by Ace Collins
“MAYBE,” CURTIS SAID, “THE TRAIN MADE IT THROUGH Mammoth Spring and no one noticed it due to the heavy rain.”
“They looked at that theory, but it didn’t hold much water either. None of the men ever showed up. Except for Payens, these were local men who had families. They were stable individuals, not the type who would just run away from their homes and everything they loved. Besides, the train would have needed to stop at the Mammoth Spring station to get more wood.”
The room was quiet, the only sound coming from an old depot clock ticking in its place on a wall in the entry. It seemed the trio was searching separately for answers that simply didn’t exist. Only when the old timepiece chimed the six o’clock hour was the silence broken.
Pushing his chair back from the table, Lije walked over to the open French doors between the library and the foyer. Kaitlyn would’ve loved this mystery. She would’ve probably come up with a reasonable theory on what happened to the train. Yet he was drawing a blank. Turning, he asked, “Professor, what do you think happened?”
“Ah, Mr. Evans, you’ve just done what every good student always wants to do. You have cornered the teacher. You have found yourself confronted with a puzzle that you believe must have a simple solution, but you think the facts in the matter are obscuring your ability to find the answer. So you admit defeat and hope the instructor will share with you the one element in this story you have overlooked.”
Returning to the table, Lije again studied the train model and then the map. “What am I missing?”
Cathcart drummed his fingers on the wood for a few moments before shaking his head. “I first found out about this story when I was ten years old. It began my real interest in trains, which led to my spending my inheritance to buy this house and much of the contents. I’ve puzzled over the events of that long ago June day for many, many years. Several times I’ve even walked the complete distance on the tracks, hoping I’d suddenly see something that no one back then saw. As time went by and technology gave us new tools, I examined satellite imagery and performed information searches on everyone connected with that train. And after examining every scrap of evidence I’ve been able to find, my conclusions are anything but logical.”
Curtis searched the older man’s face. She found no hints in his expression. “As an investigator I know there’s an explanation for everything. By looking at all the evidence, most crimes can be solved. Yet I’ll admit that even with our modern tools, there remain cold cases today. Still, it’s hard to believe that something that large could vanish with no signs at all. After all, David Copperfield hadn’t been born yet.”
“Which brings me to another question,” Cathcart said. “Mr. Evans, Miss Curtis, do you believe in magic? I’m not talking about the kind of magic you feel when you fall in love; I’m speaking of real magic, the kind where a man can make something appear out of nothing.”
They both remained silent.
“I don’t believe in magic,” the professor continued. “I didn’t even buy into it as a boy. I knew any of the stunts I saw on stage were tricks. Yet if I were to write a book on this mystery, my final chapter would state that Ole 74 and all of the cars it was pulling, as well as all the people on those cars, simply vanished into thin air. I can give you no other answer for what happened on that rainy June day. And, might I add, you have no idea how much admitting that frustrates me.”
Lije again leaned back and brought his fingers together in front of his eyes. “Dr. Cathcart, did you ever find out anything else about Payens or what was in the locked boxcar?”
“No, I didn’t. Godfrey Payens was a man who appeared out of nowhere only to return to that same place. What secrets he held disappeared with him. Maybe he’s the one soul who proved that you can take it with you.”
“Interesting thought,” Lije replied, “but not very satisfying.”
“There’s one more thing,” Cathcart said. Lowering his voice as if he were afraid someone would overhear his words, he added, “The disappearance of that train might just tie in to that ring you’re wearing.”
Lije was now completely drawn in to the mystery of the train. He looked down at the ring on his finger. How was the ring tied to this? He could see no connection.
“When I saw your ring, my heart skipped a beat,” Cathcart said. He paused. He started to fold the old map, then stopped. Cathcart seemed almost afraid to speak. And when he finally did, his words were barely audible. “Two of the founding fathers of the Knights Templar were Godfrey de Saint-Omer and Hugues de Payens.”
Lije needed no help connecting the names to the professor’s greatest passion. And now he saw how it might tie in with the murders.
“The Canadian’s name was Godfrey Payens,” Lije said, as if to confirm the name.
“I doubt it means anything,” Cathcart said, “and I really believe what we are looking at is just a coincidence, but I’d love to think there is a connection.”
Curtis said, “The ring might be the Canadian’s?”
Cathcart nodded. “Could very well be that we are looking at Payens’ ring. Rumor has it the Knights Templar continued to exist underground for centuries. Some think they still exist in secret societies. Maybe the man on the mystery train was one of them. How I’d love to believe the ring is connected to Ole 74.”
“I’m going to Swope’s Ridge tomorrow,” Lije said.
Cathcart nodded. “And I need to be with you.”
“Why? ” Curtis asked.
“When you uncover those tracks, recognizing how they are laid might well help us determine their purpose. Plus, I can show you where the switch was on the far side of the river. With that knowledge, we just might be able to learn a great deal more than any of us know right now.”
“Okay,” Curtis replied. “Lije, how well do you know the river?”
