Chapter Forty-Two

Jillie could almost feel Toby staring down at her through the burlap bag, as if he had x-ray vision. She held her breath, every muscle taut as she fought to keep from throwing off the sack and running from the shed. Toby’s sudden chuckle made the hairs on her arm move.

“Hey, Cuz,” Toby’s voice sounded as if he stood directly over Jillie. “Do me a favor and back your truck up as close as you can to the shed door.”

Keys jingled then abruptly stopped as if thrown through the air then caught.

“My truck? Why not yours?”

“Low gas. Just do it.”

Mort’s response was cut short by the ringing of a cell phone. For a nanosecond, neither of the men moved. Then Mort whispered, “I gotta take this, it’s Maggot.”

“Of course you do.” Toby’s voice was filled with disdain.

“Yeah?” Mort’s words were followed by several seconds of silence. “I’m pretty busy right now, can it wait?” This was followed by a longer silence. “Okay, okay. I’ll be there in a few.”

“So? What does she want?” Toby said.

“I gotta go. She’s got a bee in her bonnet about something or other. You got a sledgehammer in your truck?”

“Yeah, on the floor behind the front seat. Why?”

“I need to borrow it.”

“What for?”

“Who knows.” Mort’s mumbled response was followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

Toby moved around the shed, jiggling implements and rustling bags while emitting an occasional chuckle. “Hmmm, seems Uncle Clot’s ‘toe sacks have heaped themselves into a pile. And my old sleeping bag has not only transported itself from the basement but has brought along a backpack for company.” He yanked the bag off Jillie’s head, pulling several hairs out by the roots in the process. “You must be the kid everyone’s looking for. I figured you’d be in Timbuktu by now. What’re you doing hanging around here?”

Jillie opened her eyes and stared down at the boots planted in front of her. “I’m not leaving without my sister’s ashes.”

“You think Maggot and Clot are going to have your sister cremated and then bring her ashes back here?” Toby chuckled. “I guess anything’s possible, Maggot being Maggot.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face, nearly touching her cheek. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Jillie jerked her head back, painfully banging it against the shed’s wall. As she rubbed her head, her gaze traveled up Toby’s unusually small hands and long arms. Then her breath caught in her throat as she stared into the face of the man she’d seen entering the trailer behind her—the trailer where the radio said that horrible old man had been murdered.

“Have we met before?” Toby said. “Seems I’ve seen you somewhere….”

Jillie lowered her gaze, a sudden buzzing in her head. “No, not that I know of.”

Don’t let on you know. If he killed one person, he’d kill another.

“I gotta hand it to you, kid, you’ve led everyone on a wild goose chase. And you had old lady Maggot chewing her nails out of fear you’d go to the police.” He bent over so his mouth was only a few inches from Jillie’s ear. “But I won’t tell her about your hidey-hole if you take me to your dearly departed daddy’s treasure.” He straightened and smiled. “And don’t try that it doesn’t exist line with me. After Digger married your sister, I did some research, more out of curiosity than anything. Turns out there are several stories from the eighteen-hundreds about treasure hidden here in New Mexico. I figured those stories were pure fiction, but I’m re-thinking that. There’s a couple of reputable sources claiming that over sixty-million dollars in gold bars is buried somewhere around the Manzano Mountains, just up the road from your place. I figure your old man found it.” Toby picked at a fingernail absently. “Pretty smart of him to squeeze it out bit by bit rather than spend it all out at once. But I’m not greedy, just a couple of bars should do it.”

As if her brain was stuck in an unending loop, Jillie repeated the only words it sent to her mouth, “I won’t leave without—”

“Your sister’s ashes, I know. Here’s a proposition, you just tell me where he hid the goods then you can wait here as long as you like.” A sly smile crept across Toby’s face. “Although you might be here a while.”

