee shop.

  “I called the police,” a man said. Erik’s heart sank. So much for not calling attention to himself.

  “You’d better sit down.” The woman who had helped him off the ground accompanied him to one of Crumble’s outdoor tables and pulled out a chair. Erik sat as the adrenaline hit him, leaving him shaky.

  “That van was going way too fast,” someone said.

  “It looked like it was trying to hit you.”

  “What the hell is wrong with people? That driver needs to lose his license.”

  The small group of bystanders buzzed about the incident but didn’t crowd Erik, for which he was grateful. He didn’t think he’d broken any ribs, but he bet he’d have a hell of a bruise tomorrow. It could have been so much worse.

  “All right folks, the show’s over.” The speaker had a note of authority in his voice. “If you actually saw what happened, stick around. I’ll need to take your statement. If you have video, I want to see it. Otherwise, I need to ask you to clear the sidewalk.”

  The crowd parted, and Erik recognized the speaker. Officer Dorchester. The cop seemed to recognize Erik in the same moment.

  “Seriously, Mitchell? What’s with you and Nolan?” Dorchester asked. “This was a quiet little town until the two of you moved in.”

  “You’d have had a bigger mess if that van had run me over,” Erik snapped. “Because that’s what it was trying to do.”

  Dorchester listened as Erik told his story. “It happened so fast. I only got a glance at the driver. Hat and sunglasses. I couldn’t even tell you if it was male or female,” Erik concluded.

  “Jesus. Did anyone know you were going to be here?”

  “I did, officer. We were supposed to meet up for coffee. But I swear I didn’t tell anyone.” Aggie Fletcher had come to stand next to Erik.

  “Meet why?”

  “I’m a consultant for Jaxon Davies’s retrospective on the Commodore Wilson,” Erik replied. “And since I’m new in town, I thought it would be a good idea to talk to people who remembered working there, to get the vibe.”

  “This have anything to do with that break-in attempt last night?”

  Erik shrugged. “No idea, officer.” He hoped he sounded sincere.

  “Stay put,” Dorchester ordered. He moved away, toward the willing witnesses, and started taking names and making notes.

  Aggie’s hand rested lightly on Erik’s shoulder. “Do you need a doctor?” she asked, looking at him with concern.

  “I don’t think so. Although I’m probably going to be real sore tomorrow.”

  “You’re lucky you have good reflexes.”

  Erik stared down the road in the direction the van had disappeared. “Yeah. Real lucky.”

  By the time Dorchester finished talking to the witnesses, Erik had already rescheduled with Aggie. He just wanted to get back to the shop before he stiffened up and couldn’t move.

  “Any idea who tried to run you down?” Dorchester asked. “Because everyone who saw it said the van sped up and aimed right for you.”

  That sent a chill down Erik’s spine. Bad enough to think that himself, but hearing it confirmed just made it worse. “No,” he replied. Nobody from his past should be anywhere close to Cape May. And for as much trouble as the old clock had caused, neither Erik nor Ben had made any connections between it and anyone still alive to care about old scandals.

  “I’m going to drive you home, and you’re going to let me,” Dorchester said. “You can send your boyfriend down for your car. And until we figure this out, you need to as
sume someone wants to kill you, and act accordingly.”

  Erik was too sore to argue and was just glad Dorchester let him ride up front, so he didn’t look like he’d been arrested. Susan must have seen the police car pull up, because she met him on the front walk.

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “Good to see you, Mrs. Hendricks,” Dorchester said. “I think Mr. Mitchell here might benefit from a cup of hot tea.”

  “I can handle that, officer,” Susan replied. She turned her attention back to Erik. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

  “Thanks, Officer Dorchester,” Erik said as he hobbled into the shop. He didn’t even want to think about going up the steps to his apartment right now. He followed Susan into the break room, where she was already filling an electric kettle with water.

  “What happened?”

  “A beat-up white van tried to run me over outside of Crumble.”

  Susan looked at him, aghast. “Holy shit. Are you all right?”

  Erik winced. “I didn’t break anything, I don’t think. But I bounced off a parked car. So I’m sore, and I imagine I’ll turn all kinds of pretty colors.”

