Gold Trap

by Lilly Maytree

Whatever the plan, Sol Horn certainly couldn’t do away with everybody involved in the scheme: there would be no way to cover up such a large crime in such a small place. Not and get away with it. At that point, Meg realized exactly what she must do. She had to somehow talk Belle Daube into revealing that shortcut to De Ambe. Of course, she had no intentions of trying to handle everything, herself, because this was definitely turning into dangerous business.

  They were going to need help.

  She took the phone out again, and pressed zero. “Could you connect me to the police station in Akosombo, please?”

  Vidalia, who was now fanning herself with a tour brochure, cast her an accusing glare. “Not gonna turn me in, are you? I had no idea that thing was illegal.”

  “I’d like the commissioner’s office. Yes, thank you, I’ll wait.” She covered the phone with her hand and whispered. “Don’t look so worried. I’m just getting in touch with someone who might be able to help us. If we run into any trouble, we’re going to need…Oh, hello, sir, this is Megan Jennings. The lady who fainted on your floor, yesterday?”

  Another startled look from Vidalia.

  “Yes, I know it hasn’t been three days, yet. But I was wondering if you could give me Miriam’s number. Especially if I promise not to bother you, again, even when my three days are up.” Meg set her bag down on the bench and felt around for a pen. “I do, honestly. I will…” She scribbled the number on one of her own tour brochures. “On my honor. Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  Miriam didn’t answer, either, but Meg left a brief message saying that Gilbert and the professor were trapped at the bottom of a goldmine, but she had no idea where Eddie Campbell was. Could she please bring help? There, now. That was all she could do in that regard.

  “Well…” She sat down next to Vidalia and fanned her own face for a moment. All this activity was making her feel lightheaded, again. “Let’s get something cool to drink, and then go back and try to talk Belle Daube into telling us how to get to De Ambe. The short way.”

  “Ain’t gonna catch me in De Ambe. It’s where that witchdoctor lives. Not an eye in his head, but he sees without them. Scared the bejabbers outta me.”

  “That’s impossible. It must have been some kind of a trick.”

  “You can believe what you want, but I seen what I seen.”

  “We’ll feel better after we drink something.”

  “I can’t buy anything. I’m busted flat. Called my husband to wire me money to get home on, and I’m just hoping he’ll do it before he finds out.” She sighed and dropped the drooping brochure back into her carryall, again. “Figure he’ll divorce me when he does.”

  “Divorce you?” Meg felt a sudden wave of compassion. “I’m sure once you explain…I mean, you can’t be held entirely responsible for falling in with bad people.”

  “Oh, he won’t mind about that. It’s the other thing I’m worried about.”

  “What other thing?”

  “Spending two thousand dollars on shares in a bogus goldmine. Ooo-la!” She shook her head miserably. “If I get stuck someplace like this for the rest of my life, I’ll kill myself!”

  “Oh, Vidalia! Nothing’s that bad. You should’ve taken my stateroom like I suggested and gone back to the tour. That way you could have got home on your original ticket out of Paris.”

  “I told you, I wouldn’t go back to that tour if you gagged and tied me. Even threw the voodoo doll of my husband away. Don’t want nothing to do with that stuff anymore. I’m a changed woman.”

  “You’re kidding. You mean, you’ve renounced voodoo? Why, Vidalia, I think you have had a change of heart.”

  “Heart attack is more like it. Almost had one those when I found out that witchdoctor runs the tour company.”

  An uncomfortable twinge pricked at Meg. Hadn’t Tom said he was good friends with the man who ran the tour company? That they were practically in business together? And how was it that he had been coming here for years with no idea of the shortcut to De Ambe, when a perfect stranger like herself had found out about it within the first hour of asking around? But, she pushed the disturbing thoughts aside; that wasn’t believing the best of him, no matter what things looked like. And she was absolutely determined to do that from now on.

  But why did things always have to look so bad?