Jillie shook her head. “But I don’t know—”

Toby held up his hand in a shushing motion. “Don’t tick me off. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” He sucked air in through his teeth and jerked his head up at the sound of approaching footsteps. His eyes riveted on Jillie’s, he whispered, “Don’t move.” He pulled the bag back over her head.

“Who’re you talking to, Tobes?” Mort’s voice grew louder as he stood in the door. “You’re freaking me out. You haven’t been chatting with her again—”

Toby interrupted, “You’re hearing things.”

“Heads up,” Mort said. “Looks like I’ll be busy for most of the day, so I’ll take my truck.”

“Text me when you’re done. We have to get this done by tonight.”

As Mort’s footfalls grew faint, Toby pulled the bag off Jillie’s head. He pointed his index finger at her like a gun. “Stay right there. I’ll be back soon as I take care of some business.” He pulled the lock from its place on the door jamb and hooked it through the u-bolt. “We can’t have you running off before we finish our chat, now can we?”

The sounds of squealing hinges and the metallic sounds of a lock being forced into position echoed through the shed.

As the engine noise of both pickups faded into the distance, Jillie ran to the door and pulled at the knob with all her strength. But even though the wood looked rotten, it was still strong enough to hold firm.

Panic roiling in her stomach, her eyes fell on the metal tools. The shovel would have been her first choice if the handle hadn’t been broken off. But maybe she could use the hoe to dig a hole under the door frame, then use the shovel handle as a lever. Her science teacher once said with a fulcrum and a long enough lever, she could move the earth. And all Jillie needed to do was force the door open enough to get through. She grabbed the hoe and hurried to the door.

Her internal clock anxiously ticking the minutes away, she brought the hoe down onto the floor just in front of the door’s frame. But the sound of metal striking metal, accompanied by an arm-numbing jolt, meant the floor wasn’t made of dirt as she’d assumed. She threw the hoe onto the floor and bit her lip to keep from crying out in frustration.

The toolbox again caught her attention. Its hinges appeared to be rusted into globs, so it most likely would squeal like a dying animal when she tried to open it. But she was running out of options.

She dragged the surprisingly light box a few inches from the wall and bent to study the lock dangling from the lid. Fully expecting to have to spend precious minutes banging away at the thing with the shovel blade, she nearly exclaimed out loud to find it unlocked.

Please, God, let there be a tire tool or jack in there.

Mentally crossing her fingers, she opened the lid. The surprisingly well-oiled hinges opened without a sound.

But hope evaporated at the sight of what appeared to be the most realistic-looking Halloween skeleton she’d ever seen. Gaping eye sockets stared out from an amber-colored skull, the left side of which had been crushed. Tufts of straggly, dark hair rested on a small stained pillow; arm and leg bones nestled on top of faded fabric that had been neatly folded alongside the torso.

You haven’t been chatting with her again…

Jillie dropped the lid as if it were red hot. The resulting clang still echoing in the small space, she ran to the farthest corner, squatted on her haunches, and began rocking back and forth.

She’d been eating on top of a dead person…had read Beth’s book, drawn pictures of wild flowers, and sipped water while sitting on a dead person.

Jillie’s stomach heaved, and something sour shot up her throat. Panic took control, and she ran to the door where she feverishly pounded against the splintery wood until the muscles in her arms cramped. Then she dropped to her knees and clawed at the floor, ignoring the pain radiating up her arms from torn fingernails. Finally, exhausted, she slumped against the door and sobbed until she could sob no more.

She was still there some time later when tires again crunched on gravel. The tiny hairs at the back of her neck moved, and her breath caught in her throat. A vehicle’s door creaked open and then slammed. After an interval of several minutes, footfalls approached the shed.

Without thinking, Jillie snatched up the shovel handle. She took a position in front of the door, her legs slightly bent at the knees and weight balanced on the balls of both feet as she’d seen a martial arts professional do on television. Gripping the pole in both hands as if it were a sword, she aimed its broken, pointed end at the door and waited.