by Bill Noel
It sounded like another tall tale. “Stanley, did you see the map?”
“I asked him about it. Boy, did he get defensive. Said I wanted to get my grimy hands on it so I could steal the treasure right out from under him. He was coming close to screaming. I wrote it off as him being pickled, not really accusing me of wanting to steal it.”
“If the old-timer had a map, why didn’t he find the treasure?”
“Chris, that’s another question I posed. I’m beginning to think you and I are as alike as two peas in a pod.”
Not on your life, I thought. “What’d he say?”
“He reminded me that the map was drawn a couple of hundred years earlier, that it’d been bent, folded, wrinkled bunches of times. The next person who got it must’ve redrawn it. That could’ve happened more than once. The point being the X marks the spot could’ve gotten off during each redrawing. Also, hurricanes and storms that’ve hit in all that time, redefined where the beach is, changing the shape of the island. Erosion, vegetation, growing, then dying, walking paths made and covered over, all those things made the original map hard to follow. All Harnell was sure of was that the treasure was buried on what became the Coast Guard property.”
“I can see that. If it’d been buried by pirates, what’s to say the treasure wasn’t dug up by people who had the map?”
“Two peas in a pod, yes we are. That was my question to Harnell. He figured since the map was still around it was an indication no one had found the treasure. If they had, why need the map?”
“Stanley, if pirates buried treasure it would’ve been a hundred years before the Civil War. That property was used by the military during that period. Later, the Coast Guard built several buildings and roads on the same grounds. Even if the person who had the map didn’t find the treasure, there would’ve been a good chance it was uncovered by someone.”
“That could be true. Hmm, it’d be unlikely that it’s still out there. Yet let’s say it’s still buried. Remember, Harnell was the Fitzsimmons’s woman’s grandpa. If he didn’t find the treasure, he could’ve given her the map.”
“She and her husband could’ve been searching for the treasure rather than Civil War relics like she said.”
Stanley slapped me on my back. “Two peas, Chris. Two peas.”
My phone rang before Stanley could share more clichés.
“Mr. Landrum, umm, Chris, this is Grace. Is this a good time to talk?”
It wasn’t, but I was curious. “Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking about Theo’s offer. I don’t know him as well as you do, and you’ve been nice to me. Would it be too much to ask if you could go with me to see him?”
I told her I’d be glad to, so we decided on a time in the morning.
Stanley had paid for our drinks while I was talking to Grace. He stood, patted me on the back, and said. “Yep, we’re two peas. Birds of a feather flock together.”
He turned and left. I turned and ordered another glass of wine. I’d earned it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I called Theo the next morning for three reasons: To warn him that Grace and I would be knocking on his door at ten o’clock so he’d have a chance to get dressed before we got there; and, most importantly, to decide if he wanted to tell Sal about her prior to our arrival. Grace didn’t need an impromptu stand-up comedy routine interfering with whatever she wanted to share with her father-in-law. Theo was surprised that Grace wanted to see him. He thanked me for the warning, said he’d put on his finest, and assured me Sal would be dead to the world that early in the day.
I parked behind Theo’s Mercedes. Before I unbuckled my seat belt, Hot Diggity Dog! pulled in behind me. Grace bounded out the door, wearing a blue and white sundress, sandals, and a shell necklace. She stretched her arms over her head as she smiled in my direction.
“Good morning, Mr. Landrum.”
I was only seventeen years older than Theo’s daughter-in-law, yet felt ancient compared to her trim, athletic figure and cheerful demeanor. “Please call me Chris.”
“Okay, mon.” Her smile faded as she nodded toward the house. “Do you think it’s acceptable to visit?”
“Yes. I called to make sure he’d be home. He was pleased you were coming.”
