“It’s starting to rain, boss. The red mud on this road may give us trouble. It looks to be unused for a very long time.” Hans stopped the car. “Look! There’s a damn stream flowing across the road. Are you sure we can cross?”
“I remember now. The water’s only a few inches deep. There’s concrete underneath. The old village is only a few hundred yards farther ahead.” He tapped Hans on the arm. “Take off your shoes and test that water. Make sure the concrete reaches all the way across.”
Hans scowled and got out of the car. Marino watched him wade into the stream, moving slowly. He walked across and returned more quickly, gathering red clay on his soaked shoes before reaching the car. Hans sat in the driver’s seat with the door open. He reached underneath his left arm, pulled out a fisherman’s knife and scraped away most of the red mud.
The road narrowed to barely enough room for the vehicle to pass through thick trees. Heavy branches overhead created a tunnel effect. Suddenly, they were in bright daylight. Hans stopped the car.
Both men stared at the scene. A wide, unpaved street, with buildings on both sides. The seldom used graveled road had wild grass growing knee-high in some places, bare in others. A horse stable and blacksmith shop on the right, a feed store on the left. Farther down, a barber’s pole in front of a small building. Then a dry goods store, followed by tiny shotgun-style houses on both sides of the street. Several more buildings were visible down a narrow cross street.
Marino said, “Drive on down the road, there’s more. When I was a kid, this place was surrounded by fields of cotton and corn. The crops were replaced with pine trees, for the paper mills located on the rivers, south of here. The empty buildings appeared practically the same as they are today, well preserved from the past. Many of them have signs identifying their original purpose. Every building here was owned by a plantation family member in those early days.”
He gestured with his head. “The big house and the overseer’s house are off to the right after you pass the school building. The plantation owner had nine adult children. Each built their own home from timber on the family property and they all worked, managing saw mills, grist mills, cotton gins, and lumber operations. The family also owned more than thirty-five adult slaves, with children.”
Hans drove on, following the road. “How do you know all this, boss?”
“I never talked about myself, not to anyone, until now. My great-great-grandmother was a young, light-skinned daughter of a slave. She was the house servant of the overseer, or slave master. He fathered my great grandmother who married a white man in the late 1860s. We’re looking for the overseer’s house, now.”
“Wow! You know a lot about your life. There’s a bunch of history here, boss.”
“You may as well hear the rest of the story, Hans. My great-great-grandmother’s slave husband was older than her and he died fighting Union soldiers with the plantation owner at Brandy Creek, the first battle of Bull Run. That was during the Civil War. His name was Joseph. He told his wife he knew where the family’s gold and silver had been buried. He knew that because he’d helped the old master bury everything before going off to war, as manservant to the colonel.”
He pointed. “That’s the school house. The burned remains of the big house stand ahead, on the left. Stop there for a moment. God O’ Mighty, that’s a big house, maybe three stories high. It was built out of logs, like a log cabin. Only about half of it burned. Why didn’t they repair the house after the fire?”
Marino got out of the car and stared at the ruins. He ignored the light rain falling. “The oldest grandson of the original plantation owner died in that house fire. My grandfather killed the man and set fire to the big house. Other family members dragged him out to a large pecan tree behind the house and hung him by the neck until he died from lack of oxygen. Some people in the community bragged that he was the only white man ever hanged on McGowin property. The family trust took charge of the estate after that and farming the land ended. I was born near here, years later.”
He turned and looked at Hans. “My grandmother never let me forget how she watched her father take his last breath. We lived only a mile away, in a home on the trust property. My grandmother worked for the family. She hated every minute, believing she was entitled to the lost treasure. she picked up where my grandfather left off. She spent all her later years searching quietly for the treasure. Her only clue, provided by Joseph; buried under the floor. She believed that meant in the big house. It was not to be. She worked her whole life at a job she hated, believing she would soon find the treasure. The lost fortune was never recovered.
“The overseer’s house is back in that pine thicket, about a hundred yards to the right.” They left the car and looked at the ranch-style log house. Like all the buildings, vegetation was kept cleared away and the original shake roof had been replaced with corrugated tin, for more practical preservation. The windows were all shuttered to protect the glass.
Hans put his shoulder against the front door and turned the latch. The door opened with a light squeal. Marino directed the light he was carrying around the room, from corner to corner. He held it briefly on a worn old rocker and two straight-back chairs with hide-covered bottoms. He knew that most of the original furniture had been handmade by slaves. All bedrooms were located on both sides of the hallway, two on each side, entering from the hall, through an alcove. He moved down the hall to the large dining room.
“Look at this.” He shined the light on a heavy wood table with a bench seat across one side. “Have you ever seen craftmanship like that before? A magnificent piece of work.”
He flashed the light across several fine, old handmade cabinet pieces before moving into the kitchen area. “Open up the doors. There’s one on each side of this room. We need more light in here.”
“Boss! This is unbelievable. A copper trough with a handpump for water, next to a butcher’s block table in the center of the room. A huge wood stove near one corner, and free-standing cabinets on three walls. Look at that big booth and table, for eating in the warm kitchen on cold mornings. We can make this work. I’ll bring in the supplies.”
