Chasing Treasure: Granite Lake Romance

by Jody A. Kessler

  “Can I start it up?”

  “Yeah, man. Go for it.”

  Rob threw a leg over the saddle and found his seat. The motorcycle looked as if it were made for his brother. Bodie watched Rob with some amount of envy. The three of them grew up riding dirt bikes and four wheelers. Shane and Bodie continued riding as adults as a hobby, but Rob could use a motorcycle in his life. He hit the starter switch and gave it some gas. The characteristic sound of the BMW’s horizontal cylinders pulsed through the air and into the pavement and vibrated through the soles of Bodie’s boots. Rob had a habit of complaining about the doldrums of his desk life. This R90 S could be the solution to his monotony. Based on the smile plastered to Rob’s face, he thought his brother might be having similar ideas.

  “Take it down the street and see what you think,” Court said.

  Rob nodded and shifted into first. He eased out the clutch and looked like he might not wreck. Bodie wasn’t sure if his brother remembered how to ride, but he rode away with no problem. Left standing in the parking lot next to the asshole, Bodie put some space between them by walking over to the sidewalk to watch Rob take the bike to the end of the street, turn around, and come back. Bodie would’ve liked to take it for a ride as well, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Rob pulled back in and killed the engine. He eased the bike onto its ride-off center stand and climbed off.

  “How was the ride?” Bodie asked before Court spoke.

  Rob glanced at Bodie then to Court. “I think I’d like to make you an offer.”

  “Yeah? What number are we talking about?”

  Bodie pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Shane who was conveniently sitting in an unmarked police car with a friend. The two were keeping an eye on the transaction and insuring things didn’t get out of hand.

  Rob threw his first number out there. Bodie knew it would be a low-ball offer. It was part of the plan, but Rob dropped a couple extra thousand off the price.

  “I don’t fucking think so. That’s less than half of what I have it listed for. Don’t waste my time, pal.”

  Rob shrugged with indifference at Court’s attitude. Bodie’s nostrils flared and his jaw hardened. He took a step back. God, he hated this man with every cell of his body.

  “All right, will you take six for it?” Rob said.

  “It’s sixteen grand. That’s as low as I’ll go,” Court said.

  “Hey, don’t get all worked up about it. I know what you paid for it.”

  Confusion crossed Court’s face. He quickly switched it off and replaced his features with a cool calculative facade. “How do you know?”

  “I talked to the previous owner. She was very helpful.”

  That was a lie. Treasure informed Bodie what Court paid because Court bragged about it.

  “I have cold hard cash, man. You’ll make a couple thousand and I get the bike I’ve been looking for.”

  “I can’t. It’s not enough.”

  “Whatever. I’m sure I can find someone else who will take my money. The market’s slow right now. There are hundreds of bikes online for sale.” Rob glanced at Bodie and said, “Let’s go see the Yamaha.”

  There was no Yamaha. It was all part of the act. They started to cross the lot to Shane’s SUV.

  “Come up to eight and it’s yours,” Court said to their backs.

  “Seven,” Rob said.

  Court groaned. “You’re killing me, man.”

  “Seven’s all I’ve got. And we’re about to go see a bike listed for thirty-five hundred. You’ll be saving me a wad of cash if you don’t take my offer.”

  “Shit. Fine,” Court relented.

  “Did you bring the title with you?”

  “Yeah. It’s already signed. Grab your cash and we’ll do this.”

  “It’s in my truck. Give me a minute.”

  “Sure,” Court said, running his fingers over his scalp.

  “Mind if Marshall starts loading the bike on my trailer?”

  “I don’t mind. But don’t take off until I’ve counted the money,” he said like he was only half joking.

  Bodie/Marshall waited until Rob walked back over to Court with the envelope full of money before rolling the motorcycle to their trailer and loading it. He worked fast to strap it down so he wouldn’t miss the final part of the plan.

  A silver Lexus pulled into the lot and parked near Rob and Court. He tightened the last ratchet strap and jumped down in time to hear Court say, “Hey man, there’s only five thousand here.”

