A Treasure to Die For

by Richard Houston

  “Did they have tattoos and weird hair?” I asked, watching him take a pinch of tobacco from a can that seemed to appear from nowhere.

  “How’d you know?”

  “I saw one of those trucks just last week, driven by some kids who were at a book signing, and they didn’t strike me as kids who read much. I remember it because my dad gave me a truck just like it on my sixteenth birthday,” I said, removing the radiator cap and reaching for the water hose.

  Rick turned his head and spit before wiping a greasy hand on his coveralls. “Ah, was afraid they was friends of yours.” Then he turned toward Bonnie. “As for those directions, ma’am, just keep going north on nine and you’ll see a road on the left, just before Alma, called Mosquito Gulch Road. If you get to Alma, you missed it, and gone too far.”

  He took another pinch of tobacco and put it under his tongue. “I gotta get back to the oil change I was working on, but look out for those fools. Don’t like to see nobody get hurt up there.”

  “Sure, and thanks for your help,” I said as I got into my Jeep. “That old Datsun won’t be hard to miss.”

  Bonnie paused before letting Fred into the Jeep so she could wave bye to Rick. Then, almost immediately, she covered her mouth instead. Rick had chosen that particular moment to spit tobacco juice on the ground.

  ***

  Rick’s comment about the punk kids kept nagging at me on our ascent up Mosquito Gulch Road. Had they found a way to decipher the code, too? My thoughts were interrupted when we came to a fork in the road. “Did Rick say which way to turn?” I asked my new navigator. I’d turned Lucy off shortly after leaving the gas station.

  Bonnie had recovered from the spitting incident, and was studying a road map she found in my glove box. “No, and this map is worthless. I can’t even find the road we’re on.”

  I pointed to a handmade sign for Leadville pointing to the right. “No problem, Ms. Yossarian. I asked too soon.”

  Bonnie looked up from the map she was trying to fold back together. “Don’t think I don’t know who you meant, Mr. Smarty Pants. I was teaching literature before you were born. Catch 22 was one of my favorites.”

  My mind had already gone on to the road ahead and so I didn’t answer her. What little research I had done on the trail before leaving home said not to attempt the road into Leadville. It was narrow, with switchbacks that clung to the side of the mountain. One slip and it was two thousand feet straight down. I had no plans on going that far, or Bonnie would indeed wet her pants if she should look out the window. But we were safe for now. The path was rocky and getting steeper, with mountains on both sides and no sign of any precipitous drop-offs, so I didn’t mention the danger ahead.

  After another two miles, the road forked left with another sign saying we had reached 11,500 feet, and from this point on it was four-wheel drive only. My old Jeep must not have liked the altitude, because it began to overheat again, letting out a cloud of steam from under the hood.

  “My God, Jake, are we on fire!” Bonnie had her hand on the door latch and was ready to make a quick exit.

  “Just a little steam, Bon.”

  Fred barked his two cents from the back seat, so I stopped the Jeep before I had a mutiny.

  “Okay, everyone out. Let’s look around while old Betsy cools off.”

  Unlike when we stopped earlier, this time the engine was really hot. I knew better than to pour what little water I carried into a boiling radiator; not only would it be a waste of water, but the possibility of cracking an engine block or head was too great.

  Bonnie must have been confident the Jeep wasn’t on fire, and poked her head under the open hood. “We won’t get stuck up here, I hope.”

  “No, but we should turn back after it cools down. It gets really cold once the sun goes down at this altitude.”

  “But we just got here, Jake. Can’t you do something to get it going sooner?”

  Fred had been sitting, watching, and listening to us talk. Then, for no apparent reason, he barked, and ran to a nearby snowdrift. Summer snow storms and drifts were not uncommon at this elevation. It made me check the sky. The last thing I needed was to be caught in a thunderstorm. Lightning kills more people in the high country than avalanches do in the winter.

  “I don’t have to, Bon. Fred just found a way to cool off the radiator for us.”