Her smile returned as she followed me up the steps. Theo opened the door before we reached the top step. He’d heeded my advice. I’d never seen him so well put together. He had on a Hawaiian shirt which I’d never seen, and from the packaging creases, I suspected it was its debut. To complement his attire, he wore white shorts and tan, canvas Crocs. Black, knee-high, support stockings that I’d never seen him without, were nowhere to be seen. His legs were as white as his shorts.
“You look lovely today,” he said as he grabbed Grace’s hand. “Please, come in.”
He wasn’t as appreciative of my faded-blue golf shirt. I followed them to the great room where the host invited us to sit then asked if we wanted something to drink. Grace said tea if he had any, if not, coffee would be fine. There was no tea, so she and I settled for coffee as Theo headed to the kitchen.
Grace looked around the room with her mouth open. “Oh, my God, this is magnificent.”
“It’s one of the nicest homes on the island.”
She looked out the large windows. “The view, incredible.”
Theo returned with a bamboo tray holding three cups of coffee. “I didn’t know if you needed cream or sugar, so I brought both.”
We said black was fine.
“Where might your brother be?” Grace asked and looked around, as if she expected Sal to step out from behind a piece of furniture.
Theo pointed to the ceiling. “This is his middle of the night. He spent decades performing at clubs, often didn’t go on stage until ten or eleven. His performances ended months ago, yet his day still doesn’t begin until the rest of us are thinking about lunch.”
Grace nodded. “Teddy and I had similar hours when we had the restaurant. I never adjusted well to it.” She jerked her head toward Theo. “I apologize; I didn’t mean to speak of your son. It must be painful to you.”
Theo smiled. “That’s okay, dear.”
This was a much kinder, gentler Theo than Grace had been exposed to during their first meeting.
She said, “Thank you.”
“Chris tells me someone broke into your food truck.”
“A mess they made. I haven’t detected anything stolen.”
Theo nodded. “Do you know why?”
“No. It can’t be because someone has something against me. I haven’t been here long enough. The police believe the person was looking for valuables. When finding nothing but cooking supplies, he, or she, became angry. Out of frustration created a mess. My father would say, ‘Puss inna bag,’ a Jamaican phrase that means ‘a cat in a bag.’”
I was pleased when Theo said, “What?” It kept me from asking, and sounding, stupid.
Grace chuckled. “Not knowing what you’re getting before seeing it. You can’t tell what a cat is like if it’s in a bag. The person who broke in didn’t know what he was going to find. It was with great fortune that all my money, as meager as it is, was in my purse instead of in the truck.”
“That’s frightening. Dear, do you think it’s safe staying in your truck?”
“I believe so. The manager at Walmart indicated I could continue to park overnight in their lot a few more evenings. It’s well-lighted.”
“What’ll you do, then?” Theo asked. “Have you got all the permits needed to start selling hot dogs?”
“I have the paperwork, but haven’t submitted it yet. I’m afraid it may take longer than I’d anticipated.” She sipped her drink and looked at the floor. “Mr. Stoll, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You graciously offered to allow me to stay in your wonderful house until I could get my feet on the ground. I’m afraid I reacted discourteously toward the offer, I must confess, toward you. I do not want to be a burden on anyone. You don’t know me. Con
sidering the strained relationship you had with Teddy, you would have no reason to be so kind in my direction.” She turned to me. “Mr. Landrum has convinced me I should reconsider being so stubborn. Perhaps he’s right.” Her gaze returned to Theo. “Might I enquire if your generous offer is still available?”
“Grace, your negative reaction to me was justified. I admit, when we met at the hotel, I was shocked, riddled with emotions regarding my son. I had pent-up anger from years gone by. That had nothing to do with you. I’m also old-fashioned and, while I’m embarrassed to admit it, I was shocked to see that you were, umm, Jamaican.”
“Black,” interrupted Grace.
Theo lowered his head.
Grace smiled. “Mr. Stoll, I grew up in Topeka, Kansas, where more than nine out of ten residents are white. My father was a black man from Jamaica. My mom’s skin was as white as your legs. There is nothing you can say I haven’t heard since the day I first learned the difference between red and green, blue and yellow, black and white. Dad would say, ‘Yu tink she mi born big?’ which literally means ‘You think I was born big, or old?’” In other words, don’t take me for a fool. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
I smiled. Theo nodded.