  She returned her attentions to Vidalia. “Well, you’ve made a start in the right direction, anyway. Come on, that’s all the time for rest we can spare.” She got to her feet and picked up her things. My, she had forgotten how heavy her duffel was! “I know a little place just down the street where they mix up the best tropical fruit drinks I’ve ever tasted. And don’t worry, I’m buying.”

  “You’re a real friend, Meg. Not many people like you in this world.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised how many of us there are. Let’s get Belle Daube a drink, too, and take it back to the shop. I heard someone say once that a gift can make a way for you.”

  “Better watch out, girl. That woman’s talked me out of every last cent I had left.”

  The refreshing drink did loosen the old woman’s tongue. Not because there was anything more than fruit in it, but because no one had ever given her something for nothing. She even agreed to let Vidalia sleep in the shop, at no charge, until her money came in.

  “Now, about this goldmine in De Ambe…” Meg began in earnest.

  “There are goldmines everywhere around De Ambe,” said Belle Daube. “Enough for everybody.”

  “But I’m specifically interested in the one they are selling pieces of. How far away, exactly, is it from the village?”

  Now, the old woman looked at her as if she were a bit disappointed.

  “Oh, not to buy a piece,” Meg assured, “I only want to…”

  But their window of common ground had shut, and a look of sheer craftiness flowed back into Belle Daube’s eyes, as if she had only just come to herself. “De Ambe is not a village. It is a town.”

  “It’s quite large, then?”

  “No, it is quite small. Yes, quite. Villages are larger than towns. Towns are small things. We do not make trouble for tourists in De Ambe, missie. In case you are thinking of bringing the law.”

  Which sent a chill right down Meg’s spine since she had only just called the commissioner and there was no possible way for Belle Daube to know that. At the same time, Vidalia’s eyes grew wide, and she shrank back to the nearest table of goods.

  “Think I’ll get one of these for my daughter-in-law. When all that money comes in from my husband, I’ll…” She had spoken a bit too loud for casual conversation, and then gasped when she realized she had picked up a dried snake. “Ooo-la!” She threw it back onto the table, again, as if it were still alive. “Better find something else. Don’t think she’d…”

  “The trouble with tourists is” —Belle Daube went on as if there had been no interruption— “they are not used to the bush. The people of De Ambe do not walk in the bush at night for fear of leopards. And the tourists?” She laughed and shook her head as if it was hard to believe. “They want to take pictures of the leopards. Or find their own way to the mines. Two times the police have come to De Ambe about the tourists, but the answer is always the same. They killed themselves.”

  “Killed themselves…” Meg murmured.

  “Only you do not look as foolish as any of them.” Continued Belle Daube. “You want to see the goldmines of De Ambe, missie? I can arrange for my grandson to take you there.”

  “Right now? By the…short way?”

  “As you wish,” she replied. “There is supposed to be a big drum party tonight after they find Eddie Campbell’s crashed plane. You will enjoy it.”

  “What? Not the Eddie Campbell who…”

  “It has happened many times. Especially when he packs it with too many tourists. That plane is a bucket with too many holes in it, now. But Aram Fada’s trackers will find it. They always do. And if he is not dead…there will be a great party. A witch’s night for a
ll seasons!”

  “But didn’t he fly in yesterday, with…”

  “He had customers, yesterday. But they stopped first in Kumasi for some music and drink. That’s what they said at the post office this morning. They also said if Eddie Campbell dies, there will be no police investigation. Because they already know he is going to kill himself with that plane.” Then she laughed. “He is crazy, that Eddie! You will like him.”

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Now Meg was in a complete state of turmoil. “Professor Anderson was on that plane! Tom will be absolutely beside himself when he hears all this!”

  The old woman gave a few rhythmic clicks with her tongue and patted Meg’s hand. “Don’t worry. If Professor Anderson is in trouble, the whole town will go out looking for him. Aram Fada will insist on it. But I see you will want to get to De Ambe, quickly. It is where the trackers will come in first with whatever they find.”

