by Mark Romang
Arcadias nodded. He extended his hands, shaky with anticipation. Years spent searching overgrown fields, wading through mosquito-plagued bogs and alligator-infested bayous and it all came down to this moment. He pushed aside the lid. It clattered to the floor. Both he and Damien looked inside the crate.
Their jaws dropped.
And then both swore. No Lafitte treasure greeted them. Pieces of eight and gold doubloons didn’t flash in the crate.
Arcadias reached into the crate and pulled out yellowed papers and ledgers.
“What are those? They look like records,” Damien grumbled.
“That’s basically what they are. These are conveyance records, which are nothing more than manifests of slaves and equipment, manifests of livestock, and ledgers detailing sugar cane production numbers.”
“So all we found are business records?”
Arcadias nodded. “I’m afraid so.” For whatever reason, looking at the old records and historical documents made him think back to a time at the university when Dr. Granberg called him into his office. That day had been the beginning of a long period of bad days and rotten luck.
Arcadias had buried the remembrance in a deep grave far in the back of his mind. But now the memory resurrected itself from its lonely grave, pushing through until Arcadias found himself back in Dr. Granberg’s office, and face to face with the history department’s lead professor.
****
His reading glasses riding low on his nose in their customary spot, Dr. William Granberg looked up when Arcadias entered the office. Granberg’s frosty-blue eyes flashed anything but warmth. “Sit down, Arcadias,” he said bluntly.
Arcadias sat down in a leather-covered wingback chair. He avoided his boss’s glare and looked at his feet, knowing full well a lecture headed his way, and that the lecture wouldn’t be about Louisiana and nineteenth century U.S. history.
Arcadias stared at the red mud clinging to his shoes and waited for the scolding. He heard Granberg tamping tobacco into his pipe, and could smell a cherry scent waft up and mingle with the smell of old books and leather already riding the air.
“How did your class go this morning, Arcadias?”
“Um, I suppose it went well. I didn’t see too many students nodding off.”
“I bet you didn’t. It’s hard to see your students when you’re not even in the classroom.”
“I’m not following, Bill.”
Granberg lit his pipe. He looked at Arcadias fiercely. “You never appeared in your classroom, not even to take roll. You left your students alone while you treasure hunted.”
Arcadias sighed. “I told all my students on Monday that they were to use today’s class to study for an upcoming exam. They knew that.”
Dr. Granberg removed his pipe and exhaled. Smoke billowed into Arcadias’ face; its sickly-sweet aroma settled over him like cherry-scented fairy dust. “These kids are in debt up to their eyeballs, and they deserve a good education for their money. But you’re not giving it to them.”
Arcadias felt his cheeks burn with heat. “I disagree, Bill. I—”
Granberg waved a hand in the air, cutting him off. “You have a brilliant mind, Arcadias. The book you wrote on Louisiana history is topnotch. And all your published articles on the War of 1812 and the Battle of New Orleans are highly esteemed. But you need to stop trying to be Indiana Jones and start being Professor Charbonneau. Pour your knowledge into your students and teach them what you know. Teachers are supposed to instruct. And that’s why you are here, Arcadias. But you could lose your tenure if you repeat what you did earlier today.”
“It won’t happen again, Bill. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you, Arcadias. I don’t think you can stop treasure hunting. It’s become an obsession. It’s all you think about. And I think you love your metal detector more than Lorelei and Alisha.”
“That’s not true, Bill.”
Granberg chewed on his pipe stem as he prepared his reply. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Arcadias. Our wives are friends. They go shopping together. Your wife has confided in mine how your obsession with Jean Lafitte is driving a wedge between you and Lorelei and Alisha.”
Arcadias closed his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was causing anyone pain.”
Granberg nodded. “It’s not too late to salvage your marriage and career. But you need to give up looking for Lafitte treasure at once. Admit to yourself that the Lafitte horde is only a legend and nothing more, and then move on. Your family is the only treasure you’ll ever possess.”
