The Treasure Seeker Page 5

  Her workroom looked as though a tornado had gone through it. The furniture appeared to have been hacked to pieces with an ax. Books ripped apart lay scattered around the room; their pages carpeted the floor. The artwork she had so carefully framed and hung lay smashed and torn in piles of shattered glass and splintered frames. Her laptop had been snapped at the hinges and the screen shattered. A jumbled mass of plastic that she vaguely recognized as the printer was in the corner.

  Ry’s throat ached. She hadn’t realized she had been screaming Kate’s name. Heedless of the dangers of the broken glass and twisted metal scattered about the floor, she raced into the showroom. There she found an even worse mess. She almost fell as the room spun around her. There was no time to give in to the shock. She had to find Kate. Without bothering to stop, she ran to the stairs that led to their living space. Even the stairway hadn’t been immune to the devastation. Several of the steps and risers had deep gashes hacked into them and parts of the banister had been completely broken away. The stairwell glittered from the jewel-like shards of glass from the numerous vases and glassware that had been shattered against the stairs. Ry fell twice. Ignoring the pain in her hands and knees, she kept going. Her fear grew to an almost unbearable degree when the brutal damage continued into their living quarters. Her own personal safety never entered her mind as she raced through each of the rooms screaming for Kate. Terrified beyond reason she ran, lost her balance and slammed backward onto the splintered mess that had once been the doorframe to their bedroom.

  The room had not been spared. Clothes yanked from the closet and dresser drawers had been ripped to shreds. The bedding slashed and flung into scattered mounds on the floor. A layer of debris from the disemboweled mattress had settled over everything.

  Her throat burned as if she had swallowed a hot coal, but she couldn’t stop screaming Kate’s name. She lost track of the number of times she checked each room before she raced back to the stairwell. The heel of her shoe caught on a gouge in one of the stair steps. She tried to grab the banister to break her fall, but the weakened wood gave way. Time seemed to stop as she tumbled and crashed hard to the bottom. Her left wrist bent at an odd angle sending a white-hot bolt of pain shooting through her arm. When she finally stopped tumbling, it took her a moment to gather herself enough to stand. Her wrist throbbed, but she could still move it so nothing was broken. A thin trickle of blood oozed down her arm.

  She slowly assessed the damage around her. Nothing within the room had been spared. Everything from merchandise to display cases had been smashed. She hobbled through the mess and continued to call for Kate, by now her throat emitted little more than a harsh whisper. Finally satisfied that Kate’s body was not among the ruins, she dropped to the floor.

  As she stared at the mangled wreckage, her empty stomach rebelled. Dry heaves racked her body. She fought them back and forced long breaths of air deep into her lungs. As she struggled to breathe, a dark, murderous rage filled her. Who would do this and why? She had done nothing to cause this sort of anger.

  She eased herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her left wrist. With slow determined steps, she made her way back to Kate’s car to retrieve her cell phone. The screen swam before her eyes as she scrolled through the list of numbers. When she finally located the one for Kate’s parents, she dialed and waited. She tried to think of words to lessen the devastation she had walked through. When Kate’s mother answered, all she could do was ask for Kate.

  “Who is this?” Mrs. Elliott asked.

  “It’s Ry.” She realized her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

  “My gosh, Ry. What’s wrong with your voice, honey?”

  “Please, is Kate there?”

  Mrs. Elliott hesitated before replying. “Well, yes, she is. We thought that given everything that had happened, maybe it would be best if she spent a few days here.”

  “Can I speak to her, please?” Ry was confused. Why would Kate be staying with her parents?

  “Please. Tell her it’s important,” she added when Mrs. Elliott continued to hesitate.

  “Um…well…she’s asleep. The doctor gave her a sedative. You know, she was terribly upset over all this.”

  “I really need to talk to her.”

  “Why don’t you call back in the morning? Or better yet, come on over and spend the…” There was a loudly hissed “no” and Mrs. Elliott stopped sharply.

