by Alan Lee
It was Georgina Princess who found it. She eagerly pawed at a spot fifteen yards out, sniffing and throwing soil. A good place, removed from the gnarliest of roots.
The metal detector screamed when I passed over.
Manny came with the shovel and said, “I know a hunch when I hear it, hombre.”
The black earth yielded to his blade and he dug a few moments and then I took a turn. Roots had to be chopped through, and a deliberate layer of rocks plucked out piece by piece. The day was chilly but the work warm.
Twenty-four inches down, the blade connected with something firm—not a rock. We scooped with our hands to reveal a rotting blue tarp in the shape of a square. Two feet by three feet. We scooped more, aided by the tireless and valiant hound, until we found handles on the side.
We each took a handle and dead-lifted the thing out from the compact soil. It was a heavy-duty storage chest. Water proof. Sealed tight and wrapped with a tarp for good measure. I pulled the tarp and the fibers parted. Manny hacked at the lock with his shovel. The lock didn’t break but the housing did, rusted through by long exposure to soil and water.
I knelt. Ripped the lock and housing off. Pushed at the lid but it didn’t budge. Manny inserted the shovel blade under the lid and pushed down, prying it open. I threw the lid back and we looked inside.
“Ay dios mio,” said Manny.
“Right? I’m so good at this it’s scary.”
33
The next day, Rose Bridges brought Ulysses Steinbeck to my office. Until now I’d only seen him within his home and I realized I thought of him as an invalid, a man incapable of leaving his house. But he strode into my office and looked as a handsome radiologist should.
Georgina Princess waited in the corner, smiling. I’d asked her to stay there and she obeyed. Like a princess.
I shook his hand and said, “Dr. Steinbeck, I’m Mackenzie August. Thanks for coming.”
He smiled politely. Maybe a flicker of recognition. “Mr. August. I’m eager to hear what you found.”
“You remember?”
He patted the leather satchel slung from his shoulder. “I read up on the way over. I know enough and I’ll keep reviewing the notes throughout our meeting. You smell familiar, so that helps.”
“I smell as a man ought.”
“That’s the dog?” asked Steinbeck, sitting in one of four chairs I’d placed in the middle of my room. “I hoped seeing it would jog something loose, but…there’s nothing.”
Rose smiled shyly and said, “May I pet her?”
“She would like that above all things.”
Rose got on her knees near GPS and scratched and spoke softly, and the dog whined and tried to lick her face.
“You remember her.”
“Of course,” said Rose. She stood and wiped her eyes and I held out a newly purchased box of tissues. “I took care of her for several weeks. She’s still beautiful.”
Dr. Steinbeck watched without emotion. “Remind me the animal’s name?”
“Georgina Princess Steinbeck.”
He took out a journal and pen and scratched.
Four chairs in the middle of the room—my swivel chair brought from around the desk, my two client chairs, and I borrowed a straight-back from the commercial realtor down the hall. In the middle, I had arranged a carafe of coffee steaming beside three mugs.
I said, “Is Roanoke constantly fresh and new in your eyes?”
Dr. Steinbeck grunted. Almost a smile—mostly grim but with some humor. “There used to be a restaurant below us. Metro. Rose tells me this is the third time I’ve asked about its closure.”
“Closed two years ago, I think.”
“After my accident.” He sighed and aimed it upward. “So in my mind, it’ll be there forever.”
We made small talk for five minutes and Alex Steinbeck walked in. She wore leather boots with no heel and black leggings with a wide leather belt that had no function and a black vest (trying to look like Han Solo?). She entered warily and with her guard up but the defense melted at the sight of her father. I hadn’t told each about the other. She lit up and dazzled, worth a hundred thousand likes or favorites or hearts or whatever social media button it was. Ulysses grabbed her and they hugged and both cried a little. Only an hour’s drive separated them but reunions like this must not happen enough.
She hugged Rose too, and the elder of the two looked relieved.