“Besides,” she said, “I know you white folk can’t dance, can’t sing worth a lick, cooking, get real, and when it comes to sports, forget it. But, hey, mon, we’ll tolerate you.”
Theo made the greatest response possible. He laughed, stood, leaned down, to give Grace a hug.
He stepped back. “Mrs. Stoll, I’d be honored if you would move in here. You can stay as long as you like. My home is your home.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Theo and Grace said that they had a lot to talk about. She moved the truck so I could get my car out of the drive to let them spend time alone. Theo wanted me to stay and see Sal’s reaction to having a new housemate. I needed a plethora of Sal’s jokes like I needed malaria. I declined and left that “fun” experience to Grace and Theo.
It was still before noon, also known as wake-up time in Sal’s time zone, so I gave Charles a call to see if he wanted to make a grocery run to Harris Teeter. He laughed, saying that me making a grocery run was like our obese, iconoclastic friend Bob Howard making a run to, well, a run anywhere. He added that I could pick him up and take him somewhere he needed to go. I asked where. The answer would have to wait, he’d already hung up.
Charles was waiting for me in the parking area in front of his apartment. He slid in the passenger’s seat and said, “You’re late.”
I said, “Where to?”
“Laurie’s house.”
I slammed on the brakes. “Why?”
“She called, said she wanted to talk to me about something important.”
“What?”
He shrugged.
“She asked for you, not for you and me?”
“So?”
Another shrug.
Instead of getting in a discussion about the difference between asking for Charles, as opposed to asking for Charles and Chris, I said, “Don’t you find it strange that she keeps calling?”
He glanced at me as he tapped his cane on the floorboard. “Sure. You’ve known me long enough to know strange is my thing. The real question is strange why, not that it’s strange.”
I understood, proving I knew him better than he thought. What I didn’t understand was how Laurie would react to seeing me tagging along with the person she asked to come visit. I didn’t have to wait long. She opened the door wearing a tan, button-down blouse, and navy slacks, and greeted Charles with a hug and a stare at me that would bring fear to a lion tamer.
“Oh, I see Mr. Landrum is with you.”
Oh, I thought, and wished myself invisible.
Charles pretended not to see her glare. “Yes, he’d stopped by my place after you called and offered to drive. It’s okay, isn’t it?”
Historical revisionism was one of Charles’s many talents.
“Yes. Come in gentlemen.”
A plate of brownies was on the table beside the sofa with orchestra music playing in the background. She asked if we wanted coffee, and Charles said we’d love some before I had a chance to say no. She headed to the kitchen as Charles noted that the room had been straightened up since our last visit. Laurie returned, handed each of us a mug, pointed out the fresh-baked brownies, and sat in the chair opposite the sofa.
Charles grabbed a paper napkin, a brownie, and asked if I wanted one.
I declined.
Laurie said, “Baked them this morning. Thought you’d like them.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Charles said while wiping a crumb off his lower lip.
Laurie chuckled. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, or something like that.”
“Proverbs,” Charles said.
Laurie looked impressed, so did I. I thought, unless a president said it, Charles didn’t know it.
“I believe you’re right,” she said. “Anyway, I wanted to share something with you to get your take on it.”
“Share away.” Charles said then took another bite.
Laurie took a deep breath and looked at her hands folded in her lap. “That lady chief stopped by last evening. She was polite. The chief told me again how sorry she was about Anthony’s death.”
Chief LaMond didn’t make house calls without a reason. Expressing sympathy would’ve been a good enough reason. “Did she want anything else?”
Laurie frowned like she hadn’t been talking to me. That was reinforced when she said, “Charles, she wondered if Anthony had a gun. I told her he bought one years ago. I thought it was a stupid idea, stupid and dangerous. She asked if she could see it.”