  “What? Really? My bad. The rest must be in my truck. Give me a second. Sorry,” Rob said and turned to the two people approaching them. “Hi, Mrs. Prescott. You arrived just in time.”

  Bodie watched with satisfaction as Kassie strode up to her husband. There was a man by her side wearing a high-dollar obnoxious pinstriped suit. He assumed this was her brother, Charles Trouski.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Court said.

  “Hi, honey. I got word you’re finally selling some of your ridiculous toys.” She plucked the envelope from his hand with a swiftness that surprised Bodie. “I believe this belongs to me.”

  “Bitch, I don’t think so.” Court lunged for his wife.

  The lawyer yanked his sister out of Court’s path. Rob jumped in and pulled Court back. Bodie darted into the mêlée.

  “You fucker. You set me up!” Court said, rounding on Rob. His fist shot through the air and into Rob’s abdomen.

  Rob made a sickening grunt and doubled over. Bodie launched himself into Court. He blocked the next punch and landed one of his own against Court’s jaw.

  “Shit!” Court yelled, turning on Bodie. He swung with his right, but Bodie twisted to the side avoiding impact.

  “Washoe County Police! Stop right there!”

  Court glanced over, saw the uniform, and lowered his fist. Bodie moved closer to Rob. His brother was now upright, red-faced, but breathing again, if a little wheezy.

  “He hit me! Did you see him?” Court jabbed an accusing finger at Bodie.

  Shane grinned like a kid at his first World Wresting match as he sauntered over to stand next to his brothers.

  “Sir, you need to calm down,” the officer said.

  “He fucking punched me!” Court rubbed his jaw and glowered at Bodie.

  “That’s not what I saw. I saw you attempt an attack on this woman and assault Rob. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law…”

  The Miranda rights were read and Court was loaded, hollering and complaining the entire time, into the officer’s vehicle.

  Shane’s friend, Officer Karsten, returned to their group before hauling Court away. “He claims you’re stealing the motorcycle. Would you like to make a statement?”

  The officer asked to make it official, Bodie guessed. Shane discussed every detail of their plan ahead of time, but perhaps it had to be said and agreed upon in front of everyone.

  “The sale price was seven thousand. It’s on the title and is signed over to me. Kassie’s agreed to her share of five thousand. The other two grand go to Thompson and Everett Investigative Solutions,” Rob said.

  “That’s right,” Kassie said.

  “Okay. Works for me. Mrs. Prescott, we may need you to come in and make the statement official.”

  She agreed. Officer Karsten shook hands with Shane and bid his goodbyes to Rob and Bodie.

  Kassie turned to the three of them. “Thanks for calling me.” She held up the envelope and wore a satisfied grin.

  “You’re welcome. I hope it helps,” Shane said.

  “It’s a start,” she said. “Now that my lawyer and I have the location of Court’s car and motorcycle collection, I can begin liquidating and recovering my money from the jerk.”

  Charles Trouski spoke up. “I appreciate this. Court’s been a fungal infection on our family tree long enough. You’ve really helped us out today.”

  Bodie refrained from commenti
ng. The non-disclosure papers from this guy to Treasure were still fresh in his mind.

  “Good luck, Kassie,” Shane said.

  Kassie and Charles walked over to the office where the manager of the storage facility had been gawking at them.

  “You’re now the proud owner of a classic motorcycle, dude. What are you going to do with it?”

  Rob rubbed gently at his tender stomach. “First things first; let’s find a burger and a beer. You guys want some lunch?”

  Bodie snorted and flexed his hand. It was sore, but the pain felt great. And he couldn’t wait to see Treasure.

  Nineteen

  TREASURE CRUISED down Highway 11 toward Granite Lake. Her mind played a non-stop reel of creative ways to inflict pain and agony upon Court Prescott. Leaving the city insured Treasure wouldn’t do anything regrettable while keeping busy sorting through the garage and shop — a never-ending chore that was somehow keeping her sane lately.

