by Kylie Logan
She cast another quick look in my direction. This one was far more hesitant than it was challenging. “You’re bound to find out sooner or later,” she said, and I knew she wasn’t happy to admit it because her bowed lips puckered. “I’ve already told the board, I’ll close the Little Museum in a heartbeat. I mean, if they give me this job permanently.”
I had to give Marci big points for honesty. Especially when the truth made her look as guilty as sin. Then again, job envy might give her a motive for killing Susan, but it didn’t explain Angela’s murder.
At least not yet, anyway.
“So…” Like most people—guilty or not—Marci wasn’t comfortable discussing murder. She waved an arm casually, indicating all of the museum in one gesture. “Jimmy didn’t say what you wanted to see.”
As far as I remembered, I hadn’t told him. Not specifically, anyway. I stepped around Marci and into the pirate room. “Actually, I’d like to get a good look at Thunderin’ Ben’s exhibit,” I told her.
She lifted one shoulder. “Have at it. It’s just like any other exhibit. Look all you want.”
“No. I mean, I just don’t want to look at it like any tourist would look at it. I was hoping to…” Now that it was time to explain how I wanted to plunder the pirate exhibit, I found the words hard to come by. I made a little waving gesture, indicating that I’d like the glass case that held Ben’s things to be opened.
“Really?” Marci wrinkled her nose, and call me crazy, but I had a feeling she was about to pull out the I-am-interim-curator excuse and cut me off at the knees. It might have been because she was itching to exert a little authority. Or she may have had other reasons. Either way, I couldn’t let it happen.
“Jimmy Carns said I’ve got carte blanche.” OK, so it wasn’t technically the truth, but hey, we were talking two homicides here, and murder trumps the truth card. “If there’s a reason you don’t want me to look around—”
“I don’t have anything to hide.” I actually might have believed her if Marci’s shoulders weren’t as stiff as her hair. “Look around. All you want. Be my guest.”
“IT’S MOONCUSSING, DON’T you see?”
Kind of a bad way to phrase it, since Nev and I were talking on the phone and seeing what I’d seen at the Big Museum that day wasn’t something it was possible for him to do.
He reminded me of this with a, “How can I? I’m not there.”
I clamped my lips shut before I could snap back and say something I might regret.
The warm morning had transformed into a stuffy afternoon and an even more hot and humid evening. I’d pulled my hair off my neck and back into a ponytail, and I tugged on it. No doubt, Nev was just as uncomfortable in the big city as I was there in Ardent Lake, and dog-tired on top of it, too. He had been busy all afternoon; I’d called him four times before I actually got to talk to him.
Too-early-in-the-spring-for-these-high-temperatures plus multiple phone calls do not a patient person make, and I told myself not to forget it at the same time I imagined he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a woman who wasn’t making herself clear.
I vowed to make myself clear.
“OK, it’s like this,” I said, explaining slowly enough (I hoped) to be understood but not so slowly as to make Nev think I assumed he was obtuse. “Mooncussing was something pirates used to do. They’d move buoy markers so that they ended up near rocks and reefs. A ship’s captain would see the buoy and assume it was in open water when it was really in a dangerous place instead. The ships would go aground. Or sink. And then the pirates would move in to steal anything they could get their hands on.”
I couldn’t see Nev, of course, but I could picture him nodding. I knew when he did, a single strand of shaggy hair would end up hanging over his forehead. “And pirates and buoy markers are important to our investigation because…”
“Because Thunderin’ Ben, the pirate who used to live in these parts and who’s something of a folk hero around here…Thunderin’ Ben used to do mooncussing. And our murderer did, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
So much for me making myself perfectly clear. Nev didn’t sound any more certain now than he had at the beginning of our conversation.
“That’s what I found at the museum this afternoon,” I said. “The buoy marker in the Thunderin’ Ben display…it had been moved.”
“Uh-huh.”