  Ry recognized Kate’s voice. Kate didn’t want her there, and she didn’t want to come home.

  “Uh…what I meant was maybe you should go over to your parents.” Mrs. Elliott cleared her throat nervously. “I’m sure Kate will go home tomorrow.”

  Exhausted beyond reason Ry didn’t bother to hide her anger. Why should she care if Kate didn’t want to come home? If she preferred being with her parents, fine. She could stay there. “Tell her to not bother. There’s nothing left to come home to.” She hung up.

  Ry slipped the phone into the pocket of her jeans and started back toward the shop. She still needed to call her own parents. It would only be a matter of time before the news made its way to them and she wanted it to come from her. She glanced at her watch and was shocked to see it was after ten. Everything in her ached, but there was still so much to do. She needed to call Victor to report the vandalism. She stopped. Vandalism seemed too minor a word to describe what she had just seen.

  She flinched when her phone rang. When she saw Kate’s name on the display she turned the phone off and returned it to her pocket. She looked around the room and thought to hell with it. This could wait a few more hours. She was going home. She started upstairs to pack a bag, until she remembered: there was nothing left to pack.

  Ry shivered as a she stepped outside into the cool air. With the truck’s side window missing, she was in for a cold ride. She remembered a jacket she had seen in the trunk of Kate’s car that morning. When she opened the trunk, the first thing she saw was an Old West magazine. It took her a moment to remember that she hadn’t taken the cardboard box inside the estate sale house that morning. Kate had. Kate must have mistakenly taken the box from the backseat—the box intended for the nursing home. Ry tugged on the jacket. It was too tight through the shoulders and too short, but it stopped the wind. She grabbed the box from the trunk and placed it inside her truck. Maybe there would be something in the box that could explain why her store had been wrecked.

  She tossed Kate’s keys beneath the front seat and locked the car doors. There was a spare set of keys in the kitchen somewhere. Kate could dig them out. Without a backward glance, she got into her truck.

  Chapter Five

  Ry parked her truck in front of her parents’ two-story log and stone house. She had grown up in this house and had nothing but happy memories of her childhood. Her parents had purchased two hundred and sixty-five acres of land the year they were married. Decades of poor farming habits by the previous owners had worn out the land. Nothing grew there except scrub oak, mesquite and cactus. The property’s one redeeming value, other than its low price tag, was a large pond that had never been known to go dry. Despite its seemingly poor soil, her parents had had dreams of turning it into something much better. Her father had started building their dream house. It took him six years to complete the work. During that time, her parents lived in a small mobile home on the property. James, her oldest brother, had been born two years into the building. Eighteen months later Lewis came along, followed less than two years later by Daniel. By the time her father finished the house, the mobile home was practically bursting at the seams with the Shelton brood. Ry had been born six months after they moved into the new house. Over the years, the house had become an integral part of all their lives.

  She sat staring at the darkened house. It must be around eleven o’clock. Because her parents were such early risers, they were always in bed by ten. She hated to wake them, but she didn’t dare take the chance of using her key and being mistaken for a burglar. She had been shot at enough today to las
t her several lifetimes.

  Ry got out of the truck and grabbed the cardboard box. The closer she got to the door the more exhausted she felt. She knew she should have called Victor to report the break-in, but she couldn’t deal with it.

  The porch light popped on as soon as she stepped onto the porch. Her father’s massive frame dressed in a T-shirt and jeans filled the doorway. He pushed opened the screen door and stepped aside as her mom scooted past him. “Rylene, is that you?” No one but her mom called her Rylene. Her mother was fussing with the belt of an old flannel robe that she refused to throw away. She had been given several new robes, but she obviously preferred this one.

  “I’m sorry it’s so late.” Ry stumbled.

  Her father caught her and took the box.

  “Honey, are you sick?” she asked as she took Ry by the arm. The love and tenderness of her mother’s voice was nearly her undoing.

  Ry fought the tears. She knew if she started crying she wouldn’t stop. “No. I’m just tired.”