  No matter how many miles lay between her and Reno, she still couldn’t get over the injustice and absurdity of the non-disclosure contract. What Treasure needed was a do-over to fix all the things that had gone wrong in her life. That wouldn’t happen unless time travel had been invented. As far as she knew, it was still in the experimental stages. Yeah, right. Time travel would solve my problems. Add it to the list of practical inventions that could solve my daily struggles.

  She slogged into her dad’s apartment and set up camp. Not that she had much to do other than open her laptop and start a pot of coffee. The website for her new business had five messages waiting and two new sales. She answered emails and wrote down the long list of chores and to-dos for the following day. Packing sold motorcycle parts and getting them shipped were items one and two.

  Hours later, while attempting to unwind, Treasure realized her phone was in silent mode. She plucked it off the coffee table. A message waited for her. The caller ID read Washoe County EMS. Today would be a first for her. She had never been fired before. Should she wait to hear the bad news until after she slept? Yes. Once officially unemployed, she knew she would lie awake for the rest of the night, stewing over the state of her future. She stuffed the phone under a cushion and rolled over, unwilling to deal with any more reality right now.

  Thirty seconds later, she dialed her voicemail inbox. The sound of Paul Fielding apologizing and telling her to return to work as soon as she had a doctor’s note was the last thing she ever expected. Sleep came easy after the message from her boss. Treasure slept as if wrapped in a cloud where stress and anxiety couldn’t touch her.

  * * *

  The next day buzzed by in a flurry of activity. Denny worked on the Vincent motorcycle while Treasure found the seat, emblem, and headlight she sold online. She didn’t have the correct size boxes or packing materials for shipping, so she made a trip to the office supply store. After packing, boxing, and visiting the post office, she returned to the shop and continued cataloging and organizing. Denny knew every motorcycle part inside the building and there was no way she could do this without him. He wasn’t working on the Vincent and had a different bike up on the stand.

  “Is that one of your motorcycles?” Treasure asked as she wiped grime from a gearbox. She wanted to clean it before snapping a picture and posting it on her website.

  “Nope. A customer asked me to take a look and see if I can figure out what’s wrong with the timing. I rode it over and I’ve got a handle on the issue. Problem is, there’s a few things that need fixin’. Including this dang oil leak. Come over here, would ya’?”

  Treasure set the gearbox down and limped across the garage.

  “Hold this,” Denny instructed and moved to the side, allowing Treasure to grip the pair of pliers in his hand. “I got a stubborn bolt here.”

  Treasure took the handle and Denny walked around to the other side of the motorcycle. She couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but she heard him grab a tool from the toolbox before focusing on the problem. A few choice words gurgled out of him as he fiddled and tweaked with the engine. Treasure saw motor oil spill out of the block.

  “Grab a bucket would you?” Denny spat.

  Treasure released the pliers and glanced around for anything to catch the spewing oil. With no tub or bucket in sight, Treasure remembered the jar she’d been using to put spare screws, bolts, and washers into. She hobbled over to grab the jar off the desk. She dumped out its contents and hurried back to Denny. Holding it below the stream, she caught what she could as Denny repaired the leak. Her sore ankle chimed in that it wasn’t happy about the sudden movements, or the busy day.

  “Thank you kindly,” he growled through his scraggly beard.

  “No problem.”

  The dirty oil leaked down the side of the glass and onto her hand. Denny didn’t appear overly cheerful about the new problem and she refrained from speaking. If she learned anything from growing up with a mechanic father, it was knowing when to keep quiet and not interrupt a man focused on a project. She left the garage to wash up. Treasure wiped the jar with a paper towel and set it down next to the sink before scrubbing her hands.

  The cell phone beeped somewhere inside the apartment. Treasure’s hands were covered with the gritty suds of industrial strength cleaner. She couldn’t get to the phone. She finished rinsing, dried with more paper towels, and found her phone.

  The text message from Bodie read: What are you wearing?

  Treasure stared at her oil stained jeans, the smears of dust and unknown filth on her shirt, and snorted. She texted back: Not sure I should tell you. It’s dirty.