I counted to ten, and when that didn’t work, I counted again before I said, “Don’t you get it, Nev? There’s no reason anyone should have been messing with that display. I talked to one of the docents who’s been working at the museum for like forever. She told me that Ben’s exhibit has always been the same. Nothing’s been changed. Nothing’s been added. That’s how it’s been since the exhibit opened, and that was two years ago.”
“Which means…” I could practically hear the wheels turning inside Nev’s head. I knew he’d catch on sooner rather than later, and I knew exactly when he did because I heard his sharp intake of breath. “There’s no reason anyone needed to have the exhibit open and that means there’s no reason that little replica buoy should have been moved—”
“From where it was at the southern end of that painted Lake Michigan when I first saw the exhibit, to where it is now, in the northern end of Lake Michigan. Not only that, Nev…” I fought to steady my voice. The full impact of what I’d found in that display case still made my blood tingle, and I dropped into the oak rocking chair near the open window in my room at Mary Lou’s. “Ben’s diary is gone,” I said.
There was enough of a pause on the other end of the line to let me know Nev was considering the full implications of this bit of news. Of course, once a cop, always a cop, and he responded in true cop fashion. “No one noticed when a book that’s been part of the exhibit for a couple years suddenly wasn’t there?”
“Aha!” I hate when people say Aha! but if ever there was an occasion for it, this was it. “That’s just the thing. Remember when we were at Angela’s house that Sunday morning when Charles invited people in to preview what he thought were Evelyn’s priceless antiques?”
Of course Nev remembered. I didn’t give him a chance to have to say it.
“There was a pile of books in the living room,” I reminded him.
“Yeah. You were looking at the one on top. An old volume of Sherlock Holmes stories.”
I nodded, then when I realized he couldn’t see me, I said, “Exactly. Torn brown cover. Cockeyed binding. And you know what, that’s pretty much how I remember Ben’s diary looking.”
Like I said, cop. Nev had been objective, but now, his voice simmered with sudden interest. “Someone took the diary and replaced it with the old book and figured no one would notice.”
“Yes. And that someone—”
“Had to be someone who was at Angela’s house with us that morning.”
“Just what I was thinking.” Now that I’d told him the news that had been eating away at me all day, the knot of excitement in my stomach loosened, and I sat back in the rocker. “And while that someone was stealing the diary,” I added, “that same someone didn’t realize that he—or she—knocked into that little toy buoy and moved it to the wrong end of the lake. The diary. That’s what the murderer wanted. That explains why Susan was killed.”
Nev knew this, too. Of course he did. Nev is whip smart and a darned good cop.
“She went back to the Big Museum for her purse,” he began.
“And surprised whoever it was who was in there stealing the diary,” I finished.
“And whoever it was who was stealing the diary,” he added.
“Had to keep her quiet.”
“So the diary—”
“Contains something worth killing for.” I’d had all afternoon to consider this surprising turn of events, but it still sent my head reeling. I gulped in a calming breath before I dared to add, “Nev, I think that something is—”
I was hoping he’d break in with the final words that would finish my sent
ence. Partly because it would tell me that we were thinking in sync and that meant my theory was a good one. Mostly because, let’s face it, the whole thing still sounded a little too fantastical, even to me.
When I was greeted by silence from the other end of the phone, I gave it another try. “There are legends about Ben,” I reminded Nev. “And maybe somebody believes those legends are true. Maybe that same somebody thought there might be proof that they were true. In the diary. Proof about—”
“Buried treasure?”
Yes, I had braced myself for Nev’s skepticism. I had even prepared myself for a little gentle teasing. I hadn’t actually thought he’d sound so bowled over. And so excited.
I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. I had to be sure. “You believe me?”
I could picture him nodding, slowly at first, then gaining speed as he warmed to the idea. “It makes sense. Lots of sense. A button? That might not be worth killing for. But buried treasure…”
“Funny you should mention the button.” Those photos I’d taken of Angela’s buttons were out on the bed and I got up and went to the other side of the room to get them. “I have a theory about that, too.”