  He could almost see Susan going into “mom” mode. “Sit down. I can manage to make tea. Do you have ibuprofen?”

  “There’s a bottle in the cabinet.”

  Before long, Susan returned with two steaming cups and pushed one toward Erik. She slid a couple of caplets to him as well. “Here. It’ll help. Do you need some sports cream? It might take the soreness out.”

  Erik shook his head. Bad enough he was going to move like an old man; he didn’t need to smell like one, too. At this rate, he and Ben were never going to actually get to that rain check.

  Susan frowned. “You said it was an old white van?”

  “Yeah. Like a delivery van. But it wasn’t in good shape.”

  “I saw an old white van parked down the street when I went for a walk last night. I figured someone was getting a late delivery.”

  “It’s probably stolen. Whoever’s involved would be stupid to use their own vehicle,” Erik replied.

  “Do you feel up to going through the box?” Susan asked. “Or would you rather go lie down?”

  “I’m too wired right now to rest,” Erik admitted.

  “What about calling your sweetie?” she asked with a smile.

  Erik shook his head. “Ben’s coming over for dinner. He needs to be in the office. All the excitement is over. I’ll tell him about it when he gets here.” He’d already distracted Ben from his business, and if Erik wanted Ben to change his mind about leaving, he needed to let the man handle his affairs.

  “You really like him.” Susan’s eyes glowed with interest.

  Erik nodded. “Yeah. I do. Maybe…too much.”

  Susan tilted her head, confused. “Too much?”

  Erik felt overwhelmed by the craziness of the past few days. “We haven’t known each other very long. I mean—it’s been less than a week? And there’s been so much going on—”

  “Isn’t it good to have someone to see it through with you?” Susan asked in a gentle tone.

  “I guess I’m just afraid. I don’t have a successful track record when it comes to relationships.”

  “Well, it seems like he’s already stuck by you through some scary stuff,” she said. “I saw the police cars and heard a little about last night.”

  That surprised Erik. “How?”

  Susan smiled. “This is a small town. I have friends on the force. My point is, have a little faith. Ben stuck around when someone shot at you. That’s a good sign.”

  “I hope so. Because I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this about anyone before.” Erik didn’t usually talk so openly about his private life. Maybe it was the near-death experience, or just the aftermath of a wild few days, but Susan was easy to confide in, and he had to admit he didn’t mind a bit of mothering. Was thirty-five too old for that? He’d never really had much of his parents’ attention, so he couldn’t say. But right now, her friendly caring filled a void.

  “Come on. Let’s play detective. It’ll take your mind off things. And I’ll get you some ice for those bruises.”

  Erik and Susan both put on cotton gloves to avoid damaging any of the fragile paper items. Since he’d handled everything once already, Erik wasn’t afraid of getting a vision, but he also didn’t want to try his luck.

  Anything that might suit Jaxon’s retrospective, Erik set to one side. Items too damaged to be easily salvaged went in another pile. Pieces like the random dinner knife, china cup, and ashtrays needed to be appraised, so they were grouped together. By the time they neared the bottom of the pile, several hours had passed.

  Susan paged through a magazine from 1977 with a feature article on the Commodore. Erik sorted through more cocktail napkins, menus, and event fliers. Given how large the old hotel loomed in the local imagination, he guessed there would probably be interest in the pieces. Thankfully, none of them seemed to have ghosts attached.

  A sealed envelope at the bottom caught his attention. “Hold up. What’s this?” he murmured.

  “My last words,” Erik read the handwritten address aloud. “By Kendry Ambrose.”

  Susan’s head came up at that. “What?”

  Erik stared at the envelope in his hand. Just with handling, the sealed flap had come loose. “Do you think it’s the real thing?”

  “You can get a handwriting expert to authenticate it. What are you waiting for—read it!”

  Erik might have hesitated if the envelope had remained tightly closed. But since the old glue had failed, he didn’t see the harm in having a look. Maybe when Susan wasn’t around, he’d try handling the suicide note without his gloves, but right now getting a vision of Ambrose’s bloody ghost was the last thing Erik wanted to deal with.