  “How do I get there?” Meg asked. “By boat? Can I charter the other plane? “

  “That is the Abdu Sadir’s plane.” Belle Daube spat again, to clear the distasteful words from her mouth. “He has a fine new plane he uses to help with the tours and take his band to places where he sings. But he never hires it out.”

  “Maybe there’s another boat at that little dock near the end of the road,” Meg murmured more to herself than Belle Daube.

  “No. All the pay boats go home after the tour boat leaves. No more paying customers. My grandson…he has the only boat that goes to De Ambe after three o’clock.”

  Outside of intercepting Tom, Meg didn’t know exactly what she was going to do after she got to De Ambe. Just how did a person go about looking for a goldmine in a tangle of African forest? She only knew she had to get there. Because while it might not be easy to get rid of such a “great name,” as Belle Daube had called the professor, a plane crash would leave little for anyone to question.

  Even if he was put there after the fact.

  Under normal circumstances, Meg would never set out on some river, alone, with someone she didn’t know. But children (no matter what culture they came from) she was sure she could handle. Besides, no amount of coaxing could persuade Vidalia to accompany her farther than halfway down the Little River Road where she was supposed to meet the boy. But she did agree to put in a call to the police and the American consulate in Accra if she didn’t hear back from Meg within twenty-four hours. Mostly because she figured it would speak well of her in the event of an inquiry. Especially since she had done nothing at all when Mrs. Cunningham disappeared.

  Meg set her duffel down in the middle of the path they were following to reach the little river Belle Daube had directed them to, and looked long and hard at Vidalia Harbin. There were half-moon circles under her arms from the exertion of walking in the heat, and little beads of sweat collecting on her shiny dark forehead. “Just who, exactly, is Mrs. Cunningham? And what do you mean she disappeared?”

  “You know. Loud screechy voice, wore every piece of jewelry she owned all at the same time, complained about everything. So happens she’s one of my clients from back home. The one talked Ethyl and me into going in on the goldmine in the first place. Said she’d had shares over a year now and was already seeing dividends. Ain’t seen her since they hauled her off with the others. That is, not alive, I haven’t.”

  “Not alive…you mean she’s…”

  “Been dead for a least a day, now.”

  “Good heavens! You mean, they…they killed her?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Maybe she got away, somehow. Like you did.”

  “Ain’t sure about that, either.”

  Meg gave a frustrated sigh and reached into her pocket for Tom’s handkerchief to dab at the dampness on her own forehead. The heat was becoming unbearable, again, and she felt the telltale drumming of another headache coming on. She bent down and unzipped the duffle to search for her umbrella. “Then what on earth would make you say she’s dead? Maybe she didn’t take to all this voodoo stuff, either, and just decided to do something else.”

  “I told you I been seeing ghosts, and she’s one of them. Been seeing her every time I turn around in this town. Besides that, she screamed like a jaybird when I run off down at the wharf. Heard her hollering halfway outta town. Nope, she’s dead, all right.”

  Vidalia plunked her large tote down beside Meg’s duffel and pulled out another brochure to fan herself. “Seeing her plain as day. Always wearing that floppy red hat…same white dress with red polka dots she had on at the market in Ouagadougou. Mad at me, I s’pose, on account of I didn’t tell anybody where they took everybody.”

  “Oh, Vidalia, for heaven’s sake, is that the way you saw the professor, too? In some…some ghost vision, or something?”

  “No, that was real enough, all right. So, maybe you should call for backup before you go poking around De Ambe all by yourself.”

  “Call for backup. Just who in the world would I call?”

  “Your commissioner friend. I know you private investigators got friends in police departments. Learned it watching television.”

  “And that’s another thing,” —Meg closed her duffel, stood up, and pressed the release button on her umbrella— “whatever got into you to tell people I was a private investigator?”

  Vidalia half-stifled a giggle before it bubbled all the way out. “You look like Mary Poppins with that thing. ‘Specially all dressed up in that long skirt and…”

  “Don’t change the subject. I am not a private investigator. The idea!”

