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“Exit eleven!” Potts yelled. “Exit 11!”
I slowed the tank and peeled off onto the Garden State Parkway. I got up to speed and Potts was watching the exit signs fly by.
“This next one is it,” he said. “The A-C-E is coming up at exit 38.”
“The what?”
“The A-C-E. Atlantic City Expressway.”
There was dead silence in the car for a beat.
“Holy smokes, Batman,” Potts said. “It’s the first clue, isn’t it?”
“Yes! It wasn’t Ace it. It was Atlantic City Expressway ACE. Initials. The La-Z-Boys would have known that. I should have known that.”
“The next clue is 50, right? Maybe there’s a Route 50.” Potts went to his phone. “Route 50 is exit 17. West Egg Harbor.”
I had a choice to make. I could go to the Pleasantville house or I could follow the clues to the treasure. I chose the Pleasantville house.
“Stay on the expressway,” Potts said. “We want to get off on North New Road.”
I hit the North New Road exit ramp and stomped on the brake. Slowing the Buick down was like slowing down a freight train.
I took the E-ZPass lane and cruised onto North New Road.
“You’re going to turn left in about a half mile,” Potts said.
Minutes later we were in front of the house. It was a two-story frame that was probably built in the fifties. Very plain but well maintained. It was on a street with mature trees and shrubs. It had a driveway but no garage. There were no cars parked in front of the house. A small center-console boat was trailered in the driveway. No vehicle attached to the trailer.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Potts said.
I didn’t waste time with the usual sit-and-observe routine. I got out of the Buick, ran to the door, and rang the bell. No answer. I ran around to the back door and looked inside. No lights on. No one visible. The door was locked. I banged on the door. No answer. I broke the glass in the door with my gun butt and let myself in. Potts was on my heels.
I did a fast search to make sure my mom wasn’t in the house. I didn’t find her, but I found clothes in one of the bedrooms. The clothes looked like they belonged to Shine. A couple of pinkie rings had been left on the bedroom dresser. I returned to the kitchen. There was food in the fridge. The Entenmann’s crumb cake box was in the trash. Plus, a crumpled wad of bloody paper towels.
I froze for a moment, telling myself to breathe, to push the panic away. I had to stay calm and focused. I had to be able to think clearly. I didn’t have the luxury of unproductive emotion.
There was no sign of struggle in the house. No bloodstains other than the paper towels. I told myself that was a good sign, but truth is, I wasn’t sure.
“We missed them,” I said to Potts.
“Maybe they know the treasure location,” Potts said.
In seconds we were in the Buick.
“You need to get back on the expressway,” Potts said. “It’s the fastest way to Route 50.”
I returned to the expressway and got the Buick up to eighty.
“You should hum,” Potts said to me.
“What?”
“Hum. It’s very calming. You look like you need calming.”
He was dead-on. I was having a hard time pulling myself together.
“What should I hum?” I asked him.
