by C. Ruth Daly
Evan whispered, “I don’t see no sight of him, Donna. Do ya really think he’s out here?”
“Why don’t you go into the campsite and just walk through like you’re headed to the bathroom. He may not remember you, Evan, but he might be parked on the other side of these campsites,” Donna said gesturing to the tents and campers fifty yards in front of them.
Evan crawled out of the cab and stumbled along the edge of the thicket until he got to an opening at the opposite end. He turned and made his way back through the trees to the road in the campground where Donna and Glynda watched him through the trees as he slipped in and out of their view. The moon was hidden behind clouds and the only light to guide Evan was the light from a utility pole on the grounds.
The pair lost sight of him and sat and waited for his return. Evan wandered along the narrow dirt road scanning the sites for any sign of Dan Green or his tan car. He followed the circular road and ended up where he began. In the darkness, he stumbled back to the truck with no word on the elusive Mr. Green.
“I don’t see no sign of him, you guys. I walked round that camp and there’s no car like his.” Evan said climbing back into the cab.
The three of them sat there and contemplated what to do next. After a while Glynda was the first to speak. “Well I don’t know why we came out here, Donna. I don’t know about you guys, but I gotta’ get up and go to the Laundromat tomorrow. It’s close to 11:00.
Donna sighed, and agreed. She put the truck in reverse and slowly made her way back across the field to the road, back down the hill and over the bridge toward Burgenton. Few cars were on the two lane road and the three sat in silence, Donna wondering about Dan Green, and Evan and Glynda lost in thought as they stared through the windshield. Before they got to the Y in the road, Lori’s house rested on the corner where only the lights of decorative lanterns hung from the oaks and danced across the lawn. Donna, distracted by the vision while Glynda and Evan stared out the passenger window, missed seeing the tan wagon pass them in the darkness of the night.
Chapter Eight
It was early in the morning and the Arizona sky cast an orange and yellow tinge into the bedroom window of Steven Lucero. The professor leaned over and gave the sleeping woman a kiss on the cheek then checked the alarm. It was 6:00 A.M. and soon he should be hearing from Stanley. He headed down the stairs and to the kitchen, careful not to awaken the light sleeper, Rhonda. Glad to be on his summer hiatus from the university, Steve went outside and grabbed the daily paper from the stoop then leisurely made a pot of coffee, picked up the phone, and carried it and the newspaper to the table. He put the phone on silent so as not to awaken his girlfriend, sipped the black coffee, and thumbed through the newspaper.
Rhonda Davis had been awake for an hour thinking about the past few years and the plan she had concocted to get her hands on this gold, wondering if this was a wild goose chase. She had a mind for business and a knack for figures, and a tendency to follow her instincts, which she hoped were right on this one. Wherever she traveled, she explored the local universities and researched staff bios to find the right person. When she was last in the area, she researched the university’s staff to learn their areas of expertise. She came across Steven Lucero, Ph.D., and she knew what she needed to do. Asking around and at the hotel, she found out the establishments professors frequented. Over the past week she had already been to two others with no results. When she entered the Corner Tavern, she knew she was in the right place. She recognized Steven Lucero, snagged a table near the professors, sat down and waited, devising a strategy to meet the professor. It was too easy when Lucero’s colleagues got up and left. She had her chance.
At 6:45 the phone indicated a call and the professor answered in a low voice, “Hello, this is Steve.”
“Steve, it’s me. I just want to tell you I’m here and I haven’t found out much. It’s a sleepy little town, though, and the natives seem trustworthy. I’ve been to the local coffee shop where all the old timers hang out and these people like to talk. I’m not sure what is truth and what’s fiction, though. I strolled by the Opera House and it’s an interesting place, although locked up tight. I’m trying to find a place to stay in one of the surrounding cities. I camped in my car by the river last night,” the man laughed, “I’m not used to all of the bugs. I have insect bites all over me.”
“Have you met Donna yet? Or did you find out about any of her friends? Rhonda told me their names are Glynda and LBJ.”