“Grew up on it. I know every bend and whirlpool. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t want to climb down and then back up the ridge. I was thinking it’d be better to float down to the area, looking more like fishermen than a CSI team. Once we get to the property, we could quietly go ashore, hide the boats, and try to keep what we’re doing a secret from prying eyes. If I remember correctly, it’s almost impossible to see the riverbank from high on the ridge.”
She was right. Going by canoe would not only attract very little attention but also be the quickest route to the buried rail line.
“Okay, Diana,” Lije said, “we go by water. We need to get there early. We can put in to the river at dawn. We can drive down to Fox Landing. There’s a public access point there. It’s only about two miles above Swope’s Ridge. But we can’t come back up the river to that point. We’re going to need a second vehicle parked below the property so that we can paddle downstream to it.”
Curtis nodded. “Do you have a place in mind?”
“A private camp, Many Islands, and it has parking for fishermen. To keep the cover you suggest, it might even be good to buy some bait from them.”
“What about fishing equipment? ” she asked.
“I’ve got plenty,” Lije replied. “We can bring enough of my stuff to make it look real. Besides, while you all are digging, I just might want to try to catch a few brown trout.”
Laughing, Curtis said, “You mean you’re not going to dig?”
“I would, but I feel a need to leave that to the professionals. Besides, all that work will probably lead to lots of hunger. I can supply the food.”
Cathcart leaned in, a smile on his face. “I suggest we bring along some snacks just in case the fish aren’t biting.”
“Professor, you read my mind,” Curtis said, then turned serious. “This may be dangerous. At least three people have died because of something on Swope’s Ridge. Whatever’s hiding there brings out a murderous spirit in those chasing it. I don’t have any idea what we’ll find, if anything, but I don’t want to be party to any more deaths. We need to be careful.”
Cathcart nodded, and Lije added, “You might have to
worry about watching our backs, but I have to worry about getting the canoes downriver without dumping any of us or the equipment in the cold water. Just in case, make sure you have everything securely wrapped in some type of waterproof material and a float attached to the stuff. That river can be tricky. We’ll see you in the morning, professor.”
IT WAS JUST PAST SEVEN WHEN DR. CATHCART, Kent McGee, Curtis, and Lije pulled their canoes up on the bank of Swope’s Ridge and started unloading their gear. Lije had decided he needed one more person who was solid with a paddle and knew the river. Three in one canoe was too risky. So he had called McGee and invited him as soon as they left Cathcart’s.
The morning was perfect and promised a clear, warm, sunny day. Lije couldn’t have asked for better. Even though their trip had begun in dim morning light, they had managed to make it through the series of rapids after Fox Landing without spilling either canoe. That alone made this day one for the books.
The quartet dragged the two aluminum canoes about fifty feet to a clump of trees where they couldn’t be seen from the river or the ridge. After organizing their gear, Curtis and Cathcart began digging next to the exposed rails.
“This is fascinating,” Cathcart announced. “Look at this section. The people who built this did a quick job.”
Looking over Cathcart’s shoulder, Lije asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well, they drove only about a quarter of the spikes they would’ve needed for any kind of heavy use. This set of rails was meant as a temporary line, nothing more.”
Lije kneeled down to take a closer look. As he did, McGee offered his take. “Are you sure this wasn’t caused by decades of exposure to the elements? Time can change the way things look. A lot of the cross ties have rotted away. The spikes could have been carried away too.”
Glancing up at him, Cathcart said, “I understand your point, but I’m sure this shows a pattern. They drove just enough spikes to hold the rails in place for a few passes at a very slow speed. This was never meant to last long. It looks just like some of the quick rerouting jobs early railroad companies did when they were fixing a short section of bad track.”
Lije posed the next question. “If they were using a handcar or pulling small railroad cars with mules or horses, would this type of job hold up for a while?”
“Who would do that? ” Cathcart asked.
“I’m thinking moonshiners. They could have the still partway up the ridge, and if they had a big operation, it’d be better to use boats than cars or trucks. The track could have taken the brew down to the boats.”
“You have a point.” But it was obvious Cathcart didn’t want this to be about home brew.
Still, to Lije, a moonshine operation just made more sense than anything else. He walked down toward the river and began digging at a point where the bank sloped sharply down to the water.
McGee joined him. “Lije, you really think it’s just part of a forgotten still operation?”
Lije nodded. He used his shirtsleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow, then continued to work his spade in an attempt to expose more of the old bridge supports. Then he stopped. “Does anything here look strange to you?”
McGee slid down the bank to get a better look at the top of the stonework. Lije pulled a rag from his pocket and brushed away more dirt. Not satisfied with the cleaning, he walked down to the river, dipped the cloth in the water, and returned to scrub the surface. After finishing, he studied his handiwork. “McGee, go get Diana. She’s got to see this.”
McGee walked up to where Curtis was working and the two returned to the river’s edge. Brushing her hands against her pants, Curtis bent down to see what Lije had uncovered. “Interesting. Do you suppose there’s anything left of the bridge support on the other side of the river?”
“I wouldn’t have a clue,” Lije replied. “But was I right? Is there something strange here?”
