Chapter 26

 

Friday afternoon, Carol stood in the kitchen at Sticky Fingers swirling cream cheese icing onto a trio of carrot cakes.

Lily poked her head in from the café. “Carol, there’s a man asking to see you. Can you spare a minute?”

Carol’s hand froze in mid-swirl. “Short? Tall? Raspy voice?”

Lily arched an eyebrow. “Does it matter? This isn’t The Dating Game.”

Carol laid her spatula on a piece of waxed paper and followed her boss to the door. This guy wasn’t a regular customer, or Lily would know him. Joey? He had no business following her around. Her mystery caller, come to intimidate in the flesh? More time, she needed more time.

Detective Garraway waited at the counter. Good. Carol scanned the café. If Creepy Voice was here, Garraway could protect her.

Then her brain caught up. The detective was the one asking for her. Carol took a slow breath. This stress was making her paranoid.

“Hello, Ms. Daniels. I’m mixing business and pleasure. I had to touch base, and my wife asked me to pick up dessert.” He tapped a white cardboard box on the counter. “Caramel pecan cheesecake.”

He motioned her closer. “Your letter produced a phone call. Will you be home this evening?”

“After seven thirty.”

“May I drop by around eight? I have interesting news.”

“Please.” Help me find that money and get on with my life.

Lily followed her into to the kitchen. “Everything okay? You seem jumpy.”

“I’m fine. It’s just follow-up to the break-in.”

Carol finished the carrot cakes and carried them to the display case. Almost time for the supper crowd. Patrick wouldn’t be in tonight. He’d phoned the apartment midweek to invite her to dinner on Saturday. Joey hadn’t been back. Carol told herself that was good.

She changed into her serving apron and tucked a fresh order pad in the pocket. Waiting tables over supper kept Carol in touch with the regulars. Tonight the tables filled quickly, but that suited her fine. Taking orders and chatting with customers kept her mind from chasing Garraway’s news.

Too bad Carol ended her shift by going home to an empty apartment. Chance gave her a loving welcome at the door, then promptly ignored her once his freshly filled food dish hit the floor.

She looked around the dingy kitchen. Sure, home wasn’t exciting, and she’d been even more itchy to be out at Paul’s age. Look what she’d done to escape.

Carol couldn’t be as hard to live with as her aunt had been, but she didn’t blame Paul for being out so much. And at least she could always reach him on his cell. It just left her feeling... lonely. Carol sniffed. The empty nest was coming, like it or not. She’d better get used to it.

She closed the door on that thought and pulled leftover chicken soup from the fridge. While it heated, Carol made a pot of tea.

Had Harry buried the money in one of the city parks? Carol imagined a midnight trip through a graveyard, or perhaps a coded treasure map. He couldn’t have made it too hard to get at, but it had to be somewhere nobody would find it by accident.

Maybe she could convince Garraway to send an undercover agent. Creepy Voice would insist Carol make the drop-off herself, no doubt. The detective could coach her through that. Then she’d be free.

Free to start the new life she’d wanted for herself and Paul.

Carol cleaned up the kitchen and stationed herself on the couch to watch for Garraway. Chance climbed up beside her and rested his muzzle in her lap.

The detective’s car pulled into the driveway a few minutes after eight. He knocked on the rear door this time.

Carol hurried to let him in, Chance by her side.

She took the detective’s coat, and he crouched, extending a hand to the dog. “Hey, fella. It’s good to see you walking around.”

Chance sniffed his fingers, tail wagging.

Garraway stood. “I’m glad he’s okay. And before I forget, my wife said to tell you the cheesecake was excellent. I agree, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

Garraway scanned the kitchen. “To business. You have a desk that belonged to your mother?”

“Yes, why?”

“Sent to you by Silver?”

Carol gasped. “Of all the — I’ve had it so long, and the money only just came up. I should have thought of it!” She dashed for Paul’s room, Garraway at her heels, Chance barking behind them. She flung open the door and flipped on the light.

“Excuse the mess.” Carol pulled the chair away from the desk, removed the drawer over the knee-hole and set it on Paul’s rumpled bed. “Harry sent this with the rest of our parents’ things when he was arrested the first time. It came empty. I assumed our old hiding place was empty, too.”

Garraway stood three paces into the room, arms folded, watching. The dog pushed past him. Carol knelt and ran her fingers along one side of the drawer cavity. Slide that piece of wood — there — press the latch, slide the wood back in place. Click. The panel popped open.

She stuck her hand into the narrow cavity, a shallow ledge above the three drawers that opened from the desk front. Her fingertips slid over paper, but not bundles of money. She felt down the side. Magazine spines.

Carol turned to face the detective. “I think my dear ex-brother’s been leading you on. Unless I’m mistaken, this is just a stash of his pornography.”

She pulled out the top magazine, and her eyes flicked the cover. The air left her lungs. Music magazines! Carol dove under the desk and seized the rest.

“Ms. Daniels, you don’t need to look at those.”

She crawled into the open and stood, glaring wildly around the room before drilling into Garraway.

He frowned. “I don’t know what Silver’s playing at, but I’ll find out.”

“It’s not him. These are Paul’s.”

Garraway’s features twitched. “They’re more likely Silver’s, as you said. If they’re not...” He held out a hand. “Teen boys often sneak a magazine or two. It doesn’t mean he’ll turn out like his uncle.”

“They’re Paul’s.” Carol flung them on the bed, one by one. Guitar Player. Rolling Stone. Guitar World.