  Bodie: If YOU think it’s dirty, then it has to be incredible. Don’t change. I’m on my way. Can’t wait to see you. Running a few minutes late.

  Treasure checked the time on her phone. “Crap on a cracker!” Her dinner date with Bodie was tonight. The day had flown by and she lost track of time. Treasure spun around and threw the refrigerator door open. The ingredients for dinner sat on the shelf like innocent bystanders waiting to be called upon to testify. The roast needed to be put in the oven thirty minutes earlier.

  She sent another message to Bodie. No worries. I’m running behind, too. Take your time.

  She flipped the oven on, yanked the food out of the fridge, and tossed it onto the counter. The roast rolled across the counter and thudded into the wall. She grimaced, thankful it didn’t fall on the floor. It’s good to tenderize the meat, isn’t it? Not able to remember the recipe, she had to consult her laptop and find the saved page. She browsed through the instructions and set to work on washing and cutting potatoes, carrots, garlic and onion. The recipe for the roast wasn’t complicated, but it needed time to cook. A few steps required her to pay attention to the timer. Time was the problem here. Dammit, she’d forgotten to pick up fresh bread and wine.

  About three-quarters of the way through cooking, she was supposed to check the internal temperature of the meat and add gravy. Knowing no meat thermometer existed in her dad’s kitchen, she would have to wing it. As for the gravy, well, she’d forgotten it, too. Treasure sure as hell couldn’t make it from scratch. She’d have to run to the store and pick up the missing grocery items while the roast baked in the oven.

  She closed the oven door with the roasting pan securely inside. Denny poked his head into the apartment.

  “I’m out of here. Catch you tomorrow?”

  She swiped the back of her hand over her forehead, pushing loose hair from her face. God, what did she look like? There was onion juice and raw meat on her hands and motor oil on her clothes. Based on the past two days spent in the garage, the chances of grease and grime on her face were a definite possibility. “If I’m not here, use the key I gave you.”

  “Isn’t Bodie comin’ over tonight?”

  “Yep,” she said with an exasperated puff of air.

  Denny looked her up and down and not so subtly glanced around the shabby apartment.

  “Don’t say a word. I’m well aware it’s not wonderful in here.”

>   “Well then, don’t do anything I would do,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

  “What? Order a pizza and drink a six pack? Belch at the game and scratch my ass?”

  “You got that right. You really should class it up a little. Grab a box of wine and eat some foot long sandwiches.” He snickered.

  “Get out.” She pointed at the door. “And thanks for your help today.”

  He nodded once.

  “I won’t come over until late tomorrow. In case your man stays the night.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She turned to the sink to wash her hands again before making a mad dash to the store.

  “Have fun,” he called from behind her.

  When she returned from the quick errands, Treasure checked the timer for the roast beef and saw she had a few minutes to straighten up. The more she looked around, the worse the apartment appeared. It amazed her how many parts and pieces of motorcycles and other junk had invaded the small space from the attached garage. The mess had grown without her realizing it. Shipping materials went into the spare room and everything else went back to the garage where it belonged. Cleanup took longer than expected. When the timer went off, she was in the shop attempting to keep a stack of boxes from tumbling over. Giving up, she removed the top boxes and spun around to place them on yet another stack of detritus. She heard the beep again of the oven timer and rushed to attend the roast. That’s when she inadvertently walked into a spider web. Treasure reached up to swipe away the sticky film from clinging to her face and instead grabbed the spider.

  A murderous scream tore from her throat. Treasure flung her hand away and became suddenly inflicted with the Saint Vitus Dance. Irrational panic consumed her as spasms and convulsive flailing propelled her toward the apartment. Darting inside, she slammed the door and stared at her hand, making sure the spider was indeed cast away. A piece of clinging web stuck to her eyebrow and she reached up to remove it. At the same time, something tickled her scalp. The vision of the spider crawling through her hair caused a kneejerk reaction and she accidently poked herself in the eye.