  She gave me her blank look again.

  “The snow, Bon. We can use it to cool the radiator.”

  “Won’t that crack the block or something?”

  “I won’t put it on the engine, just the radiator. If we cool the radiator off, it should help cool off the engine faster.”

  Fred was already rolling in the snow before I got there, and came running back to me with a mouth full of it when he saw me. I don’t think he had read my mind about putting snow on the radiator, so I guessed he wanted to play. I reached down to thank him with a pat on the head and realized the snow was red.

  “Did Fred cut himself?” Bonnie asked when she caught up with us.

  I knew it wasn’t blood from its oily feel. “No, someone has a transmission leak.”

  “And how could you possibly know that, Sherlock?”

  “Engine oil would be black; this came from an automatic. It looks like they were parked here for a while before turning back.”

  Bonnie went over to where Fred had been, reached down to check for herself, then looked up at me like I’d just answered a million dollar question on a quiz show. “How do you know that stuff? And what makes you think they didn’t go on to Leadville?”

  “Look at the trail of transmission fluid going back toward Fairplay. The spots get smaller and further apart before disappearing altogether.”

  She held her hand flat across her brow. It must have been more out of habit than necessity for the sun was already behind her. “So, what does that prove?”

  “If they continued on to Leadville, there would be fluid going that way too.”

  She considered my logic for a moment then changed the subject. “Do you think it was those kids?”

  “Not unless someone put an automatic from a Nissan in their truck. I don’t think the early Datsuns came with anything but a stick. Mine had a four speed which was a pain in the butt for a kid learning to drive.”

  Fred dropped his mouthful of snow at my feet and barked. It was a game we played in the winter, so I scooped it up and made a snowball. He knew how far I’d throw it and was already headed for the spot when I let it sail. It gave me time to fill my baseball cap with a load of the white stuff and head back toward the Jeep. Bonnie followed with her headscarf full of snow, looking like a bag lady that had run out of shopping bags.

  I didn’t see the footprints leading away from the road until my second trip back to the snowdrift.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The angle of the setting sun created shadows I hadn’t seen earlier. There were half a dozen footprints in the snow leading north toward the closest hillside. There might have been more, but several vehicles had been through here after the prints were left. I saw deep tire tracks from a heavy truck, and several narrower ones that could only be a motorcycle or ATV. A lot of people used this trail for off-road fun, which explained why most of the footprints had been obliterated. I also knew there had been more than one person because one of the prints was much smaller than the others. Bonnie and Fred watched as I got on my hands and knees to get a closer look.

  Fred came over to see what was so interesting. “How about it, boy, think you can find where those footprints go to?” I suspected he thought I’d found something good to eat, but was willing to give him credit for wanting to help.

  “Do you think it was those kids?” Bonnie didn’t bother to bend down to our level.

  “Maybe, but I can’t help wonder what they were doing over there,” I answered pointing to where the prints led.

  Bonnie’s eyes followed the path in the snow. “Well whoever it is, I don’t give a rat’s ass anymore. I’m cold and getting sc
ared we might get stuck up here in that old Jeep of yours. Can we come back and look some other time?” She had dressed in shorts and a thin summer blouse. Great attire for the near eighty temps back in Denver, but nothing a Sherpa would be caught wearing at this altitude.

  “My thoughts exactly. And the sooner we head home, the better. Unless they were leaving breadcrumbs from a jelly donut, Fred would never find their scent anyway.”

  ***

  Bonnie and Fred both slept on the way home, which was fine with me. It gave me nearly two hours of quiet solitude to think about how foolish we had been thinking we could simply drive up to Mosquito Pass and find the treasure. We had barely started up the trail and must have seen the remnants of at least two dozen mines. There were probably over a hundred more in the area and any one of them could have been where Drake had hidden his treasure, if there was one. Even Wilson said his book was a work of fiction based on an old news article.

