Taming Theresa (33 page)

The two men looked curiously at one another,
but made no move.

"What are you going to do?" John wanted to
know.

Suddenly, she felt it was urgent that she
find what she was looking for soon. "Hurry, please."

"Sweetheart, be careful," warned Jack.

"Vic, is something wrong?" asked her
cousin.

"I'm not sure," she said studying the
paneling above her. "But I know it's in there."

"I'll see what I can find," said John and
went to search the cellar. He returned in a minute with a very
large flat head screwdriver.

"Ah, that's perfect. Thanks," she said, as he
handed it up. Wedging the head between two panels, she carefully
pried them apart. The old nails squealed in protest but came loose
and the sections of wood separated easily. A couple of nails popped
free and rattled on the floor.

"Victoria, are you licensed for this kind of
work? I mean really, what the hell are you doing?"

She ignored her husband, but kept on working
with the screwdriver until one of the panels came free and fell
away. She felt around in the space behind it.

"Hmm, nothing," she muttered to herself.

The men looked at each other and
shrugged.

Theresa pushed them aside. "Can't you see?
Vicky knows something! She's looking for something."

A second piece of wood clattered to the
floor.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this," said
Vicky, peering into the space she'd uncovered.

"What?" asked John.

The screwdriver fell, ringing on the brick
floor. Carefully, she reached into the space with both hands and
began to draw out a wooden box perhaps four inches high, and a
little more than a foot long. For a minute she just held it,
staring with amazement at what she'd found. She stepped down slowly
and whispered, “Jack, please go put this with Ralph's things in the
other store room."

"What is it," he asked, stunned at her
discovery.

"It's Tamsin's treasure, please go hide it,"
she breathed.

"Jack's head came up when he recognized the
heroin’s name from her latest novel. "Tamsin?"

"Yes."

Without a word, Jack obediently took the
wooden case from his wife and disappeared into the other room.

No one spoke for a moment, until John broke
the silence. "That box looks really old. Was that what you were
looking for? How did you know it was in there?"

She turned to face him, but didn't
answer.

"Maybe we should open it. What do you think?"
asked John.

Jack returned to the group. "Vicky's the one
that found it, but we should take it up to Ralph. It actually
belongs to him."

"Not just yet." She looked around nervously,
and then up at the hiding place in the old stone foundation. She
shivered, feeling a chilly draft move through the small room.
Tamsin was entirely mine. A fictional character created for my
novel, and yet.... Hadn't she hidden the wooden case just where I
imagined? Or is this only an amazing coincidence? She could sense
John watching her.

"Vicky, you knew where to look. You couldn't
have known it was there. Those panels haven't been disturbed since
they rebuilt this place in the 1850's," he said quietly. He
followed her gaze to where the box had lain, for who knew how many
years.

Lifting her shoulders, she smiled weakly. "I
know what I know," she said, realizing how lame it sounded.

Jack mounted the step stool and peered into
the dusty space behind the paneling. Thrusting a hand in, he began
poking around. "Wonder if there's anything else hidden up here," he
muttered to himself. Feeling around he discovered a narrow piece of
wooden plank wedged tightly at an angle in the space where the box
had lain for so many years. "What's this doing in here?”

“Jack, maybe you should leave it alone.” said
John.

Ignoring him, Jack tugged on the old board as
they watched. There was a sharp crack as the wood came away in his
hand and with it, a rain of dust and splinters

"Ahh choo!" he sneezed violently. "Pretty
dusty up here. Hey, what's this? It feels like cardboard." He
reached behind the panels and ripped some away. Another chunk of
old dry wood fell, then another as more boards crumbled and began
to shower down. Along with the dust and debris, came the sound of
tearing.

"Oh shit," said Jack, leaping down to dodge
the debris. "Hey, what room's above us anyway? I swear there's
something stuck here."

"I don't know what's above us. Maybe the
kitchen, or Ralph's supply room," said John.

Something soft slid from the hole in the
ceiling, landed on Jack’s head, and fell to the floor with a gentle
plop. It was followed by another. He jumped away and stood, looking
up as a steady stream of the things continued to rain down and land
at their feet.