The way he laughed told me he wasn’t surprised.
I launched into my explanation. “I was down at the reservoir today,” I said. “Or at least at what was the reservoir before it was drained. Starting tomorrow, they’re going to let people walk the rim and get a look at what’s left of the old town of Ardent. I took as good a look around as I was able, and I think…” I stared at the picture of the missing button. “I think the metal button shows a picture of Ardent, Nev. You know, before they poured water over the whole town. What that means to me—”
“Is that there were two pieces to the buried treasure puzzle. The diary—”
“And the button. Yes. That’s exactly what I was thinking. There’s something in the diary that leads to the treasure, and some reason the button figures into the whole thing. The button…” I took another good look at the photo. “It shows a log cabin and a schoolhouse and a cemetery. Maybe the treasure is in one of those spots, although why the murderer needed the actual button…” Nev couldn’t see me shrug, so I felt silly for doing it. “I guess we can’t be sure. Not until we do a couple things. One of those things…I was hoping you could get here early tomorrow, and that you could get us back into Angela’s house.”
“Done.” It was as easy as that. I thanked the Universe for a friend with the right connections.
“And then there’s something else we have to do,” I added, while he was still being so agreeable. “We need to get a good look at Ardent.”
“You mean from the shores of the reservoir?”
“I mean we actually need to go down into the old town. You can arrange that, can’t you? With the local authorities?”
Any other guy might have balked. Or asked about the danger of such a plan. Or the wisdom. Nev? He answered simply, “If you think it’s important.”
I can’t say for sure. I mean, a relationship is one of those things that builds upon itself, incident upon incident. Words and gestures and phrases pile up, and in the end, they either make something that’s strong and pleasing, or they’re a sort of ramshackle mess and you know it’s time to walk away. That means I might not have decided things right then and there. I mean, not completely. But in that one moment, with that one comment…I’m pretty sure that’s when I knew for sure that I was nuts about Nevin Riley.
Chapter Seventeen
TALL YELLOW RUBBER BOOTS DO NOT MAKE A FASHION statement.
Good thing I’m not all that image conscious, or I would have felt even sillier and more awkward than I already did in my tall yellow rubber boots clumping through the mud that had been churned up by the gully washer of a storm that inundated Ardent Lake right after midnight. Fortunately, the humidity had disappeared along with the lightning and thunder, and that Saturday morning dawned clear and just crisp enough to be comfortable without being too chilly.
At least in Ardent Lake.
Down at the bottom of the reservoir in what was left of Ardent, the air was still and damp, and curls of mist hung over the rotting remains of the town all around us.
It was—
“Eerie.” At my side, Nev was obviously thinking just what I was thinking. The night before, he’d promised he’d get to Ardent Lake bright and early, and he’d been as good as his word. Unfortunately, that didn’t help my plans for the early morning. It seemed like even fairy-tale towns had their evil villains, and thanks to a break-in at a convenience store, we hadn’t been able to hook up with Jimmy Carns until just a few minutes before we were scheduled to come to the reservoir; our trip to Angela’s would have to wait, and that meant we’d also have to wait to see if that book of Sherlock Holmes stories was really missing.
We were outside what used to be the Ardent post office and Nev paused to take a picture.
“I know. Geeky.” Nev stuck his digital camera back in the pocket of his Windbreaker, though I didn’t know why he bothered. He’d only end up taking it out again in another minute, just like he’d been doing ever since we arrived at the lake and descended to the bottom of the reservoir. “I can’t help myself. How many people get to visit a city that’s been underwater all these years? The whole place is—”
“Unsettling.” It was, and as we headed up the street, I moved a step to my right, closer to Nev. Jimmy and two other members of the Ardent Lake Police Department were twenty feet ahead of us, watching for dangerous debris and directing us around potholes, uprooted trees, and a variety of junk that had either been left on the ground when the town was abandoned or had been thrown into the lake since. The mud around us was pocked with beer cans and tackle boxes. I even saw a couple plastic lawn chairs.