Garraway stared from the instrument-splashed covers to Carol’s face. “So we have a bigger problem.”

“Not that I approve of pornography, Detective. A man looks at that, then he looks at me — I don’t want his dirty little thoughts touching me. But I can’t let Paul turn out like his father!”

Fighting tears, Carol glared at Garraway.

His face had gone blank except for a slight narrowing of the eyes. His chin lifted. “Ms. Daniels, if your son wanted to use the desk as a hiding place, he had to empty it first.”

Carol pressed a fist to her mouth, her jaws aching with all she wanted to call down on Harry. When she could trust herself, she whispered, “If anything happens to Paul...”

“Will he be home soon?”

“It’s Friday night. He doesn’t have to be in until eleven.”

Garraway rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can you track him down?”

Leaving the magazines and desk drawer as they lay, Carol marched to the kitchen. She picked up the phone and punched the numbers for Paul’s cell. When his voice mail picked up, she wanted to scream.

“Paul, please phone home right away.”

She turned to the detective. “I thought the whole point of having a phone was to answer it. I’ll try again in a few minutes. Would you like a brownie, or some cookies?”

He patted his stomach. “No thanks. I’m still digesting cheesecake.”

Carol’s nerves screamed for chocolate, but eating in front of Garraway would be rude. Instead, she led him into the living room and flung herself into a chair. Chance settled at her feet. Carol huffed a sigh. “I can’t believe Harry sent me that desk full of money! I’d have had a heart attack if I’d found it before now.”

Garraway sat opposite her. “He said he sent a few pieces of furniture and hoped you wouldn’t think to look in the drawer. Apparently he was keeping it as some kind of insurance.”

“Silly me, thinking he cared about heirlooms.”

At the detective’s curious glance, Carol said, “It was furniture my grandfather built for my mom.” She was telling him about her mother when the phone rang.

Chance barked. Carol dodged him and sprinted for the phone. “Hello?”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“I need you to come home right away. Detective Garraway’s here.”

“Are you okay? Did they come back?”

“They didn’t, but where are you? I’ll pick you up”

“Hold on.” Then he was back. “One of the guys will bring me.”

“Okay, but hurry.”

Carol hung up and went back to Garraway. She tucked a foot under her in the chair. “Paul’s on his way. I think my message scared him.”

“He needs to be scared of this crowd. They’re not playing.”

“Detective, you know that and I know that, but he’s a typical teenager. He thinks he’s invincible.” Carol checked her watch. “He usually hangs out at one of his friends’ houses. I don’t know how far away it is.”

Finally, the back door opened and slammed. Chance ran to investigate. Paul dashed into the living room with the dog on his heels. “What’s up?”

He stared from Carol to Garraway and back.

Garraway placed his palms on his knees. “The money, Paul. Silver told us where to look.”

Paul sighed. He hung up his leather jacket and dropped his backpack beneath it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s gone.”

“Gone!” Carol jumped to her feet. “What do you mean, gone?”

Paul faced her, a weary determination in that guitar-player stance she hated. “Just tell them it’s gone. Someone else got to it first.”

He looked at Garraway. “If they got it, they’d just buy more drugs to sell. This way it’ll help users, not make more.”

Garraway held his gaze. Neither faltered. “Paul, these people mean business. I applaud your sentiment, but one person can’t take them on and come out on top.”

“I did what I had to do. It’s gone, so they can leave us alone.”

“Or take some form of revenge.” The chill in Garraway’s voice made Carol shiver.

Paul blinked. “They wouldn’t!”

“Your uncle knows they would. He warned you when he told you about the money.”

“Just a minute!” Carol sprang to her feet. She stepped toward Paul, fingernails biting her palms. “You’ve been talking to him?”

Paul spread his feet and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “We’ve been writing.” He glanced at Garraway. “Thanks for keeping my secret.”

“Your mother would have busted you before breakfast. Who else could have told you about the hiding place?”

“Whatever.” Paul shrugged. “For what it’s worth, Mom, he sounds like he cares. Maybe he did change. Joey says it’s possible.”

“You told Joey?”

“Not about the money, about Uncle Harry and forgiveness. Joey’s had a turnaround of his own, and I thought he’d know if Harry had a chance.”

Carol groaned.

Paul straightened. “Look, Uncle Harry knew they were turning up the heat about the money. You wouldn’t let him reach you and he didn’t want to tell them in case they broke in and trashed everything to get it — maybe including us.”

Garraway leaned forward. “Silver couldn’t risk approaching a warden. These guys have eyes everywhere. He did ask his contact — Paul — to tell either you or the authorities. So we’re back at the same question. Where is the money?”

Paul shook his head. “Gone. I gave it away.”

“To whom?”

“To help addicts. Anonymously. Through a third party.”

Carol dropped back into her seat. “Joey.”

“I told you, I didn’t talk to him about it! Someone I trust who you’ve never met.”

On the couch, Garraway let out a sigh. “Why doesn’t anyone just let the nice detective do his job? Sit down, Paul. Now tell me where the money went.”

Paul sat at the far end of the couch, arms folded across his backpack. “No.”

“Do I have to take you to the station until you’ve had time to think?”

“I won’t —”

Carol cut across the detective’s words. “We’ve had enough threats. My son stays here. The money’s gone, and if it could save even one life it’d be worth it. How do we convince these creeps it’s really gone?”

“You can’t.”