Consigned to Death

I passed by a dark green club chair and stood in front of the desk. Just as I recalled, it had a wide kneehole opening, large enough for a big man to sit comfortably. Seeking out the hidden cabinet was tricky. Max and Alverez switched on all of the lamps. There were two on the desk and four on nearby tables. Still, the room was dim.

“Here,” Alverez offered, handing me an oversized flashlight he’d taken from the back of his SUV.

“I think I’m okay,” I said.

Sitting on the floor, peering into corners, I used the mini-flashlight that always hung on my belt when I was working, and aimed the beam into the back crevices.

Finding the latch was easy, once I looked. A small, raised flower, carved out of wood and attached on the left side easily disguised a device used to open the door. My heart started pumping, adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I felt a burst of energy.

“I think I’ve got it,” I said, my excitement palpable.

Both men leaned over and watched as I worked, although in the shadowy darkness, it was unlikely they could see anything much.

I pulled on the rosette frieze. Nothing. I pushed it. No luck. Finally, I twisted it gently to the left as I repeated the rhyme my father had used to teach me about valves when I was a child. Righty tighty, lefty loosey. I felt the back panel nudge forward and slide like a wheeled vehicle on an oiled surface into a perfectly aligned slot. Okay, I said to myself, here we go.

“Okay,” I said aloud. “Are you ready?”

“Go,” said Alverez.

I took a deep breath, and used the flashlight to examine the entire inside area. Nothing. Empty. There was nothing there.

Overwrought, I started to cry. I’d been so sure we’d find the Renoir. I gulped and forced myself to quash my emotional melt-down. “Nothing,” I managed to say, embarrassed by my tears. My voice cracked as I spoke.

“Are you sure?” Alverez asked matter-of-factly.

I looked again. It was utterly empty. Could there be another hidden nook, I wondered? I leaned back on my heels and thought about it. I’d never heard about a nook within a nook. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t exist. I reached forward and tapped and used my light to examine the panels inside the cabinet. No luck.

Standing, I said, “It’s unlikely there’d be anything like that in the desk.” I swept my hand left and right, indicating I was referring to the entire room. “Look at this place. A secret area, if there is one, could be anywhere. Behind that panel,” I said, pointing to the back wall. “Or in a drawer of the desk. Or anywhere. All we know so far is that the Renoir isn’t in that cabinet.”

We’d only been inside ten minutes. That’s all it took to dash a world of hope.

CHAPTER SIX

We stood in the foggy night air in the alley beside the Grant house. It was bone-chillingly damp, more like November than March.

“I’ll take Josie to her car, so you can head home right away,” Alverez said.

“Are you sure?” Max asked.

“Not a problem,” Alverez answered.

“Don’t be discouraged,” Max said to me, looking at me through his rolled-down driver-side window as he got ready to leave.

“I’m okay,” I lied.

“Tomorrow’s another day, Josie.”

“I know.” I smiled to show good spirit, and oddly, doing so helped lighten my mood a bit. “I’m okay. Really.”

“Thanks for seeing to Josie, Ty,” Max called to Alverez as he drove away.

“Ty?” I questioned.

“Yeah,” Alverez answered. “That’s my name.”

I wondered if his name was Tyrone. I glanced at him. He didn’t look like a Tyrone. We stood silently until Max’s taillights disappeared around a bend. Once the car was out of sight, he turned and I felt his eyes on me, but my attention was focused on the step I’d have to climb in order to gain access to his SUV.

“This is a big step,” I remarked.

“What is?” he asked, thinking, I gathered from his tone, that I was referring to some proposed action, though he wasn’t sure which one.

“This one,” I said, nodding toward it. “To get in to the, what do I call it? A car?”

“You could call it a car. It’d be better to call it a vehicle.”

“The step to get into your vehicle,” I said, stressing the word, “is very high.”

“Nah,” he responded. “You’re just short.”

“I am not. I’m normal sized.”

“How short are you?”

“How short? What a question. I’m not short. I’m five-one.”

He opened the door and I pulled myself up.

When he was seated behind the wheel, he said, “Feel free to close your eyes if you want.”

“Do I look that beat?”

“Yes.”

“How about you?” I asked.

“How about me what?”

“Are you okay to drive?”

He looked at me sideways. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you need me to stay awake to keep you company?”

“No. I’m fine. What kind of friends do you have, anyway, that you have to stay awake so they’ll be okay to drive?”

“I was just being polite,” I answered.

“You don’t need to be polite. You should just rest now.”

Exhaustion, when it came, came quickly. I had no memory of drifting off to sleep, and felt groggy when Alverez awakened me by quietly calling my name.

“Wow,” I said. “I guess I fell asleep.”

“Yeah.”

“Where are we?”

“At your house.”

The rickety house I rented stood to the right. It didn’t look like home to me. It looked like the place where I’d slept since moving from New York.

Since I didn’t like to come into a dark house, I always left a small lamp lit in my bedroom. I stretched and yawned, and looked up, reassured by the soft golden gleam from my upstairs window.

“Wait…” I said, sitting up, coming fully awake. “Where’s my car?”

“Right where you left it. I’ll come get you in the morning and drive you to work.”

“Oh, no, that’s too much to ask. I’m okay. I can drive.”

He smiled a little. “Except that you were asleep before I hit the highway. I have to go to your place in the morning anyway with a technician to check for prints and see what we can see. I can pick you up en route.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. I don’t live far.”

“Really? Where do you live?”

“Over on Fox Point,” he said, naming a narrow inlet not far away.

“That’s close.”

“Yes. So I’ll pick you up. When? Seven?”