Blackbeard's Lost Treasure

by Caleb Wygal

  On the day of Trent Mahoney’s murder and the day Lucas was himself a suspect, the name of the investigating officer was Greg Hanover. Lucas sometimes had to work with and against Hanover to clear his name that day. A respectful relationship developed between the two during the aftermath. They often got together for a cup of coffee.

  He leaned against his Jeep and looked out over the sound as he called Greg on his cell phone.

  “Lucas, what’s up?” Greg said when he came on the line. Although he was in his early fifties, his voice betrayed a youthful exuberance giving him a striking sense of humor for someone in his position. “It’s been a few months since I heard from you last. How’s it going? Are you doing okay since . . . you know?”

  “Uh, it’s been tough to be honest,” Lucas said.

  Greg sensed the pending divorce wasn’t a subject Lucas wanted to cover. “Well, you didn’t call me to talk about feelings or any crap like that.”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. What’s on your mind, Lucas?”

  “I need to know the details of a police investigation that’s over thirty years old.”

  Greg whistled. “Wow, if I’d known that’s why you were calling, I would’ve never picked up the phone. Who was it?”

  “Well, that’s the tricky part,” Lucas said. “His name was Travis Cole. He was murdered in Raleigh.”

  Greg cursed. “Jesus, Lucas. Raleigh? You know I work in Concord don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I know. I was just hoping you might be able to help me out.”

  Greg was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “Okay, I might be able to help. I’m old friends with a detective up there. He’s retired now. I might be able to get in touch with him. He might’ve been around during that time. If he doesn’t know anything about it, he might be able to point you in the right direction.”

  “Hey, anything you could do to help would be much appreciated.”

  “No problem. What is your interest in this?”

  Lucas outlined, briefly, what Darwin found and what they knew of the circumstances around the finding of the diary of Mary Ormond.

  “Okay Lucas. Let me wrap up what I’m doing here today. I’ll reach out this evening or tomorrow and let you know what I find.”

  “Thanks Greg. Appreciate it,” Lucas said and ended the call.

  • • •

  Darwin was four pages deep into search results on the museum mainframe back in the restaurant as Lucas ended his call with Greg Hanover.

  As Darwin had mentioned to Lucas, the archivists at the museum were working their way back through the records, placing everything into a database. Their hope was that after cataloguing the documents, they could use a search program similar to Dewey Decimal System employed by libraries to keep their books in order. Paper records were located in file cabinets in a huge room in one of the upper floors of the museum. The actual artifacts were stored deep within the bowels of the floors underground.

  As crates were sorted through and documents revealed, the results were sent to the two members of the computer team. After the project began, it became apparent that the five archivists going through file cabinets would get ahead of those in the basement. It was easier to open a file, have it scanned in and indexed than it was to sort through boxes and figure out what it was they were looking at. Because of that, as the two teams went in reverse chronological order, Darwin’s team in the basement was behind the document diggers upstairs.

  The thirteen researchers were divided into three teams: five to dig through crates, five to riffle through files, two who input the findings into the database and one overall project leader, Florence White. Darwin was a crate digger and the youngest member of the project. The members of the project held bi-weekly meetings to discuss progress, coordinate efforts, answer any questions, and to forecast ahead.

  Darwin had hoped some piece of information would already be in the database relating to the Plum Point dig. When he did a quick search the day before, he had found nothing. Now, sitting in the corner of the pizza place, he took his time digging through the entries, time hoping to find something he had missed. Still, he came up empty. He found projects dating back before Travis Cole’s journey to Bath, so at least Darwin knew the file diggers upstairs had been through the file cabinet containing the dates of the dig.

  To this point, Darwin wasn’t aware of any crate or box from the basement that didn’t have a correlating file from upstairs. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open, and dialed a number saved in the memory.

  After a few seconds, a squeaky voice answered, “Hello?”

  Darwin cleared his throat. “Hey Lisa. How’re you?”

  “I’m fine. What’s up? I thought you were on vacation?”

  Of all the people associated with the cataloguing project, Lisa Kramer was the one Darwin most got along with. That could be due, he thought, that they were the only introverts on the project and for some strange reason, stuck together when the team was assembled—both inside and outside of work. They had had several classes together during their time at North Carolina State, so they were at least familiar with each other when the museum hired them for the project.

  “I’m just hanging out here in Bath with a friend,” he answered.

  “Bath? What’s in Bath?”

  He didn’t know how to broach the subject without taking several minutes to set it up. He called her in particular because he knew he could trust her. She knew he wouldn’t make a social call without good reason, and might be more inclined to help him because of that. So he got straight to the point.

  “Look, I need to know if the people upstairs have come across any records pertaining to a dig in Bath from 1982. The project name was The Plum Point Dig and the person behind it was a guy named Travis Cole. I can’t find anything in the database.”

  She thought for a moment. “Well, maybe they just haven’t got to it yet.”

  “There are records in the database from before and after that time period. Whatever file cabinet the records should have been in would have already been cleared. Right?”