"What the hell?" yelled John. "Oh my god, its
money!"

"Yeah, looks like it," said Jack, bending
down and examining the little mound piling up on the floor. "Looks
like bundles of hundreds and fifties. Damn! Where the hell..."

As they watched, two more fell through the
opening, skittered over the top shelf and flew through the air.
These were followed by another steady stream of the little
bundles.

They heard voices and footsteps descending
the stairs. Vicky looked up sharply. Before they could react,
Ralph's big form filled the doorway.

"Yeah, they're all down here," Ralph called
over his shoulder as he stepped into the room. "These guys were
looking for you, and then we heard you down here." His eyes rested
on the small mountain of money and he started. "Holy shit! Where
did all that come from?"

Behind him, the FBI Agents appeared in the
doorway, followed closely by Vince Cangelosi.

Agent Rodriguez eyed the heap of cash and
then narrowed her eyes at the group of friends. She nodded slowly,
a slight uptick at the corners of her mouth indicating, for her, a
smile of satisfaction.

"Rodriguez, get an evidence team here right
away," barked Owen.

"I'm on it," she snapped, pulling out her
cell phone and hitting speed dial.

Ralph's Fried Onion Rings

Gluten Free Casein Free

1 1/4 cups rice flour

1/4 cup corn starch

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

1 tablespoon oil

2 beaten egg yokes

1 cup sparkling water

1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

2 tablespoons Amontillado sherry

Gradually blend ingredients, cover, and
refrigerate for 3 to 12 hours.

Heat cooking oil to 375 F.

Slice 2 large sweet onions into 3/8 inch
rings.

Before using, stiffly beat 2 egg whites and
fold into batter.

Coat rings thoroughly.

Drop into heated oil, and cook rings turning
once until well browned.

Drain on paper. Salt if desired.

“Get your hands off me!” Diane sputtered as
Agent Rodriguez opened the interrogation room door and roughly
shoved her prisoner inside.

Red faced, Diane stumbled in with her arms
bound. Her eyes glared back through her tangled hair at the FBI
Agent. Seething with rage she demanded, “I want my lawyer.”

Chris Owen rocketed from his chair, sending
it slamming into the wall behind him. “What the hell! Get those
cuffs off her immediately!"

“She was uncooperative, I had no choice.” The
other agent was defiant, but didn’t meet Owens's eye.

“Handcuffs? Seriously? Why the hell did you
handcuff her?” yelled Theresa angrily. "She doesn’t even know Tony!
She doesn't know anything."

A sullen Agent Rodriguez deftly produced a
pocketknife and cut the plastic restraints. Diane pushed her long
blond curls from her face and looked angrily at Chris as she rubbed
her bruised wrists.

"Diane, please take a seat," said Owen,
glaring at Rodriguez. Sighing heavily, he slumped back into his
chair. The informal interview he'd planned was quickly spinning out
of control. For the moment at least, everyone was quiet. He looked
around the table and began again.

“Okay, Mr. Conner, you found the money Tony
DePalma was searching for. Somehow it made its way to Pippin’s
Grove and was lodged behind the wall of Mr. Spangenberg's
tavern."

"I really wasn't looking for anything in
particular, just pulled on this loose board, ripped some paper
behind it and whoosh, wads of money start falling out of nowhere,"
said Jack. Really, I know it sounds crazy, but that's what
happened. I've got no clue how it got there."

"I'm still not sure what you were doing there
to begin with." Owen took a deep breath before continuing, "Okay,
we're going to see if we can figure this out. I was on surveillance
Wednesday night, the twenty-fourth of October, when I observed Ms.
Vandersmoot retrieve a package from the trunk of Ms. Buonadies car
where she'd parked it on Main Street. Ms. Vandersmoot proceeded to
carry it into the tavern.

Diane gasped. “You were watching me? Why,
Chris? What did you think I was guilty of?"

The hurt look in Diane’s eyes wrenched his
gut. “No no, not you. I was watching Tony.” Owen rushed to reassure
her. “We now know that this was the package that Tony DePalma had
placed in Ms. Buonadies car a week or two earlier."