Marino said, “You can’t even make coffee on that old stove. The pipe’s gone. It isn’t connected to the chimney on the roof. Bring in the girl. I want to make sure she’s still alive.”
Hans came in carrying the girl, out away from his body. “She crapped and pissed herself, boss. What we gone do about that smell?” She was badly bruised around her mouth. Her eyes fluttered. “She’s coming out of it. You said make sure damage wasn’t fatal until we were through with her. She won’t make sense for a while, but she’ll get over the drugs.”
“Strip her clothes off and use those long tethers to fasten her to the heavy table here in the kitchen. There has to be some old cooking pans and such somewhere around here. Find something like that and use it to catch rainwater. She can bathe herself while we’re gone.”
Hans straightened up with a huge wooden bowl, dragged out from the bottom of an old cabinet. “Bring in the drinking water and canned goods. We need to get into town to rent a normal looking car and cooking equipment before things close down.” Hans put the food and water on the table and hurried back to join Marino in the car. “By the time we get back, she’ll be happy to see us,” Marino said.
Chapter 31
Rain pounded the tin roof of the house. Maria thought she might be dreaming. She focused on the picture of a double-flip cliff in Hawaii that she had seen in a magazine. She felt fresh air, more of a light mist. She looked around. Rain blew in through the open door. She’d thrown up on the floor and wanted a drink of water. She stared at her hands, realized they were shackled together. The shackle looked long enough she could use her hands for necessities in the toilet. She had wet herself several times while asleep. She felt hopeless until she looked down and saw the rest of her clothing on the floor.
No! That smell. It’s me, and my clothes. What can I do? She saw the bowl of water. And a rol
l of paper towels. That must mean they aren’t going to kill me yet.
She wet a wad of towels and washed her face. Then she wiped down her body before sitting down in the huge wooden bowl. She stood up, shivering from the cold, moved her clothing around with her foot, then gingerly dropped them into the bowl of water.
She had heard everything the men said for the last half hour, until they left. Don’t give up, she told herself. Get yourself together and do something, now, or you’re never leaving this place. She examined the braided rawhide tether. She gaged the manacle to be about fifteen inches. The longer tether was about five feet long, clamped around a brace beneath the table. She needed a knife or a screw driver. A simple hose clamp held the leather clamped tight to a brace underneath the table. They would never have left me in this careless manner unless they were short on time, she thought, I can do this.
She lifted the restraint and bit down on the rawhide. After several minutes her jaw ached from biting down hard with little results. Her eyes settled on a drawer in the closest wall cabinet. She stretched her arm out. Two fingers curled around a small white knob on the drawer. It slid all the way out. She couldn’t believe her luck. Several rusty old kitchen knives lay scattered in the wide drawer. She ran her hand over two knives lying close together and pulled both out. She squatted down and cut the tether lose from the table. The hand manacle was made of light weight chain. I can live with that. Wash out the clothes and wring them dry, quickly, before they come back.
Maria dressed herself hurriedly in the damp clothing. She wondered where she was now, and how long she had been unconscious. Wherever she was couldn’t be much worse than what she’d been through the last week or more. She’d lost track of time, not sure of anything anymore. How long had it been since she was taken from her car? Mr. Marino had warned her not to get out of line. Why hadn’t she listened? Hans had slapped her around, before using her body repeatedly. She thought of her little boy and cried silently.
A glass fruit jar with something inside caught her eye; old fashioned kitchen matches sealed inside the jar. She would need them. She put one small knife in the back pocket of her shorts and headed for the food and water. A case of sixteen-ounce water bottles. She pulled out two, and moved on to the three grocery bags. She set aside a jar of peanut butter, found several cans of baked beans and pulled out one can. What do I do now? She emptied a larger plastic bag, except for two cans of sardines and a box of saltine crackers found inside. She gathered the rest of her selection, grabbed the jar of matches and walked outside. Can’t strand myself out in the rain. She backed inside the door and looked around outside some more. She needed a place to hold up out of the weather long enough to get her bearings. A barn or some kind of building was barely visible through the trees. She prayed silently and ran through the rain and weeds toward the structure in the distance. She stopped and looked back at the house from her position in the brush. She could see what she thought might be a road into the area. My way out.
The barn was old and not fully restored or maintained. Part of the roof was gone. She was afraid to enter more than a few yards out of the rain. She knew the men would be returning soon and start a search. She looked back at the trail she’d left through the wet brush, a dead giveaway. She back tracked through the weeds, hoping it would lead them in the wrong direction. She cautiously stepped along the edge of the overgrown yard, around the house to a place where she threaded her way through heavy brush, into the woods again. She walked parallel to the old road. I can’t be wrong, it’s the only road in.
What’s this? Nothing but water ahead. She moved closer to the road and looked farther ahead. More water. She waded through and returned to the brush on the other side. She back tracked into the wet underbrush. She had no idea how far she would need to go before finding help. She desperately wanted contact with the authorities. She remembered the matches, maybe a fire. No! everything’s too wet. She leaned against a tree and wiped water off her face. She thought it over carefully, and decided to go back and burn that old house down. That should get some attention. She would hide out until the fire department arrived. Surely, they would respond to a large fire, like a house fire?