  “Well, yeah. What in particular are you after?” When Darwin didn’t answer right away, she connected the dots. The already high pitch of her voice increased. “Wait, you said the Plum Point dig was from Bath, and now you’re in Bath. What are you up to, Darwin?”

  He panicked just a little. The mousy colleague could be intimidating when she wanted to be.

  “Okay,” he said. “When I was working the other day, I found a box from this dig. It was on the bottom shelf in a corner of the room I was in. It was weird. It wasn’t organized the way it should be. Just a piece of paper saying where it came from, when it was done, and who did it. Nothing written about what they hoped to accomplish and no manifest of the findings.”

  “That is weird. So what was in the box?”

  Darwin hesitated. He knew he could get in serious trouble if she said something to project coordinator.

  “Among other things, a journal,” he said.

  “Ooo. What sort of journal?”

  “Um, more of a diary actually. It belonged to Mary Ormond.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Not is. Was. She was Blackbeard’s wife at the time he died.”

  “That’s interesting.” She was quiet a moment. “What was in this journal that caused you to go out there? Wait, how did you get out there? You didn’t take your moped did you?”

  “No. Had a friend from Concord come pick me up and take me.”

  “That’s good. It would take you a couple days to get out there on your moped. Be dangerous as hell too.”

  “I know. I know. I knew a guy I used to work for at a restaurant had an interest in pirate history. Called him up. Said I had a few days to check it out. He owns his own business, so he took a few days leave and picked me up yesterday.”

  “What made you call him? Why would you of all people take a trip such as that on the spur of the moment? That’s n
ot like you, Darwin.”

  “I know. I just . . . I just was tired of sitting around doing nothing, you know? I was forced to take this week off and finding this map made me want to get out and do something about it.”

  “Wait . . . what map?”

  Darwin squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He’d let the cat out of the bag. “Oh, there was a treasure map in the journal.”

  He heard her gasp on the other end. “A treasure map? A real pirate treasure map?” she repeated in one rushed breath. “I thought those were made up. That they just existed in fiction”

  “Well,” Darwin said, “whether that’s true or not isn’t important. I have one.”

  “How do you know it was a map from Blackbeard and not this Ormond lady?”

  The question brought Darwin up short. He didn’t know for sure this was a map from Blackbeard. The circumstantial evidence favored that assumption. “Well, it was tucked away in this diary belonging to the woman who was Blackbeard’s wife at the time of his death. The note scrawled on it is in a different, bolder style of handwriting than the rest of the journal. Can I say with one-hundred percent conviction that this is Blackbeard’s treasure map? No. Although I’m confident enough that it is that I came out this way to dig into it.”

  He sensed her processing this. Determining whether she should help him or not. She reached a decision. “I’ll look into it. Give me a few hours. May not even be today, but I’ll see what I can find.”

  Relief washed over Darwin. Another hurdle crossed.

  “Have you tried finding this Cole guy?” she asked.

  “Yes. He’s dead.”

  “Dead? That’s sad.”

  “Apparently he was murdered in his apartment shortly after coming back from Bath.” He heard her squeak in surprise. “That’s probably why the box was still sitting in the archives. No one followed up on it. There should still be something in the file cabinets of the project. When he requested permission to do it, who approved it, etc.”

  “Good Lord. That’s awful. Who killed him?”

  “Don’t know. Couldn’t find anything online,” Darwin said.

  “Well, I’ll see what I can find on our end Darwin.”

  “Thank you so much, Lisa. I appreciate this.”

  “You’re welcome. Gotta’ run. I’ll call you when I find something,” she said and broke the connection.

  • • •

  “So what now?” Lucas asked after he sat back down and they shared what they learned with each other.

  Darwin looked out the window over the water, then back to Lucas and shrugged. “I hate to say it; I think we should go back and speak to Riddick.”

  Lucas shook his head. “I don’t trust him.”

  Darwin held out a meaty palm. “Be that as it may, the only scrap of information we have is the map. Here’s a guy who owns a shipping company in this area, spent time on these waters and, by the way, seems to know everything about Blackbeard. If there’s someone who can help us find this treasure, it’s him.”

  “I know. I just think that,” Lucas exhaled, “I just think that somehow he’ll try to screw us. You saw the look in his eye. What about going to the Maritime Museum as he suggested?”

  “How far away is that?”

  “In Beaufort. Probably a couple hours away.”

  “Well, we’re already here. Once we leave Bath, there’s not much of a reason to come back. We have a couple days before we have to head home, no need to rush. Riddick told us he’ll be around today. What if we need to catch him tomorrow or a couple days from now? Do we know that he will be available?”

  “Probably not.” Lucas clinched a fist on the table. Another thought occurred to him. “Wonder if we can rent our own boat?”

  “You can drive a boat?” Darwin asked, giving his partner a surprised look.

  “Yeah. I’m no expert,” Lucas said. “I spent part of my adolescence on a lake, going fishing, and drinking beers, whatever. I piloted every once in a while. Usually when my friends were too drunk to steer.”

  “Think you could drive one around here?”

  Lucas shrugged. “I could give it a shot.”

  Darwin gazed at his friend for a long second. “If you say so. I think we should give Riddick a chance, but I’ll trust you.”