“Maybe. We need to see what the other side looks like. Lije, can you paddle me over? And let’s take some equipment with us so we can act like we’re fishing if anyone comes down the stream. Kent, can you keep one eye on Lije while you work? He’ll signal you if he sees anyone coming, and then you can let the professor know so the two of you can either hide or look like sportsmen.”
“Got it,” McGee replied.
For the next hour, Lije tried his luck with a hook while Curtis explored. Only once did he have to signal everyone to stop what they were doing and appear as if they were fishing. During this interruption, Cathcart and McGee looked like real anglers. Curtis tried one cast, got her hook caught in a tree, and broke the line attempting to pull it free. As she struggled, Lije reeled in a brown trout. He smiled; she grumbled. Finally, when the tourists floated out of sight, she tossed the rod into her canoe and went back to work. Lije knew that even over the noise of the river, she could hear his laughter.
His luck with the line and the beauty of the sun’s rays bouncing off the rapids upstream normally would have captured all his attention. It had been a couple of years since he’d experienced this kind of fishing. But because of the circumstances, he spent far more time looking across the stream at McGee and Cathcart than he did casting. And even though he had no real interest in the endeavor, he kept up the pretense of fishing, reeling in more trout, until Curtis was ready for him to paddle her back across the stream.
McGee was ready to catch the canoe when they drifted over to the bank. Curtis and Lije got out, and together he and McGee lifted the canoe out of the water and placed it on dry ground. After Curtis removed her kit, they carried the canoe back to its hiding place in the trees.
“Find anything? ” McGee asked Curtis.
“Not sure. I need to check something with Dr. Cathcart.” After the three joined Cathcart at the dig site, Curtis said, “Professor, do you know if in that 1891 flood, when the bridge for the spur to the ridge was washed away, was it all in one piece when it got to Hardy?”
“Well, I wasn’t there, but the news stories at the time indicate it was pretty much intact.”
“Then that would point to sabotage rather than the floodwaters. Most wooden structures I’ve seen destroyed by high water are pulled apart, a section at a time. In fact, most usually have long stretches remaining, especially along the bank, after the floodwaters recede.”
“But why would someone destroy the railroad bridge?”
Curtis smiled. “And why would someone build a rail line on this side of the river that served no purpose and ended against a bluff? There doesn’t seem to be any logic here at all.”
Lije stepped away from the exposed rails and walked back to the river. The river was hypnotic, always moving and morphing into a new breathtaking view of nature. He picked up a stick and, sitting on his haunches, poked at pebbles in the water, turning them over to watch the river fill the hole left in the sand with more sand. The diversion was just what he needed to recharge his batteries and produce a semblance of hope. He was just about to rejoin the others at the dig site when he saw it.
A hundred yards upstream an unnatural orange object was floating down the middle of the river. Its movement seemed erratic, as if something other than the current was determining its course. It was too small to be a boat and too large to be litter tossed out by a careless fisherman. As the object drew closer, Lije realized it was a life jacket and a woman’s head was sticking through it. She was struggling, fighting the current, grabbing for anything.
The woman would be battered to pieces in the rapids!
“CURTIS! MCGEE! GET DOWN HERE!” LIJE YELLED. Not waiting for them to answer, he ran into the cold water. The river’s fifty-eight degrees took his breath away. For a second as the water got deeper, he floundered. Then, after forcing air into his lungs, his feet found secure footing on the stream’s slippery floor. Balancing against the strong current, he worked his way out toward the middle of the channel, half wading, half swimming against the current, and always trying to stay as close as he could to the shallower water in the stream. But he was
not making enough progress. He was moving much too slowly. He had to pick it up or he would never get to her in time. She’d be carried past him and into the rapids.
Holding onto moss-covered boulders, Lije slowly brought one foot in front of the other, fighting a current so strong that he felt he was barely moving. That demanding flow twice knocked him into the water, and he floated downstream a few feet before latching onto another partially exposed boulder. Spitting the river from his mouth, he braced himself, shook his wet hair out of his eyes, and looked upstream. The woman, her arms flailing, was now only about a hundred feet from him.
Like a defensive back trying to run down a wide receiver, he took a pursuit angle, moving upstream, scrambling from one boulder to another, slowly closing the distance. Just as he stepped onto a rock where the deep pools ended and the rapids started, the woman spun in a series of small circles. She was now just a few feet away, but as quickly as she was moving, it might as well have been a mile.
With time running out, Lije pushed off from a large flat stone, trying desperately to latch onto the orange life preserver. Finding the canvas with the fingers of his right hand, he slung his left arm around the woman’s body, all the while desperately trying to turn back and catch his right hand on one of the exposed boulders. She fought his every move, hitting and scratching as she tried to break free. He was impressed with her strength. But the river was taking its toll on both of them. With his chest almost bursting, now submerged in the cold stream, swallowing more water than he normally drank in a week, he continued to pull the woman toward the riverbank. She finally was simply too worn out to struggle. Perhaps sensing the end had come, the woman went limp. The jacket slipped up over her head and was sliding up her arms. With only seconds before he lost his own ability to act or react, Lije wrapped his arms around the woman’s upper body and pushed off from one of the boulders with his left foot.