“Yeah, I met Donna and Glynda. Glynda is across from the Hollis place. Donna, well Donna I met on the way here. I thought you said she was going north to I-70? Man, I was hoping she didn’t remember me.”
Steve paused, “She didn’t get a good view of you when you were outside my office, did she?” Lucero asked.
Stanley sensed worry in his partner’s voice. Even though he knew otherwise, he responded with a tone of reassurance, “Nah, I told you, remember? She barely saw me. Say, if there’s nothing else, I need to find a place and then I’ll keep you posted, okay?” Stanley hung up the phone in the phone booth. Before he left the box, he checked around him to see if anyone was watching. No one was, and he hopped in his car and sped down the road toward Burgenton. He had to catch up with that Donna McNally.
Steven Lucero stared at the receiver. He was a man of order and he did not appreciate the quick end to the conversation. Second guessing himself about his connection to Stanley, he put the phone down and with his hands clasped on the table, he thought long and hard about the past years.
He remembered when he first met her. It was six years ago when he was at the college bar having a beer with his liberal arts colleagues. At the next table sat a woman. She had long, silky brown hair and pristine blue eyes. Steven couldn’t help but notice her. The woman seemed lonely sitting and sipping a cocktail and glancing about the room. After a couple beers, his colleagues departed and left Steven alone at the table. It gave him the opportunity to meet this beautiful woman—younger than he, he noted, but she was still interested in him. She was still there, lingering with her drink and occasionally flashing a coy smile at him. The woman was smartly dressed in a light blue blazer and when she got up and walked over to him, he noticed her petite figure snugly wrapped in a matching blue skirt. The high heels on her black patent shoes altered her height and Steven recognized she was shorter than his five feet six inch height. He breathed a sigh of relief as he stood up and extended his hand. He remembered her cute introduction with her almost little girl voice, “Hi, I’m Rhonda. Rhonda Davis.” Steven motioned for her to sit down and he ordered another Daiquiri for her and another draft for himself. The two sat, chatted, and drank for another hour or so.
Rhonda came from a family of five with roots in Kentucky. She attended college in Tennessee and earned her degree in accounting and now at age thirty-two, she was an auditor for a national firm. “I’m just in town for business—that’s all,” she had said.
He learned she had been married once right out of college and divorced five years later. No children. He remembered breathing a sigh of relief at that. Steven told her about his past relationship that never amounted to marriage. Shamefully he admitted that before the proposal his then girlfriend confessed she was a lesbian and she was leaving him. After that, he didn’t feel like dating again and became devoted to his career. He was now a full professor and known for his research in Civil War history with a focus on the Confederate government. That impressed her, he remembered, and when he anxiously mentioned the fact he was fifteen years her senior, Rhonda dismissed it and placed her small hand over his broad and thick, hairy-knuckled fingers. He pulled back slightly afraid she would be repulsed by his dysmorphic shape, but she was not. She gently and playfully stroked his hand. They laughed, and he told her about his research, she about her job. Traveling the country was a big part of her life and she rarely stayed in one place for long. Yes, she had told him. This area of the country is one to which she frequently returned.
Hand
in hand they left the bar and ventured downtown where Steven treated Rhonda to a dinner at the nicest, and most expensive restaurant in the small college town. At about nine o’clock Rhonda said she had an eight o’clock audit the next morning at a power plant forty miles away. Steven could still feel the excitement when she boldly told him, “My hotel isn’t far from here.” Emotions overcame him and he knew he had to contain himself. He vaguely remembered motioning for the waiter, paying the bill, and leaving the restaurant knowing his car was still seven blocks away at the university and the toothbrush and toiletries he so desperately needed for his evening ritual were at his house.
The couple walked the two blocks to the hotel. He placed his arm around her waist and Rhonda softly placed her head with its sweet-smelling hair against his side. The dry heat of the evening air enveloped them as they separated to enter through the revolving doors into the deep coolness of the air conditioned lobby. They rode the elevator up to the third floor—the top of the hotel where Rhonda had secured a room for the three weeks she was in town. She turned the key in the lock and they entered. Steven was relieved to see her clothes were neatly hanging on the rack and the credenza only held the TV and a television channel guide. She removed her blazer and dropped it on the chair. Slipping her shoes off, Rhonda smiled and asked Steven if he wanted to remove her skirt. He complied and clumsily unzipped it and watched it drop to the floor to reveal her smooth buttocks snugly covered with lacy bikini panties.