  As soon as they were inside, her mom turned on a lamp while her father placed the box on the floor.

  Her mother gasped when she saw Ry’s face. She started to say something when she noticed the blood on Ry’s shirt. “Dear God, Seth, she’s bleeding.” Her mother eased her down onto a chair.

  “Mom, it’s just a scratch.” She tried to turn her arm.

  “Seth, get the first-aid kit out of the kitchen.”

  He left without comment.

  Ry tried to stand up. “I don’t want to get blood on your chair.”

  Her mom was a tall, and what some would describe as, a raw-boned, woman with an incredibly tender nature. But she could take on the disposition of a grizzly bear if riled. She gently pushed her back down. “It’s just a chair, Rylene. Now stop squirming so I can see. You never could sit still.”

  Her father returned with the first-aid kit. He and Ry waited patiently while her mother worked.

  “It’s not deep,” her mom said. “You don’t need stitches, but it could get infected.” She washed the wound with something that felt like liquid fire. Ry tried not to squirm, but her mom was making it difficult.

  Her mom finally stepped back. “That’s all I can do. We’ll have to watch and make sure it doesn’t get infected. Now I want you to stretch out over here and rest.” She helped Ry to the couch.

  Ry’s father said, “Doreen, maybe you could make us a pot of coffee.”

  Ry smiled. Her father could face the apocalypse head-on as long as he had a pot of coffee.

  “I think you’re right.” She rushed off to the kitchen with the first-aid kit.

  Ry closed her eyes and let her body sink into the couch. Her bones ached and her muscles felt like jelly.

  “Here, drink this, but don’t tell your mother I gave it to you.”

  She opened her eyes to find her dad standing beside her with a shot glass of whiskey. She took the glass and downed the contents.

  “I’ve never been able to convince your mom that a shot of good whiskey has medicinal value.”

  The fiery liquid seared her throat. Her empty stomach lurched when the alcohol hit it. “Dad, can you lock that box up in your safe?” she asked as she pointed toward the cardboard box. She watched his gaze travel over the box’s contents.

  She sensed his curiosity but no longer had the strength to explain. “It’s a long story, and frankly, I’m not sure it’s anything more than my imagination.”

  He picked up the box and empty glass and left the room.

  Ry leaned her head back and again closed her eyes. Her wrist was still tender. She rubbed it as she tried to think of how she could even begin to explain everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

  “Sit up. Try to eat some of this.”

  Ry opened her eyes to find a tray in front of her containing a steaming bowl of chicken soup and pot of coffee with three cups. Her father was sitting in the chair across from her.

  “Mom, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know I didn’t have to, but you look half-starved,” her mom said. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “I don’t even remember,” Ry admitted. She ate a couple of spoonfuls. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “You just jump in anywhere and we’ll catch up,” her father said as he poured coffee into each of the three cups. He handed one to his wife, slid one closer to Ry and took one for himself.

  Slowly the events of the past several hours began to pour out of her. Her mom or dad would occasionally stop her and ask for clarification, but mostly they listened. As she spoke, Ry watched the myriad of emotions cross her parents’ faces: the clenching of the muscle in her father’s jaw, the shock on her mother’s face, the slight widening of her father’s eyes and heard her mom’s gasp of horror when she related how she had shot a man. By the time she finished describing the destruction she found at the shop, they looked as exhausted as she felt. She waited as her parents sat in stunned silence for several seconds.

  Her mom finally asked, “Where’s Kate?”

  “She went home with her parents after she left the police station,” Ry said.

  Her father gave a slight grunt then he stood and set his cup on the tray. He placed a large hand on Ry’s shoulder. “It’s late and you’re exhausted. You go on up to bed and we’ll work this out in the morning.” He helped her up and hugged her tightly. “I don’t want you to worry about anything. You’ll be safe here.”

  When he stepped back, she dried her eyes. “Thanks, Dad. I’m sorry I had to drop this all on you.”