Arcadias opened his eyes. “But the treasure does exist, Bill. I’ve been close to finding it several times.”
Granberg shook his head. “You need help, Arcadias. I think you should talk to a psychiatrist. Maybe you should start with Professor Girard here in the Psychology Department. Christopher is a good man who won’t betray your trust. I’m confident he could help you move on from your obsession.”
“Chris is a stand-up guy, but I don’t need to talk to him. I’ve gotten the message loud and clear, Bill. I won’t abandon my students again.”
“You better not, Arcadias. This is the last time I’m sticking up for you. I like you, but your tenure here is on thin ice. Screw up again and you’ll be filing for unemployment benefits.”
****
“I guess I’m done here then.”
Arcadias snapped out of his flashback and looked over at his brother. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m giving myself up.”
“You’re going to do serious prison time, Damien.”
“What choice do I have? I can’t run out of the house. I won’t get very far before they cut me down. Look, I’ll just keep up the charade that Jon Rafter took us all hostage. And then after I answer their questions I’ll just blend into the background and slip away.”
“I don’t think that will work. But I wish you good fortune.”
“What are you going to do, Arcadias. Surely you aren’t going to continue looking for the treasure.”
Arcadias shook his head. “I still believe the treasure exists somewhere on this property. But time has run out on us. So I am going to search for a way out of this attic. Jon and Annie found a way to the outside. I plan to take the same escape route as them.”
Damien squeezed his shoulder. “Good luck to you, brother. Maybe I’ll see you again someday,” he said, and left the room, leaving Arcadias alone in the attic.
Chapter 51
Having been on the other side of hostage scenes, Jon Rafter could tell when someone had reached their breaking point.
He looked at Iris and saw a middle-aged woman crushed by fear and regret. This night had worn on her last nerves, and she didn’t want to be here anymore. Rafter felt bad for her in a way. Arcadias obviously hoodwinked her into coming here. From the beginning she thought Arcadias was giving her a romantic getaway. And now she realized she’d been used.
Rafter watched Iris pace the room. She mumbled angrily under her breath, repeated the word “stupid” over and over. It was then he realized a golden opportunity presented itself. Arcadias had left the room and joined Damien somewhere in the house. The ex-history-professor-turned-evil-treasure-hunter could no longer pressure Iris.
So if he were to influence Iris to aid them, Rafter would have to revisit his past and draw on negotiating skills that had surely atrophied over time. Rafter didn’t know exactly what had initially attracted him to become a crisis negotiator for the NYPD. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush. Or maybe he possessed a bigger ego than most back then and thought he could save the world. All he knew now was he didn’t miss those stressful days one bit. He much preferred his current vocation as an art restorer and innkeeper.
“Iris, we need to talk,” Rafter said gently.
“I don’t have much to say.”
“I can tell you’re confused, Iris. You’re conflicted and don’t know which way to turn. Arcadias tricked you into coming here. And then once he got you here he
coerced you into committing felony crimes.”
Iris stopped pacing and looked at him. “I’m a fool for believing he actually wanted to romance me. That’s my biggest crime.”
Rafter nodded solemnly. “We all misjudge people. It’s easy to do. Humans tend to hide their sins. You thought the best of Arcadias. And he failed you.” Rafter paused to let the words sink in. “Your life with Arcadias is over now, Iris. You don’t owe him anything, and you don’t have to answer to him. It’s time for you to take control of your life. We are all presented with choices every day, choices to do the right thing or the wrong thing, the immoral thing or the moral thing. You are being presented with a choice right now, Iris. What will you do?”
Iris pushed back a stray bang. “I don’t know where to start. I’ve fouled up my life pretty badly.”
“You can start by helping us. Arcadias and Damien are not here. You could untie our feet and we could all walk out the front door. This night of crime can end now.”
Iris hung her head. She took a deep breath, but didn’t move to untie them.
Rafter continued to press her. “Helping us will help you at your sentencing hearing,” he added. He turned his attention to Keith Jepson. “Am I right, Keith?”