"Yeah, well, I had no idea Tony put anything
in my car,” snapped Theresa. "My car was full of wedding supplies.
I never noticed it and that's the truth!”

Vicky laid a hand on her arm. “Of course you
didn’t, and Diane had no idea what was in it either."

Tears ran down her cheeks as Theresa
muttered, “Damn Tony. Because of him, I got everyone into this
mess."

Glaring at Owen, John said, “Why don’t you
leave us all alone.” He put his arm around his fiancé and she
buried her face on his chest, sniffling and dabbing at her
eyes.

Vicky rooted around in her purse, came up
with a packet of tissues, and passed them to her cousin.

Agent Rodriguez leaned stonily against the
closed door, apparently unmoved by the emotional display. She never
took her eyes off Diane.

Owen sighed and he said softly, "All right
then. Diane, you retrieved the shopping bag containing the package
and brought it into the tavern. Where did you put it?” He glanced
down at the notebook before him and took up his pen.

Diane didn't answer, but glared defiantly at
him. Agent Rodriguez took a step forward and gave her a hard poke.
"He's talking to you Blondie. Answer the question."

Vicky exploded, "Leave her alone!"

“You don’t have to answer,” said John. "Don't
tell them anything."

Looking down, Diane said quietly, “I thought
it was the wedding cake toppers. Terry had sprained her ankle, so I
offered to go get her package from the car. I put it under the head
table like Terry asked me too. That's all I know."

"Hey, I don’t like where this is going. Diane
had the right idea," John’s voice rose in anger. "We should have a
lawyer. Jack, call Fred Douglas, and get him over here. These
Government Gestapo thugs can't treat us like this. What does Diane
have to do with this anyway?"

Jack pulled out his phone and swiped at the
screen, tapping in the lawyer's number. Covering one ear, he held
the phone to the other. “Dorothy? This is Jack Conner. Thanks. It's
nice to talk to you too. Is Fred there? Could I speak with him?
Tell him this is important.” He waited and spoke, “Fred, we’re all
down at the police station.”

Vicky turned hazel eyes, blazing with anger,
on Chris. “Diane looks pale. Can you at least get her a soda or
something? I think she might faint.”

He looked at Diane's white face. “Sure.
Rodriguez, go get her a coke,” he ordered.

His partner gave him a surly glance, sighed
dramatically, and pushed away from the wall. She stalked out,
slamming the door behind her.

Jack raised his voice to be heard over the
confusion, “That’s right, Fred. We found this money in the basement
of Ralph’s Tavern and these FBI guy’s think we know how it got
there.”

“Tell him about the handcuffs,” added
John.

“I haven't done anything wrong.” Diane looked
dazed as tears filled her eyes. “I don't know anything about
missing money."

"Is this really necessary, Agent Owen?"
insisted Vicky. "Can't you see she's upset? We've already answered
all your questions."

Owen threw down his pen and sighed heavily.
He ran a hand through his short blond hair and looked about the
small room used for questioning by the Pippin's Grove police force.
It was just large enough to accommodate the institutional
metal-topped table and several metal folding chairs. The walls were
a windowless dull green. "All right, please, don't everyone talk at
once. If you’ll just remain calm, I'm sure we can get to the bottom
of this."

Vince opened the door and walked in with a
paper cup of ice and a can of coke. “She said Diane wasn’t feeling
well.” Looking worried, he went over to the girl, who was now
weeping openly, popped the top, and quickly filled the cup. “Here,
drink this slowly, Diane.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and reached for
the cup.

“What happened to your wrists?” Shocked,
Vince stared at the red lines left by the plastic cuffs, then over
at Chris Owen. “What gives?”

“It was a misunderstanding. I sent my partner
to ask Diane to join us for some questions concerning the cash
discovered at the tavern.”

“And she hauled her in like some common
criminal?” Suddenly, there was fire in Vince’s eyes. Perfectly
willing to assist the FBI in their investigation, he was now
becoming concerned that they were going too far with people who
were his friends and neighbors.

“That’s just what that bitch did.” Theresa
sat next to Diane, fury evident in her flashing dark eyes.

Turning back to Diane, Vince asked her, “Are
you okay? Do you need anything?"