“Oh this has to be Georgina Princess,” said Alex and she scratched the dog all over. “What a good girl. What a beautiful and perfect girl. You have me nervous, Mr. August. Why’re we all here?”
“It’s good news.” I indicated the chairs situated around the coffee and mugs, which rested charmingly on a tablecloth-covered box. “Help yourself.”
We all sat. GPS laid beside my chair.
“I’m too scared for coffee,” said Alex.
“And I’m ready for answers,” said Ulysses.
Alex smiled a sad but content smile as she watched her father write in the journal.
“Should I be here?” asked Rose. “I can wait in the car.”
“You belong, Rose. Trust me.”
A half grimace from her. Everyone was anxious.
“I think I’ve uncovered a lot of truth and history, and it’s good news for everyone in this room, and it’ll be better if we all hear it together. Ready?”
No one answered.
Mackenzie August, riveting entertainment.
Here we go.
“Ulysses Steinbeck wakes up every day having forgotten what happened yesterday, and the day before that, all the way back to some hazy time months before the accident. He cannot concretely remember details from this time of haze before the accident, but his mind knows he’s neglected something important. Something he meant to do but the crash prevented it, and it has something to do with the dog.”
All three nodded. Ulysses appeared relieved that all this matched up with his notes and his tenuous understanding of the situation.
I proceeded. “So he hires me to find the dog and I do, but it leads to more and more questions, and soon my mission is no longer to simply find the dog but to instead find out why he wants the dog. And I have. It’ll make more sense if I recreate the events leading up to the crash three years ago.”
Alex changed her mind about the coffee. She leaned forward and poured a mug and took it from the box between us.
“Four years ago, approximately, Colleen and Ulysses are drifting apart. There’s no animosity or rage or screaming, there’s simply distance and apathy. This is a natural occurrence without hard work on the part of both partners. Even though both Colleen and Ulysses want the divorce, it does not come without consequences. Primarily for Alex, it’s devastating. But also for Colleen and Ulysses. I haven’t researched her much, but I can tell that Ulysses was flailing. He had all the hallmarks of a man in crisis. It probably didn’t help that Colleen was having an affair with Gordon Gibbs, professional muscle man.”
He stopped writing on the page. He closed his eyes and took steadying breaths. Alex placed her hand on his arm and squeezed.
“Even though the divorce was amiable and consensual, it hurt. And Ulysses in particular hated Gordon. So before the marital assets could be divided, Ulysses emptied their savings account and flew to Monaco and gambled. This was the first in a bizarre series of events out of character for Ulysses, but the march of time and accumulating pain and desperation have ways of changing us, and he was a changed man. Wildly so.”
Rose and Alex both nodded. Ulysses listened intently, too interested to document.
I said, “Somewhere during this time of upheaval, Ulysses and Rose became romantic. I suspect it was after the gambling trip.”
Rose went white. Dr. Steinbeck cleared his throat and Alex held her breath.
Rose whispered, “You know?”
“I know. Dr. Steinbeck, there’s something you need to understand—Rose is one of my favorite people on earth. The evidence has mounted du
ring my investigation, allowing me to determine that Rose is a saint and you’re beyond lucky to have her.
Some of the color returned to Rose’s cheeks and her eyes teared. Ulysses looked both shy and alarmed, like his dirty little secret was out.
“Alex,” I continued. “There’s something you need to understand, too—your father proposed to Rose before the accident.”
Alex’s posture became more erect. She said, “You’re kidding.”
“I am not. I guessed you didn’t know.”
“No, I… Dad, is that true?”