The attorney shrugged. “To be held accountable as an aider and abettor is tricky for the prosecution to prove. In this case, Iris had to have known of the criminal objective and done something to make it succeed.”
“When we came here I knew nothing of a treasure hunt,” Iris said in a tremulous voice, her head still hanging down in shame.
“But you aided Arcadias when you helped tie us up and guarded us with a side arm. That’s more than enough to be charged and convicted as an aider and abettor,” Jepson said. “And under federal law the punishment for someone who aids and abets a crime is the same as the principal lawbreaker. However, I do believe the judge and jury will be swayed to give you a much lesser sentence if you help free us. And with good behavior while behind bars, you’ll likely receive parole before your sentence ends.”
“You heard Keith. He’s the law expert,” Rafter said. “So what do you say, Iris? Are you ready to do the right thing and set us free?”
Iris sighed. “But I love Arcadias. I don’t know if I can betray him.”
Annie joined the conversation. “Iris, look at me,” she commanded in a firm but gentle voice.
Iris lifted her watery eyes toward Annie.
“You may love Arcadias. But he doesn’t love you. If Arcadias truly loved you he would not lead you into harm’s way, he would lead you away from harm. An honorable man should defend and protect his woman at all times, even to the point of laying down his life for her. Arcadias isn’t doing that for you,” Annie said. “I’m sorry to have to say that, Iris, but everyone in this room can see Arcadias is thinking only of himself.”
Iris wiped at her eyes as she digested Annie’s statement. “Okay, but I can’t do anything about your hands and the plastic cuffs. I can only untie your feet.” Iris moved toward Rafter and squatted down near his feet.
“No, Iris, untie Mr. Jepson first, and then Annie. Save me for last,” Rafter said.
Iris obeyed and knelt down by Keith Jepson. Her hands shook as she struggled to untangle the electrical cord wrapping the lawyer’s feet to his chair. “I’m not very good at knots. I’m all thumbs.”
“You’re doing just fine. Try to relax and the knots will untie themselves,” Rafter said. Despite his encouraging words, he wished Iris would hurry up. Arcadias and Damien could return at any time.
And right on cue, a sound above his head made him look up. Footsteps groaned from the second floor. An icy finger walked up Rafter’s back.
Iris finished with Jepson and quickly moved on to Annie. Her fingers fumbled less with Annie’s restraints, and soon his wife stood up, her feet no longer bound.
Rafter kept his head cocked toward the ceiling as Iris worked on him. He heard a door shut and then a squeak. He looked over at Annie. Her face turned white before his eyes. The top step on the stairs always squeaked. She knew it as well as him. “Hurry, Iris. Someone is coming,” Rafter warned.
His urging didn’t help matters. Iris’s fingers stiffened. Rafter looked over at Jepson. The lawyer looked fearful but remained calm. “Keith, you should go while you have a chance. Don’t wait for us. Just keep your hands up as you walk out the door. And don’t be surprised if the SWAT team is hunkered down on the steps outside, or even crouching near the door.”
Jepson nodded and hurried toward the door. Rafter looked at his wife. “You should go too, Babe. Don’t wait for me. Get out while you can.”
Annie shook her head fiercely. Her caramel-colored ponytail swished behind her head. “No way am I leaving you, Jon. We go out together.”
They all turned their heads when they heard someone descending the stairs. “Please, Iris. You almost have the cord loose. Keep at it,” Rafter urged, knowing they only had mere seconds to exit the house or risk discovery.
Iris gave up on her methodical technique at unloosening the knots and started tugging with all her might instead.
“Forget about that, Iris. There isn’t enough time. Just pull my shoes off,” Rafter pleaded. He glanced toward the foyer when he heard a shoe contact the hardwood floor. The person descending the stairs just reached ground level.
Iris pulled at his shoes. Luckily he’d put on sneakers instead of his work boots. The shoes came off easily, and with them the knotted electrical cord. “Thank-you, Iris. You did a noble thing.”