At his kitchen table he softly smiled and Steven realized his coffee was getting cold. He got up from the table and drained it in the sink and poured another cup—this time two. One for himself and one for his girlfriend who would soon be waking in his bed as she had done for the past six years whenever she worked in the area or arranged to visit. He had met her once at a hotel in Dallas, but never had he been to her house. The idea bothered him, but as Rhonda had explained, her place was a tiny apartment in Louisville, and it would not impress him in the least. Steven’s house made her feel at home and that’s where she preferred to meet him. He climbed the carpeted stairs and nudged the bedroom door to see Rhonda stretching in his bed.
Rhonda heard the footsteps outside the door and pretended to rouse in the bed. She was fond of Steven and his thoughtful, gentle ways. She stretched, yawned and smiled, “Thank you, darling,” and Steve handed her the thick cup full of steaming coffee with just a teaspoon of sugar. Just how she likes it.
He sat on the edge of the bed next to Rhonda and carefully tucked the covers in against her legs. “I just got off the phone with Stanley. He doesn’t have much to say other than he is going to try to meet Donna.” Staring down into his coffee, he continued, “She is a nice girl, Rhonda. I do believe she is honest. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, sweetheart?”
Rhonda brought the mug to her lips and her eyes narrowed over the rim, “I am sure of it. There is more than one gold coin in that cache. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that money? It is supposed to be buried along that river somewhere and we have to locate the map to find it. I’m certain there’s more than what she showed you.” She pulled her legs up and rested the coffee cup on her knees, balancing it with her slight hand, “If we have to go there ourselves, we will.”
Steven Lucero was a man of principle and even though he loved Rhonda, there were times when he was concerned with the changes in her personality. Rhonda was a driven woman and he liked that quality, but sometimes he also feared the power that money and spending brought out in her. He had noticed it over the past few years, yet there was a weakness in him that did not let him question her decisions. Hanging his head he sighed and answered, “We will see. Let’s wait to hear from our man in a few days.”
He got up from the bed and in the doorway he turned to her, “I—I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Will you join me in the kitchen?”
Rhonda’s eyes stared straight ahead as if she did not hear the words that came from his mouth. Both hands firmly gripped the mug and Steven knew she had made up her mind. He shook his head and slowly treaded back down the stairs to the kitchen.
Chapter Nine
Daniel Stanley-Green was anxious to find a place to shower and get a bite to eat. Burgenton was a dive, he thought, and the burg was so small he wondered how anyone could possibly sustain themselves here—both financially and emotionally. Dan had never been past Colorado before this trip and he had no reference for small Midwestern towns. When he first entered Burgenton he was surprised to see what little there was of the town as its shops and offices were lined around the town square that housed the courthouse, a large, white limestone edifice with a grand Civil War canon positioned on one of its corners, honoring the Indiana 32nd Infantry.
He stopped and parallel parked in front of the coffee shop. Breakfast sounded good and he hoped to be able to find out if there was anything resembling a motel in this town. What little time he had spent here consisted of retracing the places Donna McNally had frequented in her youth before the death of Hollis. Dan knew he had a job to do. After all, he had assisted Lucero in his research over the past two years. The Confederate gold was part of his own family’s legend and that was the reason why he applied to assist Professor Lucero with research. That was information he never gave Steven Lucero during the time he worked with him. It was Lucero in his naiveté who asked Dan if he would work for Rhonda and him and travel to Indiana. His job was to find out from the locals and learn anything from Donna, Glynda, and Lori about the whereabouts of a map or gold. Dan was provided the following information: Burgenton, Donna McNally, Glynda Myer, Lori Bell Jameson, Thelma Carson, a wooded area along the Tippecanoe, an opera house, the address and description of the late Ned Hollis’s home, and a geological map of the river valleys of the area. The rest was up to him. Used to living on a grad student’s stipend, Dan accepted the meager payment agreement and made plans to live in Indiana for a few months. It was no coincidence Dan was outside of Professor Lucero’s office on the day of Donna’s final visit with the professor. Lucero requested that he remain outside his office that afternoon in order to get a good glimpse of Donna.