  There was a long, contemplative pause, during which Vidalia stopped fanning her brochure and put her hand to her hip as if she had just caught someone red-handed. “You mean, you’re not?”

  “Of course, not. I’m a schoolteacher.”

  “Probably just your cover.”

  “Vidalia Harbin, I am not a private investigator!”

  “I say you are. Because back on the plane, just before that stewardess interrupted to say you got first class, it come over me so strong , the words, private investigator, shot out of my mouth like a belch in public. Wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I told you I was psychic. Course, my gift’s been going haywire ever since I got to this place.”

  “Well. It just so happens that stewardess is a private investigator. She’s the one I left a message for because I thought maybe she could help us out, somehow. “

  Vidalia gasped and slowly began fanning her brochure, again. “Ooo…la! Maybe my gift ain’t busted after all! Are you sure?”

  “Positive. And her father is the commissioner of police in Akosombo.”

  “You do have friends in the police department!”

  “I would hardly call them friends, but never mind!” Meg snatched up her duffel and began walking, again. “All I know is I’ve got to find the professor before anything worse happens to him. If it hasn’t happened, already.”

  “I’ll think some positive thoughts for you.” Vidalia called without following. “Meanwhile, you watch out for pirates! I feel a sense of cheating all around you, girl!”

  “Thanks a heap.”

  Gold Trap

  20

  River of No Return

  “I learn that these good people, to make topographical confusion worse confounded, call a river by one name when you are going up it, and by another when you are coming down…”

  Mary Kingsley

  The only boat down on the little river was a pirogue. The canoe-like wooden dugout had two young men standing next to it who weren’t boys, at all. They didn’t look a day under sixteen. Being something of an expert on teenagers, Meg knew. The one nearest walked up the path to meet her.

  “You are from the shop, missie? My grandmother called me.” He waved a cell phone at her with a bright smile. He was a handsome youth with shoulder-length hair braided all over in dozens of thin-stranded plaits.

  “Yes, Belle Daube sent me,” Meg replied. “So. You’re the grandson.”

  “I am Franklin Hawkins
. One of my grandfathers was an Englishman.”

  “How interesting.” She turned a scrutinizing eye on the other one. He looked as if he had no hair at all, for his head was completely shaved. He said nothing, only looked her over as suspiciously as she was eyeing him.

  “This is my cousin, who has no English ancestors. He will help with the rowing so we can get there before the rain.”

  “It’s going to rain?”

  “Don’t worry. It can be some time before the rain.” He took her duffel, placed it securely in the middle, and then helped her into the unstable craft, motioning for her to sit on top of it. “So you will stay dry,” he said. After that, without any further preliminaries, the two of them pushed the boat out into the lazy current.

  The two young men, one ahead and one behind her, paddled in a perfect rhythmic unison. While Meg sat and watched the shoreline recede, it occurred to her that she couldn’t get much closer to Mary Kingsley’s footsteps than to venture onto some small unknown river with only a couple of native paddlers. Even if they did carry cell phones. She actually might get some marvelous footage out here.

  She removed the camera from the bag, which she had strategically placed over her neck and one shoulder to hang more comfortably beneath her new scarf-shawl. As she had trudged along that last long distance to the river, she had also taken a moment to send Miriam a text message. Remembering it took Tom less than an hour to get out of range, she was not about to set out with Vidalia and Belle Daube being the only people who knew where she was going. She had every intention of texting Tom, too, except that the appropriate words had still not occurred to her, and she was leaning more in the direction of simply showing up before he could talk her out of it.

  The boy behind her made a quiet sort of hissing sound when she began filming, and the one ahead glanced back, took note of the camera, and then faced forward, again. The heat was almost suffocating beneath the green canopy of trees. The umbrella was no longer a help, so, she put it away. But now her boots were growing unbearably hot, and she was contemplating taking them off for a while, when there was a tremendous splash along the passing shoreline. She lowered her camera for a moment and looked over to where the thick forest crept down to the water and the mangrove trees reached their branches into it to take root in the muddy depths and spring up, again.