Annie grabbed his hand and pulled him toward a door in the wall—a coat closet under the stairs. She opened the door and pulled him into the closet. Rafter shut the door quietly, and darkness settled onto them. Huddled together, they listened for voices but didn’t hear any.
Chapter 52
Rafter whispered into Annie’s ear, “I’m hoping you have a plan.”
Annie didn’t whisper back to him. Instead she slid some jackets to the side. Her action revealed the answer to his question. The closet had another door. They could exit this door and be on the other side of the stairs, opposite the person descending the stairs, provided said person entered the parlor. They were basically playing hide and seek—albeit a potentially deadly version.
Annie cracked the door. A light sliver shone into the closet. To Rafter the light sliver seemed as bright and revealing as a searchlight, and it made him think of his old haunt.
As a cop back in New York, he’d worked many New Year’s Eve celebrations. There in Times Square in Manhattan, searchlights crisscrossed the night sky as revelers counted down the old year and welcomed in a new one.
Several tense seconds elapsed; Annie cracked the door a little more. More light filtered into the closet. Rafter could see Annie’s sapphire eyes. He didn’t think they’d ever appeared as blue as now. And at this moment he realized how much he loved her. Help me keep my vow, Lord. You know the one, the vow I pledged to Annie on our honeymoon. Please help me protect Annie and keep her alive. She’s going to make a great mother. She just needs to make it through this night.
Annie turned her head and looked at him. She mouthed the words, “Let’s go.” He nodded his agreement. Annie pushed the door open slowly. Rafter prayed the hinges wouldn’t squeak. He couldn’t remember ever using this door. Luckily the door opened silently, protecting their position.
Rafter closed the door with as much caution as Annie opened it. And they stood in the hallway at the halfway point; their hands still shackled with plastic flex cuffs. Annie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Rafter winked at her.
They turned toward their right and slinked for the door. But then they hear rapid footsteps approaching from this direction and altered course. They jogged down the hallway in the opposite direction, passed the bathroom and rounded a corner and stopped. A mural of an angel standing guard at the empty tomb kept them company. Rafter hoped a similar angel was with them now and protecting them from Damien and Arcadias. The Charbon
neau brothers surely knew something was up by now, and that their hostages had fled the parlor.
Rafter mouthed “back door” and motioned his head toward the kitchen. Annie nodded and they crept toward the kitchen. They entered the room, dark except for a dim light burning from underneath a cupboard. He and Annie suddenly froze when they again heard rapid footsteps. A flash of movement caught Rafter’s eyes. He saw Damien running toward them, a gun in his hands.
His first instinct urged him to run, but Rafter spied a fire extinguisher on the wall right next to him. He lifted up his bound hands in unison and grabbed the fire extinguisher by its handle and lifted it from the wall.
Damien ducked behind the island, fearful of getting sprayed with a fire-squelching agent. Rafter crowded Annie, pushing her back the way they came, and they left the kitchen. They rounded the corner and stopped. Once again the angel sentinel in the mural looked down at them.
Painting this particular mural had been a struggle for him, more so than all the other murals. No one knows for sure what an angel looks like, and he’d painted over several versions before finding satisfaction. The angel’s wings gave him fits, and he finally removed them.
Rafter set the extinguisher can on the floor and pulled out the safety pin, arming the extinguisher. He manipulated the nozzle; drawing in the hose and bunching it up near the handle where he could control both the trigger and nozzle with his bound hands. He then lifted the extinguisher can back up. His right index finger caressed the trigger without applying pressure.
Rafter swiveled his head back and forth, watching both ends of the hallway for the gun-toting Damien. His heart thundered like stampeding cattle. They couldn’t stay in this static position much longer without dooming themselves.
Rafter tried to put himself in Damien’s shoes. Which way would Damien expect them to go? If Damien thought they would race back down the hallway to the front door, he would likely circle back around from that direction to cut them off.