It was an apocalyptic scene, a place where the buildings were barely recognizable and the sidewalks and street sucked at our feet as if some muddy deity was just daring us to try and take another step.
“The folks up on the rim…” Nev looked up and over his shoulder to where the residents of Ardent Lake were starting to gather to get a glimpse of their old hometown. “They must be as jealous as heck watching us walk around down here. We’re getting a whole different view of things.”
“And not necessarily a good one.” I didn’t mean to sound helpless, but my left boot was stuck in the mud and I needed an assist from Nev to brace myself, yank, and retrieve it. As long as I had a hold of his arm, I hung on tight and we continued on, skirting the edges of what was once the center of downtown Ardent and heading down a small but slippery hill.
“This is the spot you were asking about.” Jimmy waved toward an expanse of relatively flat land and the pile of rotted timbers and mud in the middle of it. “That’s what’s left of the old log cabin,” he said. “At least…” He scanned the area, just making sure. “Yeah. It’s got to be. The post office…” He pointed. “The library…” He turned that way, too, before he spun back around to where he’d started. “The log cabin. They tried to get it moved, you know, before the reservoir was filled. But nobody stepped forward to donate the money to make it happen.”
Nev had circled around to the front of what was left of the building. Fists on hips, he shook his head. “If there is something buried here…”
“We’d never find it.” I was reluctant to get too close to the heap of rotting wood and oozing mud, but I inched a careful step nearer. “Nobody could find anything in that mess. If Thunderin’ Ben buried anything in there—”
“Not a chance.” Jimmy dismissed the idea instantly. “It wasn’t a real log cabin,” he said. “I mean, well, sure, it was a real cabin built from real logs, but it wasn’t original. The original one belonged to Ardent’s first settlers, and that was torn down years ago because it was falling apart and wasn’t safe. This one…” Jimmy motioned toward the mountain of muck, where at the top, a small green frog was positioning itself to make the most of the sunshine. “The Boy Scouts built it to replace the old
one and commemorate the town’s sesquicentennial.”
“Which means if the treasure was buried in the original log cabin—”
“Somebody would have found it.” Jimmy was so sure of this, I couldn’t help believing him. “I was in the Boy Scout troop back then. I remember. They did a thorough job of removing that old cabin so we could put up this one. Shame it’s in this shape now.” He took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “We had a lot of fun building that cabin.”
“Then how about the schoolhouse?” I checked the photo of the missing button against the battered landscape around us. “Was that original?”
Jimmy nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Then it would have been around in Ben’s time.”
Another nod. “There’s a story around here, you know,” Jimmy said, poking a finger at the schoolhouse bell tower in the picture. “They say that when someone’s going to die, you can still hear the bell ringing. Even from underneath the water.”
Urban legend, and I didn’t believe it for a minute, but I could see how stories like that got started. The homes and churches and shops of Ardent had been flooded with something like eight million gallons of water. It was easy to see how spooky stories would naturally follow that kind of planned destruction.
We slipped and slid our way a hundred yards farther on ahead and stopped in front of the schoolhouse. It was built of brick and, except for the mother of all mud facials, had survived the water far better than the log cabin had.
“But why would our killer need the button so badly?” OK, I was obsessing, even as we walked around the perimeter of the schoolhouse and stopped at the front door. “If the picture on the button showed the town as it used to be, and if he needed the picture to figure out where the treasure might be hidden, why wouldn’t the picture be enough?”
“You mean why did he need the actual button?” Nev had one hand on the front door of the schoolhouse. “Maybe he didn’t need the button. Not really. Maybe—”
“It’s just lost. Like our fish button was. Yeah, I know.” I was sorry I brought it up, but I couldn’t help myself. I felt like we were finally getting close to making sense of all that had happened over the past weeks, and my brain wouldn’t stop whirling over the details.