  “Thanks. Tell you what, if I get out there and can’t do it, we’ll come back and catch Riddick. Deal?”

  14

  They drove the short distance back across town, and parked the same parking spot on Bonner’s Point overlooking the sound. They saw Riddick leaving The Treasure Shop on their way back to the marina.

  He greeted them on the sidewalk with a broad smile. “Ah, lads. You came back. I was just thanking Alethia for sending you my way. How can I help you?”

  Lucas thought the bearded man was being a bit presumptive. “We’re going to see if we can rent a boat for a while from that marina.”

  The smile on Riddick’s face disappeared. “Oh, if you say so lads. I can speak with the owner and get you a deal.”

  “Thanks, Riddick. Appreciate it,” Darwin said.

  “The least I can do, lad.” He started walking towards the marina in front of Lucas and Darwin. “Say, you don’t happen to have any nautical charts of the area do you?”

  The two younger men looked at each other. It was a good idea. Neither had thought it out that far.

  “We don’t,” Lucas admitted.

  “You’ll need one. If you’re going to go cruising around these different bays and inlets, many are surrounded with sandbars and rocks. Wouldn’t want you to run aground or hit something and sink.”

  “No, wouldn’t want to do that,” Lucas agreed. The man had a point. “You wouldn’t have one we could borrow would you?”

  From behind, Lucas could see Riddick’s chin dip. He didn’t know if that meant the pirate was thinking or sad that Lucas didn’t take him up on his offer.

  He turned around, focused Lucas with a stare in mid-stride, and said, “I think I can scrounge something up for you boys.”

  “Thanks,” Darwin said. “We knew we had a few days before both of us had to head home, and we thought if we headed to Beaufort to the Maritime Museum, we might not make it back here. We have our rooms at the motel reserved just through tonight. So tomorrow, we were headed to points unknown anyway.”

  “Good, good,” Riddick said. “If you lads need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

  The owner of the marina had a small building on the water at the foot of the docks. A single diesel gas pump collecting rust stood off to the right of the building entrance. Boats could pull up, gas up, and head for deeper waters.

  The three men went inside the small building. A counter with a dingy Formica top took up most of the space. Two old coolers containing drinks, beer, and bait stood on the wall to their right. Two small aisles of retail shelving with various boat supplies and other sundries were on the opposite side of the room. Souvenir shirts and navigational charts hung on the wall behind an impish ancient man with a thick, curly white beard smoking a large cigar. He reminded Lucas of a foul-smelling Grumpy from Snow White, although with a saltier disposition.

  He gave Lucas and Darwin a sour look and blew a cloud of smoke over his right shoulder. Lucas looked up and saw a defined brown patina of cigar smoke staining the ceiling tiles above the man’s head. This diminutive fellow must spend a lot of time standing behind that counter smoking those fat cigars, Lucas thought.

  The man looked at their companion, nodded, and said, “Mr. Riddick.”

  “Sal,” Riddick returned. “How are things?”

  A nod. “Bout the same. What can I do for you . . . folks?”

  Lucas gathered that Riddick must spend a good deal of time in and around the marina. A regular. He thought the standoffish way in which the man greeted Riddick seemed odd. Like the way a fast food manager greets an unruly regular.

  “Yes,” Riddick said, “these young lads need a boat to cruise around the local waters. Tha
t green Tracker jon boat you rent out wouldn’t be available right now would it?”

  The man, Sal, gave Riddick a suspicious look. “I do. Why that one? There are—“

  “It’s a fine vessel, and just what these two could use,” Riddick interrupted.

  Sal squinted and did a quick appraisal on Lucas and Darwin. “If you say so. It’s out there.”

  “How much?” Lucas asked. He was familiar enough with a jon boat back from his days of cruising around Summersville Lake. Good vessels to cruise and on which to fish, however not built for speed. That was fine with Lucas.

  Sal started to open his mouth, snuck a quick glance at Riddick, and quoted Lucas a price that seemed low, although he wasn’t going to question it.

  “We’ll take it,” Lucas said.

  A few minutes later, after filling out forms, providing payment and getting a cooler of drinks and sandwiches, Lucas, Darwin and Riddick stood on the dock in front of a small, drab olive boat. It was a twenty footer with two seats side-by-side near the outboard motor. A weather-beaten captain’s chair was on the right and an equally shabby passenger seat sat beside it. It was made of sturdy all-aluminum construction, had a couple rings Lucas assumed was for holding fishing rods. A utility shelf sat behind the seats.

  Darwin had grabbed a backpack from the Jeep containing a couple garden trowels to clear away any loose dirt around a possible burial location, a compact hoe and cultivator to break up any hard surfaces, Ziploc bags, a couple of toothbrushes and a small, folded metal detector.

  “Come on back to my yacht for a few minutes,” Riddick said, “and we’ll take a look at the surrounding area and see if we can eyeball a few areas for you to focus on based upon what was in that journal.”

  Lucas jumped over the gunwale and Darwin handed him the cooler, which he stored in the space behind the seats. He rejoined them on the dock and the walked across to Riddick’s boat.

  • • •