“No. I’m staying on the line.”
I slipped the phone back into my pocket, still connected, and went over to help. James took the first shift and he wedged the bar into a thin crease between the top and the side boards.
“This wood is solid.”
“Almost like petrified?” asked Maria.
“Yeah.”
“Silicate,” she said.
He pried and worked that bar. We heard a creak and knew that the wood was separating. Slowly.
Occasionally we heard traffic from the road a couple hundred feet away. A rumbling truck, a car with a bad muffler, a motorcycle, a diesel engine bus. We were aware of them, but concentrating on the task at hand.
“I wish I had more of those pry bars,” Maria said.
I was working it, Mary Trueblood still connected in my pocket. I’d pry and hear the creak, and the top would be just a little looser.
Half of the top was now almost free. Em took the bar and started working on the end of the box. For a slight girl, she’s strong. She put her weight to good advantage and worked her way around to the far side.
“There’s got to be an easier way,” I said.
“More wrecking bars,” said Maria, “but the Ace Hardware is closed.”
“Let me take it again.” James took the metal bar from Em and started prying, going faster now that the wooden top was almost free.
“Keep on prying, folks.”
The sinister voice stopped us in our tracks.
“And when you’re done, step back from the wooden box.”
We all spun around, for the first time seeing the two scruffy guys in the dim light. The dark-haired one with the three-day growth on his face held a pistol, aimed right at Emily.
“Markim and Weezle?” James had a frozen look on his face.
“Keep prying that lid.”
“Or is it Markim and Stiffle?” I asked.
The other guy, a little chubby and with lighter hair stared at me. “Stiffle is Weezle’s brother. Was Weezle’s brother.”
“Twins?” I knew it was no coincidence.
“Keep prying.”
James set the bar, and I watched him, his hands now shaking.
“Adopted?” Em studied the duo.
“Yeah. Different families. Different last names.” Weezle sneered at her, the gun never wavering. “My brother was an idiot. We sent him to find the translation for that letter the Trueblood lady gave us.”
“Whoa. She gave you the letter.”
“We couldn’t figure it out. Didn’t have the code. When you two showed up with her, we figured that she’d translated it.”
“And that we had the translation?”
“Keep prying.” Markim stepped a little closer, his gun pointing at James’s head.
The wood creaked and James moved down a couple of inches.
“And why did you kill him?” Em kept pressing.
“We didn’t know you had the translation. But my dumbass brother went to your room instead of the lady’s room. By mistake. Your reservation was in her name. Then the idiot calls me on his cell and is going on about how this lady’s room has guy’s clothes and everything. I figured that he’s in the wrong room, and Markim and I were tired of covering his sorry ass.”
“So you killed him? Pretty serious action for someone who gets the wrong room.”
“I went up to straighten him out, and we got into a fight. He hit his head on the little dresser and,” he paused, “you got a brother?”
I didn’t. James didn’t. We were like brothers, and there were times when I’d like to kill James. Still-
“No.”
“I don’t either. Not any more.” He smiled, a cold, calculated grin.
“We kept bailing his ass out, over and over again,” said Markim.
I did understand that.
“Keep prying.”
James worked the bar again. He glanced up at me, cocked his eyebrow and I knew what he was saying. Two of them and a gun. Four of us. If we get the gun, we win. What do you think, pard?
Wiping sweat from his forehead, James looked once more at me and I nodded. These guys had taken a shot at Em and me, so I was certain they’d think nothing of shooting us now.
“It’s almost off. You guys want to step up here and see what we’ve got?”
Weezle took two more steps and took his eyes off James, staring at the box with its raised lid.
James threw the crowbar as hard as he could, hitting Weezle across the face. Markim stopped, stunned, and I turned and hit him on the jaw. Deja vu. And all of us heard the explosion as a gun roared.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
I stood there dazed, hearing the muffled voice.
“Are you there? Are you alive? Are you there? Answer me.”
It took several seconds to realize it was coming from my pocket. Pulling the phone out, I shouted into it. “I’m alive.”
Taking a quick survey, I saw James standing by the box, Maria cowering behind the forklift, Weezle unconscious on the ground, and Markim kneeling, holding his shoulder where blood was seeping onto his shirt. And then there was Em, standing behind the wooden coffin, her right arm hanging by her side with the pistol in her hand.
“Yeah. We’re all alive.”
“What was that dreadful noise?”
I took a deep breath. “Em shot Markim, and James took out Weezle with a crowbar.”
“Oh, my God. What have you gotten yourselves into?”
I swallowed hard. “We’re about to find out, Mrs. T. I really think I need to call you back later.” With that, I clicked off the phone.
Maria had duct tape. Rolls and rolls of gray duct tape.
A forklift, a pry bar, duct tape? “What do you do with all this stuff you’ve got in your rental unit?” She seemed to have every tool imaginable.
“I rent properties, Skip. You need a variety of things to manage properties. I probably should take a course in plumbing, so I would have all those tools and wouldn’t have to rely on phonies like you to fix my leaks.”
She tossed a roll to me and one to James and we proceeded to wrap up the two PIs. We taped their arms to their sides, their legs together, then we repeated the process, over and over.
“Maybe Markim will bleed to death?”
“Nah. You shot him once before, Em. He’s a tough one.”
Weezle’s face looked like he’d been in a heavyweight title bout. The crowbar had crunched his nose and split his lip, and there were purple bruises forming under both eyes.
“Finish opening the crate.” Em turned her attention to the box. With all the excitement and the rush of adrenaline, we were at an emotional high. We had to get back to business.
I took the crowbar, wiped it on the damp grass to remove any blood, and continued to pry, leveraging my weight, my strength, to pull up the last couple of nails. I then worked around the wooden lid, prying it free. We all gathered ’round as James lifted off the cover.
“You know, we had that letter before you did,” Weezle said. We’d propped him up against the forklift and a