  “Fuck you all,” Erik read aloud. He raised an eyebrow. That hardly fit his impression of Ambrose as a serene, if debauched, New Age guru. “You’re nothing but leeches and parasites, and you won’t be happy until you’ve sucked away the last of my money and my life.”

  “A special fuck-you to my ex, Christine. Did you sleep with my lawyer before or after you won that big alimony payment? The laugh’s on you—I can’t pay you or him. So I hope you enjoyed his shriveled dick. Be sure you get tested—you’re not the first mosh pit Molly he’s banged.”

  Erik paused. “Wow. From here on down, he starts naming names. His drug dealer. His ‘fixer’ who made ‘problems’ go away. His ‘crooked’ accountant. His mistress. And the construction company he owed money to—that he said let the Mob get their ‘hooks’ into him.”

  Susan met his gaze, worried. “Ambrose shot himself in 1995–not really very long ago. Some—maybe most—of those people on that list are probably still alive. I think maybe you should turn that over to the police, and we’ll forget we ever read it.”

  “Yeah,” Erik said, tucking the papers back into the envelope, but not before he photographed the letter with his phone. “I think that might be a good idea.”

  Erik buried the letter under a pile of old menus. Susan rinsed out their mugs and insisted on helping Erik close up the shop. She refused to let him talk her out of helping him up the steps to his apartment. As soon as Susan left, Erik hobbled to the window to make sure she got home safely. Then he pulled out his phone and called Ben.

  “Hi there, handsome. I was going to offer to pick up dinner, but I didn’t know if you already had something planned.”

  Erik shifted and bit back a groan as sore muscles cramped. “Takeout would be fantastic. I don’t care what. Just…come as soon as you can.”

  He didn’t need to see Ben’s face to pick up the change in his boyfriend’s mood. “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone tried to run me over. I’ll tell you all about it when you get here.”

  “Fuck. There’s a good Chinese place that’s fast. I’ll call in the order and be over there in twenty minutes, tops.” Ben hesitated. “Are you okay?”<
br />
  “I will be when you get here.” Erik hurt too much and felt too raw to play games. “I need you.”

  Twelve

  Ben

  “What happened?” Ben had barely made it through the door when he put the takeout bag on the table and stopped to look Erik up and down.

  “I jumped out of the way of a van that tried to run over me, and ended up rolling off a parked car,” Erik replied with a wince.

  Ben felt a surge of anger and a jolt of protectiveness. His heartbeat sped up, and his mind presented ugly pictures of how it could have gone wrong. “Let’s eat before everything gets cold,” he said. “And then I want to hear all about it.”

  The food from Canton Festival was always good, fast, and cheap—a difficult combination to find. Since it had been up to him to order for both of them, Ben had stuck to basics. Chicken fried rice. Egg rolls. Beef and broccoli. And two servings of wonton soup, because nothing smoothed over the rough edges of a bad day better.

  Ben felt gratified when Erik enjoyed the food and praised his choices. It didn’t take long for them to demolish the meals, leaving no leftovers. He also didn’t miss the stiff way Erik held himself, or the near stumble when Erik got up and sore muscles protested.

  “How about if we go stretch out on the couch, and you fill me in,” Ben said.

  Erik flashed him an appreciative grin that made Ben’s heart flutter. Dammit, how did Erik undo him like that with just a smile? And how was it possible to be so head-over-heels in such a short time?

  They got comfortable on Erik’s big leather couch, which if the back cushions were arranged just right was the size of a twin bed. Ben maneuvered so that his back was against the cushions and Erik lay fitted against him, safe in his arms. He could smell Erik’s shampoo, the combination of scents that was so uniquely him, and pressed a kiss to the back of Erik’s head. “Tell me.”

  Ben listened as Erik recapped the conversations he’d had with Susan’s contacts, including Monty. He tensed when Erik told him about the van and its homicidal driver, and Dorchester’s quick appearance on the scene. Susan’s comment about having seen the van earlier filled Ben with misgivings. Finally, Erik told him about the Ambrose letter, and those misgivings turned to fear.