Charles said, “What’d you tell her?”
She shook her head. “I told her no because he sold it. He eventually agreed with me, finally saying he didn’t need it. The chief asked who he sold it to. I told her Anthony never told me.”
I said, “Why’d she ask about the gun?”
“At first she didn’t say. She kept asking if I was certain I didn’t know who bought it from Anthony. After a while, she said the bullet that killed Anthony and the one shot at me were from the same gun.”
Charles was reaching for another brownie then hesitated. “Did she think it was from Anthony’s gun?”
“She didn’t know since she’d need the gun to run the ballistics test. She was thinking Anthony may have carried it with him on our relic hunt, the killer took it from him, shot Anthony with his own gun. I told her that couldn’t be right since he no longer owned it.”
Most likely, before she made the house call Cindy would’ve checked records in Florida and learned about Anthony buying a handgun. My guess was that Cindy was becoming as suspicious about Laurie’s involvement in her husband’s death as I was. I also found it convenient for Laurie to say that Anthony sold the weapon.
Laurie started to say something. Instead, she stood, said she would get us more coffee, and headed to the kitchen. I was left in the room wondering why she’d really asked Charles over.
The sound of shattering glass and an eardrum-shattering scream coming from the kitchen broke the silence. Charles leapt to his feet. His drink sloshed on his University of Arkansas T-shirt. He cursed and clanked the mug down on the table.
I didn’t have to deal with spilled coffee and beat Charles to the kitchen. Laurie was huddled down in front of the sink. Shards from the shattered window over the sink were on the counter, in the sink, on the floor, and in Laurie’s hair. Window glass mixed with broken pieces of curved glass from the carafe from the coffee maker. Hot liquid spread over the counter and dripped down the front of the cabinet.
I bent so I was lower than the windowsill and inched over to Laurie. “Are you hit?”
She was shaking all over but managed to mutter, “Don’t think so.”
“Can you move?”
She nodded.
I said, “Stay low, move to the living room.”
Charles
saw that Laurie wasn’t injured. He dashed to the back door, slowly opened it, then peeked around the corner in the direction the shot had come from.
Laurie crawled to the living room, remained on the floor, and leaned against the sofa.
“Think they’re gone,” Charles said as he returned then squatted down beside Laurie who was still shaking. He put his arm around her shoulder.
I punched 9-1-1 on my phone, gave a quick report to the emergency operator, then went into the kitchen to see what I could see out the window. Whoever took the shot was gone, the large lot was deceivingly peaceful, as it was bathed in a beautiful, sunny day at the beach.
Laurie, with coffee splattered on the front of her blouse, moved to the sofa and was comforted by Charles.
I went to the front door to greet the emergency responders. A patrol car, siren blaring, slid to the sandy curb in front of the house.
Allen Spencer, a cop I’d known since he was a rookie on the force years ago, scampered out.
I met him at the door to assure him that no one was injured. He radioed we wouldn’t need the EMTs that had been dispatched. I led him to the living room. I heard the siren from another patrol car in the distance. Allen looked at Laurie and Charles on the sofa. Laurie had her head down and didn’t look at the newest arrival. Charles nodded and told the officer Laurie was shaken but okay. Spencer moved to the kitchen, cautiously walked around the glass on the floor, then looked out the damaged window.
A second patrol car skidded to a stop behind Spencer’s and Trula Bishop was quick to the door. “Here we are again, Mr. Chris. What now?”
I led her to the kitchen, where Spencer was surveying the scene. Bishop, like Spencer, was careful not to step in the glass, or the coffee. Fortunately, there was no blood to avoid. I shared what’d happened, while Spencer headed outside to see if he could see where the shooter had been.
Bishop went to the living room and motioned for Charles to move to the other side of the room. Bishop replaced Charles on the sofa. In a calming voice, told Laurie who she was, then asked her what she’d seen.