  Thinking of Paul Wilson reminded me of the punk kids. What were they doing up there? Had they solved Drake’s riddle within a riddle? The owner of the gas station had said they were only a few hours ahead of us, so unless they went on to Leadville, we should have passed them on our way up Mosquito Gulch as they were coming back. Then again, they could have gone north on Colorado Nine to Breckenridge before we’d made the turn toward the pass. I hoped that was the case, for the road into Leadville was a widow maker in a two-wheel-drive Datsun pickup.

  ***

  Mosquito Pass still bugged me as I sat at my computer Sunday morning working on my how-to eBook. My mind kept drifting while staring at the nearly blank computer screen. I had the title for the chapter, How to Stop Dry Rot Dead, and that was all I had written. I finally shut down the computer and called Fred. Maybe some great revelation would come to me during our walk around the lake.

  Like our morning walk, the revelation on dry rot would have to wait. A county Mountie was in my driveway checking out my Jeep. Trouble is, he was checking in the wrong county. His truck said Park County Sheriff and I live in Jefferson County.

  “Stay, Fred,” I said, opening the door. Maybe I should have used reverse psychology and said go. He obeyed as well as a teenager and was the first one out the door.

  The deputy stopped writing in his notebook long enough to reach down and pat Fred on the head before addressing me. “Is this your Jeep, sir?”

  “What I do, Officer? Get caught by a red-light camera or something?”

  “Then you must be Jacob Martin,” he said extending his hand. “I’m Officer White from the Park County Sheriff’s Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your trip yesterday.”

  Fred tired of the chit-chat and went in search of a bush. I invited the officer inside my house once I realized he wasn’t here to arrest me for breaking and entering Appleton’s cabin.

  White took in everything the second he stepped through the entrance of my small cabin, including the dirty dishes stacked in my kitchen sink. Even my bedroom door was open, exposing an unmade bed. My bathroom was the only room he couldn’t see because that door was closed. He must have been disappointed if he’d been expecting a meth lab, or stacks of stolen electronics.

  I offered him a chair at my kitchen table, facing away from the clutter in the sink and on the counter. “I’ve got a half a pot of coffee from breakfast this morning. I can warm it in the microwave if you care for a cup.”

  “No thank you, Jacob. Or do you go by Jake?”

  “Everyone, except my ex, calls me Jake. I won’t repeat what she calls me.” I no sooner let it out my mouth when I realized how dumb the cliché sounded. I chalked it up to nerves.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Jake, but we need to follow up all possible leads in a case like this. My brother-in-law owns a service station in Fairplay, and claims a man and older woman with a Golden, like the one that greeted me, stopped at his place yesterday asking questions about a couple kids. My captain was wondering if you saw them on your trip up to Mosquito Pass.”

  His brother-in-law? It made me wonder if his captain was some relation too. I thought I’d left nepotism back in the Ozarks. “We didn’t get very far. My Jeep overheated and by the time it cooled off it was too late to go any further. But I can tell you we never saw the kids, or anyone else. Why do you ask? Did they rob a bank or something?”

  He missed my futile attempt at humor, and hesitated before answering. It was obvious he was considering his words carefully. “They’ve been reported missing.”

  I got up from the table when I heard the microwave beep. I had put a cup in for myself even if he didn’t want one. “Sure I can’t warm you up a cup, Officer?”

  “Bob. You can call me Bob, no need to be formal. I only want to ask a few questions.”

  I almost laughed when he said his name was Bob, but caught myself in time.

  Officer White saw through me. “I know, Jake. I’ve heard more jokes about bobwhites than I can count. My parents had a cruel sense of humor.”

  Fred scratched at the door, so I went over to let him in before I made a total fool of myself. “Oh, we did find this,” I said reaching down to rub my hand on Fred’s back. I was too tired to give Fred a bath after our failed treasure hunt and was hoping his swim in the lake would clean off the oil. Now I was glad I hadn’t destroyed what might be evidence.