“I…” He blinked and fumbled absently at his journals. “I-I’m not sure. It’s…”
I held up my hand. “Let me answer the question. It’s not fair for Ulysses or Rose either to try. Yes, he proposed. There’s photographic evidence but Rose doesn’t show it off. Ulysses can’t remember it, which means he wakes up each day with a huge crush on Rose but unsure if it’s safe to admit it. And Rose, bless her perfect heart, can never tell anyone about the secret engagement. If they got married now, Ulysses wouldn’t remember. And she knows the union would be one of scorn and derision because the public doesn’t know the truth and wouldn’t be convinced anyway. They’d think the caretaker just wanted more money. Here’s a guess—Alex, you found out about the secret romance the night of the crash. And another guess——you were furious. The divorce crushed you, and then you find him with the housekeeper and then the car accident…I bet you blamed her for a while. Even though it wasn’t her fault. There’s no way she could tell you the truth. So instead Rose stays with the man she loves and works in silence, and I think she’s a hero on par with Mother Teresa.”
Rose had been crying quietly but now she issued a loud sob. I handed her the box of freshly purchased tissues and she took several and cried into them.
Alex leaned into Rose and put her arms around her. My opinion of Alex was almost as high as that of Rose. Alex said, “Rose! You could have told me, I would believe you. Oh my gosh, Rose…”
Ulysses set his journals down and got on his knees at the feet of the two girls and he put his arms around both and they wept as one.
I let them talk and hug for several minutes. I debated taking a photograph with my phone and using it for marketing purposes. Mackenzie August—he’ll make you cry but it’s for your own good; just look at this beautiful family he fixed.
GPS observed the emotional outburst with concern until I placed my hand on her neck.
Eventually order was restored. Ulysses moved into the chair next to Rose and held her hand. Rose dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and said, “Thank you, Mr. August. But I don’t believe it does much good. Ulysses will forget soon.”
“It matters, Rose.”
“He’s right,” said Alex. “It matters. It matters that I know. All this time I thought Dad had been having a fling.”
“And—” I said.
“And you two should get married!” said Alex with enough enthusiasm and energy to power a city block. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because he won’t remember.”
“So what? He can’t remember anything. I’m making this happen, Rose. On a beach somewhere. Just our closest friends. I want you as a member of the family. Officially.”
“Absolutely,” said Ulysses. “Every time I remember it’ll bring fresh joy.”
Rose, bless her heart, cried more.
Ulysses continued, “You should be a Steinbeck. If I had a ring, I’d propose on my knees right now.”
Rose took a steadying breath. “You two are sweet. And you make me very happy. But I couldn’t manage it.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll handle everything. This Spring when it’s warm. You will just show up beautiful. That’s your whole responsibility” said Alex. In that moment, I would’ve taken a bullet for her. Or at least, thrown Manny in front of the bullet.
Ulysses resumed scribbling. He didn’t want to forget this.
I said, “Rose, I’m curious. When did you and Ulysses become romantic?”
“I fell in love with him a long time ago, but never told anyone. Least of all him. Soon after he discovered his wife with Gordon Gibbs, he fell into depression. And my heart broke for him. We started talking more. We would stay at home days he knew I was coming. Bought me flowers. The tension between us grew, but still…it wasn’t until he returned from Monaco that…as you say, he was changed. The romance began then.”
“Mr. August, what does this have to do with Georgina Princess?” said Alex.
“Good question. Let’s continue the story. So Ulysses and Colleen file for divorce. Something like that wrecks us. We feel like we’re failures, and based on the evidence he felt it acutely. Ulysses was in free fall. And my guess is, suddenly he wanted to become a better father.”
Rose nodded and looked at her sudden fiancé. “He did.”
Alex snapped her fingers. “I remember that! I started getting a lot more attention. He came to my games and bought me presents.”
“Including…?”
“Including Georgina Princess.”
“That’s right. You’d always wanted a dog but couldn’t have one. Now your dad will get you anything you want,” I said. “So he surprises you with a puppy. But not just any puppy. That’s not enough.”
“Not just any puppy? What do you mean?”
I reached down to pat Georgina Princess around the ribs. She sighed with pleasure. “If you inspect the dog’s skin, through here, you’ll find markings.”
“I don’t get it. What kind?” asked Alex.
“A tattoo. GPS coordinates.”
Ulysses’s pen stopped. He squinted and said, “Huh. That’s…how about that. I remember it. Kind of.”