  He shook his head. “A load is always easier to carry on two sets of shoulders.”

  Her mom hugged her. “You should have called us sooner,” she scolded, as she stepped back and examined Ry’s face. “There’s some antibacterial ointment in the hall bathroom if you need it. Your room has fresh sheets.” She kissed Ry’s forehead. “You let me know if you need anything.”

  Ry kissed her parents goodnight and went upstairs. She was so tired she didn’t even bother to turn the bedding down. She simply kicked off her boots and stretched out across the bed, certain she would be asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  Despite her exhaustion, sleep was slow in coming. When she finally did sleep, she dreamed of glass raining from the sky. She tried to escape it and found herself running through a maze screaming Kate’s name. In the distance, she heard Kate calling for her. Ry fought the heaviness in her feet and legs. She had to find Kate. Each time Ry reached the location where she thought Kate’s voice had been coming from, she encountered a man in a blue shirt.

  Something about him scared her. She ran harder to escape him. It was useless. He kept closing her in tighter and tighter until she had nowhere left to run. Terrified, she watched him raise a rifle and point it at her. She tried to run but her feet seemed to be bound to something. Unable to run, she could only watch as his finger closed around the trigger and squeezed. The barrel grew to a monstrous size, allowing her to see the bullet spinning through it. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bullet, even as it continued to blaze through the air, directly toward her. It grew so near she could smell its metallic scent. She waited and silently lamented every wasted moment of her life. She regretted never telling her family how much they meant to her. She felt guilty for the financial mess she was leaving behind that her family would have to straighten out. She was ashamed that she had taken another human’s life. But most of all, she was sorry for all the times she had put her relationship with Kate second.

  As if conjured by the thought, Kate suddenly materialized directly in front of her. Ry smiled and reached out her hand. As she did, she realized the bullet was still moving toward her. Only now, the bullet was going to hit Kate. Ry screamed for Kate to move, but Kate seemed frozen in place. Ry threw her body forward. She saw the bullet spinning wildly toward her. Just before it smashed into her body, she screamed.

  Ry sat upright in bed. Her heart pounded. Her sweat-drenched clo
thing was making her cold. Someone had placed a blanket over her during the night. Her tossing and thrashing had left it entangled around her feet. She wiggled it free and pulled it beneath her chin. The movement caused her wrist to start hurting again. She gently massaged it.

  As the fog of sleep slowly faded, she heard distant voices. Her room was directly above the kitchen. The air-conditioning duct in the floor beside her bed had always allowed her to overhear most conversations held at the kitchen table. She closed her eyes and listened. She had grown up with these sounds, the deeper voices of her father and brother, Daniel, along with the lighter sounds of her mom and Daniel’s wife Elise. The voices today were softer and lower in volume. She realized they were trying not to wake her.

  All of her brothers lived within ten miles of their childhood home. Each of them had bought land and built their own homes just as their father had.

  As she continued to listen to the low comforting sounds, her stomach growled loudly. She knew that despite the fact that her mom had probably put enough food on the table for a small army, her brother could eat through it quickly. If she didn’t get down there soon there would be nothing left.

  She showered. The hot water felt good on her wrist. Afterward, she dug through her closet in hopes there would be something there she could still wear. All that was left was the formal she had worn to her senior prom, her school jacket and an assortment of old hunting jackets that belonged to her dad. She could imagine her mom trying to get rid of them only to have him hide them up here. She finally managed to find an old sweatshirt and pants tucked away in a dresser drawer. They were old and faded but they still fit reasonably well. More importantly, they were clean and warm.

  As she dressed, she glanced around the room. It had been nearly a decade since she had been in here but her shooting trophies still filled the top shelf of the bookcase and the better items of her “treasure finds” from her metal detecting years still sat in the case that her father had helped her build. She winced as she remembered the number of times she smacked her thumb and fingers with the hammer during the process of building the case. That had been when she decided she wanted to work with him during the summer as the boys did.