  White looked at my oily hand without touching it. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Transmission fluid. We stopped by a snowdrift and when my dog rolled in the snow, he came up with this. Someone with a leaky transmission had parked at the same spot before us. But I don’t think it was the kids.”

  White stopped writing and looked up at me. His expression screamed “What?” without saying a word. I felt compelled to explain. “I don’t think the truck they were driving had an automatic, so they couldn’t be the people who hiked to a nearby mine.”

  “Someone parked a vehicle and then hiked over to a mine? I thought you said you hadn’t seen anyone?”

  Bonnie walked in before I could answer. “You all right, Jake?” She was as white as one of my printer papers, and her face was just as blank.

  I tried to ease the situation by joking. “Officer White, this is Bonnie, my partner in crime.” Dracula couldn’t have done a better job in draining what little blood that was left in her face.

  White rose from his chair, and walked over to shake her hand. “Ah, the third member of the Three Musketeers. Glad to meet you, ma’am. Jake was just telling me about the trip the three of you took yesterday.”

  She accepted his hand cautiously, as though she was afraid he’d snap handcuffs on her. “I thought Jake might be in trouble or something when I saw your truck drive by. He had a burglary a couple days ago so one can’t be too careful.”

  White turned back toward me. “Burglary?”

  “Yeah, someone broke down my lower door and stole a bunch of stuff. I reported it to the Jefferson County sheriff, but they never found the guy.”

  “He even told them who it was, and they did nothing,” Bonnie said.

  White wrote a couple more notes in his book while answering Bonnie. “I’m sure they haven’t forgotten. Jeffco has a huge area to cover and a lot more crime. The most exciting thing we’ve had lately is a break-in after the owner of the house committed suicide.”

  Her jaw literally dropped. I always thought the expression was nothing more than an idiom for unimaginative writers, but she was on the verge of losing her dentures. I jumped in before she could confess. “I think I heard about that. Wasn’t it over by Bailey?”

  “Not even close. He lived right over the county line in Pine Junction,” Bob answered before Bonnie could pass out. “But tell me about the hikers you didn’t see. The ones you think had a leaky transmission, and why you don’t think they’re our missing persons.” He was like a bulldog --or is that an elephant?-- he hadn’t forgotten about my hypothesis.

  “Those Datsuns didn’t have automatics,” Bonnie answered for me. Evident
ly she had recovered from the thought of spending the night in jail.

  “Datsuns?” White asked.

  It was my turn to interrupt. “Your brother-in-law, Rick, told us the kids were driving a Datsun.”

  “And Jake used to have one of them, so he figured out all by himself it wasn’t the kids.” Bonnie finished for me.

  White looked like he was getting upset. “Okay, maybe I will have that cup of coffee after all, and then we’ll start over but I only need one of you to tell me the story.”

  “Do you mind Bon? You make better coffee than me anyway,” I said while leading Officer White back to my kitchen table.

  Bonnie busied herself with making fresh coffee and cleaning my dirty dishes while I explained how Fred had found the transmission fluid and tracks leading to the mine. I also added my two cents about why the footprints couldn’t belong to the kids with a brief history of early Datsun pickup trucks. But for the life of me, I couldn’t think of a way to ask about Appleton without incriminating myself or Bonnie. I suppose Fred was just as guilty, but I didn’t think they’d arrest him.

  ***

  “Do you think they’re on to us, Jake?” Bonnie asked while lighting a cigarette. The three of us were sitting on my front porch watching White drive away.

  I didn’t bother acting annoyed over the smoke, for I knew she needed the nicotine to calm her nerves. “Not yet. I was surprised Bobwhite didn’t say something about my Jeep breaking down by Appleton’s. Unless that deputy never called in my plates, they must have a record of me being in the vicinity of the break in.”

  “Bobwhite? Why did you call him that?”

  “It’s his name,” I answered with a short laugh. “Officer Robert White, or as he prefers to be called, Bob.”