Maria followed her own trail through the wet brush, all the way back to the house. They should be back any time now. This could be a mistake. She stood still and listened for the sound of an automobile. She heard nothing, beyond the steady sound of rain through the trees. This is risky, what if the matches won’t lite up? What if they get here before the fire department? She placed the bag of necessities on the wet ground, removed the jar of kitchen matches and ran back inside the house. She looked for something flammable, remembered an old coat on the floor in one corner. She grabbed it, stuffed it into the nearest wooden cabinet, poured out a hand full of matches and dragged one across the table top. To her surprise, the sulfur tip snapped into flame on the first attempt. She held it under the coat sleeve and watched flames grow until they curled up around the aged wood shelves. Time to go. She dumped more matches around the floor, turned and ran from the house. She waited some distance away for flames to appear.
She thought she heard the sound of an engine and ducked down behind heavy brush. No, my imagination. What do I do now? She looked back toward the old house. A column of black smoke rose above the tree tops, then, bright yellow flames lit up the afternoon sky. She waited. The flames died away. She waited some more, until darkness closed in around her.
Chapter 32
Hunt focused his attention on Dick. “You have a heavy responsibility now, big guy. What kind of weapon do you have?”
Dick grinned. “A 9mm Glock. It’ll get the job done in the hands of an experienced man.” He looked at Samantha. “Or woman. Sam can handle the weapon quite easily. There’s no safety on the Glock. Just point and ease back on the trigger. She has a steady hand and quick line-up on the target.”
“Good. Let’s hope she never has to use that weapon. Keep me up to date on what’s going on. Grant’s changed his appearance and temporarily goes by a different name. He’ll fill you in on that.” He switched his attention to Samantha. “You should go straight to your attorney for legitimate access to the building before attempting to enter the storage unit. That’s Grant’s first priority, you know.”
He slapped the desk. “Oh yeah, I forgot. He’s growing a beard and dressed as a fisherman. He’ll be waiting for you at the marina coffee shop in Long Beach. Drive up in front and wait for him to come outside.”
He looked back at Dick. “I like your idea of leaving town for a while. Why did you decide to visit your out of state property at this particular time?”
“Property there is owned by the McGowin family trust. One of the homes was set on fire and heavily damaged by vandals or someone who broke through a locked gate for access. My Uncle Mark heads the board of trustees. My brother told him I was running around, loose from the navy, and suggested he have me investigate the damage.” Dick glanced back at Samantha. “With the situation developing here, I thought it might be the appropriate time for that visit. He’s been trying to have me visit the property for years.”
He held Hunt’s eye for a moment. “With your permission, we would like to have Grant join us on this little venture. The trust will pick up our expenses. I haven’t been back since visiting with my father as a youngster. I’d kinda like to see what it’s like there after so many years.”
“You said it was in the south, I believe?”
“Oh yeah, in the heart of Dixie. A sizable portion of south Alabama, about a hundred miles north of Mobile. The McGowin family settled there in the early eighteen-hundreds. The McGowin plantation consisted of twenty-three hundred acres of timber and farming lands along the Sepulga River.”
Hunt said, “I can’t stop you from visiting your property, so, go for it. Just be damn sure you have your weapon. You’ll have to check it at the airport, you know, if you fly. Now you’ll be responsible for two people. The people going after you have long arms and I can’t a
fford to have something else happen to Grant or Samantha.” He grinned at Dick.
Dick parked at the curb. “He should have been watching for us. Grant’s a social enthusiast. He’s probably mixed up in some fisherman’s fish story. I’m not letting you out of sight long enough to go inside and check on him.”
Sam said, “Is that him with the Greek fisherman’s cap?”
“He’s coming our way. Yeah, that’s our man. He looks different. He’s starting to grow a full beard.”
Sam said, “I want a big hug. She attempted to open the door.”
“No!” Dick grabbed her hand. “We can’t give his identity away through our association, if anyone’s watching.”
Grant opened the door and sat down in back. “Didn’t intend to keep you waiting. Too much coffee. Just bad timing for a toilet break. I found out I’m no match for real fishermen when it comes to sitting around drinking coffee.”
Samantha twisted herself around to face Grant. “There’s no excuse for the way I’ve acted, Grant. I’m pleased to be part of your family. You were awfully generous, and you’ve worked very hard for my father’s sake. I’ve never met anyone who would do what you’ve done. Please tell me everything you can about my father, as seen through your eyes. Then, when we find time, tell me all about the rest of our family heritage.”
Grant reached over the seat to rest his hand on her shoulder. “I never expected to have children of my own, Samantha. I always knew I’d be close to my brother and his family. Now, you and I will cherish each other the way Joe would have wanted it.”
Dick said, “I’m sorry about Maria, Grant. It doesn’t appear there’s much hope of her safe return. Let’s make the bastards pay. You know they’re coming after us.”
In the Blink of An Eye Page 12