Rose frowned. “I don’t understand. Who would tattoo a dog with GPS coordinates?”
“A man on fire. A man who didn’t particularly care how dogs felt about being tattooed.”
Alex whacked her father with the back of her hand. “Dad! You tattooed a puppy?”
“Maybe. I don’t…it rings a bell.”
“That’s why she had the bandage when you brought her home,” said Alex, eyes round and horrified. “It wasn’t a wound, it was a tattoo. What were you thinking?”
“I have no idea.”
“I do,” I said. “Who can guess where the coordinates lead to?”
“I’m stumped,” said Alex. “This is wild."
“I have a guess,” said Rose, shyly. “To the shed in the woods?”
“Bingo.” I shot her with my finger.
“That’s why Ulysses knew the GPS coordinates, the night he burned himself. I thought that was odd,” said Rose. She looked a little strained with the painful memory.
“Why…I’m confused,” said Alex. “Why tattoo a dog with the location of that shack in the woods?”
“Remember, the dog was intended for you,” I said.
“So?”
“So the tattoo was for you also.”
“As in, that old shack is mine?” she said.
“No. It belongs to a nice man named Larry Alexander. Rose, let me guess about this part. One day, Ulysses says he wants to show you a secret. So he takes you in his Jeep to the woods. Way out in the middle of nowhere to an old wooden shack. He has a secret to share with you, he says. He also brings wine and candles. Right?”
She nods. “That’s exactly right.”
“He doesn’t drink, but he’s a changed man. It’s just you and him and it’s kinda romantic and he starts drinking and keeps going and he lights candles and soon he’s sick and accidentally sets the shack on fire.”
She nodded more. Twisting the tissue in her fingers.
Ulysses, writing furiously, says, “Doesn’t sound like me.”
“Rose is drunk in the middle of the woods, and Ulysses is drunk and badly injured. Rose doesn’t want to call the police or an ambulance because Colleen would find out they’re together and it might make things tricky. The divorce isn’t finalized yet. So they call Alex. And we all know what h
appened that night.”
No one spoke.
I love a good audience.
“Here’s what should have happened. Ulysses and Rose have a pleasant evening. Wine and candles, it’s lovely. He shares the secret. They come home. Divorce is finalized. They get married. Alex gets the puppy. And sometime later, Ulysses decides it’s time to share the secret with his daughter."
“What secret?” said Alex.
“He tattooed the dog because that shack is a hard place to find, and the puppy would be a more meaningful and grand gesture that way. Or at least, to a mind on fire. Plus, Ulysses couldn’t safely give you the gift until later, when you were older.”
“What gift? Please Mr. August, this is torture.”
I stood and picked up the carafe and mugs and set them aside. I tugged aside the tablecloth to reveal the box underneath. A waterproof storage container with the lock ripped off.
I said, “This was buried at the shack. It’s for you, Alex.”
“For me?”
“The tattoo on the dog led to these coordinates. It’s yours. Open it.”
She did, with trembling fingers. The lid pushed back and she gasped. So did Rose.
The box was stuffed with various currencies. Stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills, secured with rubber bands. Stacks of euros in denominations of 100 and 500. Trays full of poker chips from casinos in Monaco and Las Vegas, thousands worth. Silver and gold coins too.
“What…I don’t…” she said, fingers trembling.
“Read the note,” I said.
On top was an envelope. She opened it, pulled out a letter, and read.
My dearest Alex,
I hope one day you’ll forgive me for my hasty trip to Europe. With the looming divorce, Colleen’s boyfriend will soon be entitled to half of my assets. Half of your assets, Alexandra. And I cannot abide that. I didn’t work this hard for some dense slab of hamburger to open up more gyms with my money.
So here it is.
It is yours, approximately two million dollars.
Spend it wisely and slowly, so Gordon Gibbs will never catch on. If he’s still alive—I suspect a steroidal aneurysm any day will stop his brain. Or should I say, I hope for one.