Sam’s Coffee Shop was a hub of activity at eight in the morning. The counter was full with men in overalls, hunkered over cups of coffee and steaming hot plates of ham and eggs. The occupied booths held a few men in business suits grossly engaged in the newspapers before them while they spooned greasy plates of bacon and fried eggs into their mouths. Dan noticed one booth was available and opened the glass door. When he stepped out of the foyer and into the room, all activity came to a halt and the thin and wrinkled waitress paused to check out the outlander. The men at the counter peered over their shoulders and the newspapers dropped to reveal double-chinned faces wrought with curiosity.
Dan gave a polite wave and a nod of the head to the gentlemen in the room and slipped into the booth. The waitress sidled over to him and looked him up and down, noting the long ponytail, faded jeans, and muddy hiking boots, she said, “You all ain’t from around here, huh? Where ya from?”
With a polite smile he told her the Southwest, “Just here for some camping and fishing for a few weeks. I’m traveling around the country.”
Dottie, according to her name tag, offered Dan a cup of coffee and brought it to him. “So if you’re wanting a place to stay, there’s some real swanky cabins out on the river, but you don’t seem like a swanky fellow,” she smiled.
“Are there any hotels around here?” he asked. “I need a place to stay for a few weeks.” He sipped the bitter coffee and continued, “Do you know of any boarding houses or anything like that?”
The men in the shop turned and stared at Dan, appearing somewhat fearful of this mangy stranger inhabiting their community. Dan overheard one man at the counter whisper, “Bet he’s a marijuana hippy.” The guy next to him nodded his head in agreement.
Dottie explained there was a rooming house just around the corner with reasonable rates. “It ain’t swanky though; you know, if you’re looking for
swanky, them ain’t it.”
Dan thanked her and reassured the waitress he wasn’t looking for swanky.
He placed his order and sat and downed his coffee, grateful that she brought him another cup with his breakfast, he thanked Dottie and then asked, “Do you have a library or anywhere I can research county history?”
The newspapers came down again, and one squatty man with eye glasses embedded in his cheeks told him in the courthouse is on the second floor. He’d find documents there, then staring over the rim of his glasses, “But you’re supervised while you look at them, you know. Uh, we also have a public library down the street a few blocks.” His head went back behind the print and that was the last anyone said to Dan Green. The waitress gave him his bill; he paid and left a nice tip, then headed back out to his car. With his back to the coffee shop, all eyes were on the stranger, making sure he was headed in the direction of the rentals. A few of the locals noted the license plate.
It was a surprisingly nice brick building. Looks like an old house converted to little apartments, Dan Green thought as he scanned the two story from top to bottom. Long, narrow windows ran from the roof to the first floor, making it seem very tall. “Not a bad place,” he muttered to himself. Walking up the cement sidewalk raised in spots by roots from the old oak tree in the yard, he entered and found the proprietor. The price was fifty dollars a week for a bedroom, kitchenette and a small bath. His room was on the second floor with a window facing Coyote Creek, something that marveled Dan because he was not used to so much water and to think that what seemed like a flowing river was just a creek.
After he got his things from his car, took a long needed shower, and then hoofed it to Hoeneker’s Grocery, he got back to the room and put his things in order. Now he was ready to begin interviewing and exploring the area. He grabbed the map from his duffle and an old phonebook he found in one of the two kitchen cabinets. Scanning the pages, he found the names: Carson, McNally, and Myer. Jameson did not appear to be listed and the name Hollis was not to be found. Frustrated with the fact Carson had a P.O. Box listed, he quickly jotted down the address for McNally and Myer, realizing the houses were not far from his apartment. Nothing is far from anywhere he considered and he decided to walk to the two destinations.