“I … I guess I need a room for the night. My car has a flat, and I don’t have a spare.” Nick replied.
“Sorry to hear that, but we can sure fix you up for tonight! The room’s forty dollars a night, and I’ll just need ya to sign here!” The night manager sounded impossibly chipper to Nick for someone who had just been awoken from a sound sleep. Perhaps he had a lot of practice at it, he thought as he signed the old-fashioned ledger the manager handed him.
“Is there a place nearby that I can get another tire?” Nick asked as he handed the ledger back.
The manager thought briefly before answering. “I got a cousin, Bobby Dale, who owns a tire shop not far from here. Actually, he’s my second cousin, once removed, but he still gives me discounts on tires. Family’s family ya know,” he said with a wink aimed at Nick.
“Er, that’s great. Uh, how far from here is it?”
Hearing the concern in Nick’s voice, the manager snapped his fingers and said, “That’s right! Ya can’t drive your car since it’s got a flat! Tell ya what, after breakfast tomorrow, I’ll drive ya over to Bobby Dale’s. He’s got a wrecker and can tow your car to his shop. He’ll have ya fixed in a jiffy, and then you can be on your way!”
“Hey, that’s fantastic! Thanks, uh … “
“Name’s Merkel, Jedidiah Merkel, although everyone around here calls me Jed!”
“Well, thanks, Jed! I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. D’Lo may be a small town, but it’s got friendly people!” With that, Jed gave Nick a large brass key to his room.
Nick exited the office and looked for room twenty-three, the number stamped on his key. Several security lights in and around the motel and its parking lot aided Nick with a dim illumination as he made his way to his room. He saw that the layout of the motel was relatively simple, as two blocks of rooms led from the office, forming a V shape. As Nick followed the numbers on the rooms in search of his own, he discovered a restaurant was located behind the motel. Too tired to do any more than simply note the presence of the restaurant, he finally found his room near the end of one row of rooms. Going back to his car, he gingerly drove it next to his room and parked it. Taking the key, he unlocked the door to his room and then returned to his car.
As Nick was taking his duffel bag from the car, he noticed the painting in the back of the car for the first time. He had already forgotten all about it! Tossing the duffel bag on the bed in his room, he went back and opened the hatchback of the Sprint. Reaching in, he picked up the wrapped painting and took it out of the car. Gazing at it, he was in the act of placing it back in the car when he felt something slide within the painting.
Curiously, Nick took the painting back out of the car and carefully shook it. There it was again! There was something sliding around within the painting!
Thinking that a piece of the frame must have broken off, Nick took the painting back to his room and, sitting on the bed, began to remove the cardboard and other wrapping material. When he had finished, he laid the painting on the bed and looked in puzzlement at it. The frame was whole, and there were no broken pieces he could see.
Picking it up, he began to turn it over, and he felt something slide inside between the frame and the painting. His curiosity now thoroughly aroused, Nick carefully inspected the back of the painting. Unlike most modern frames, Nick discovered the back of the frame was not made of paper or cardboard. Instead, it was made of a sturdy, laminate sheet of wood screwed into the frame itself. Pulling a pocketknife from the pocket of his jeans, Nick flipped out one thin blade and, using the blade’s tip, began loosening each of the screws holding the back of the frame in place. When finished, he had a small pile of screws lying on the bed. Using the pocketknife’s blade again, he carefully wedged it between the frame and the painting and began to pry the thin wood backing off. Without warning, the back of the frame popped off, and a flat, rectangular object fell out and into Nick’s lap. Picking it up, Nick stared at it in amazement. It was a book!
Turning it over in his hands, Nick carefully examined the book The book was thin, about a foot long and half again as wide. It was bound in a dark gray, leathery material that was slightly abrasive to the touch. Peering closer, Nick could see no title on the book. Flipping it over, he examined the other side of the book. He soon saw it was just as blank, with nothing writ- ten on the cover to give a clue as to the book’s name or subject. Sighing, he flipped the book over one more time and almost dropped it from surprise! There, on the front cover of the book in gold, filigreed writing was the words, The Book of Lost Treasures. There had been nothing there when he had examined it moments earlier, he was sure of it! Gulping, he set the book down on the bed, as if it were hot to the touch.
Finally, Nick picked the book back up and peered closely at the book’s title, which had appeared, as it were, out of thin air. The letters and words were all written stylishly with exaggerated loops and whorls, and the writing style reminded Nick of a Puritan hymnbook of the early 1700s that he had seen pictured in his high school American history textbook. Shaking his head, he carefully opened the book and turned to the first page. It was completely blank, save for the words “Your Name” at the top of the page. Quickly, Nick flipped through the rest of the book and found without exception that each and every page was blank! Puzzled, Nick set the book down and began to pace about the room, thinking hard.
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hide the book within the frame, of that he had no doubt. The odds of it “accidentally” finding its way there were so farfetched, he didn’t even consider that an option. So who and, more importantly, why had someone hidden the book within the painting? Immediately, he thought of Hank. He knew from experience that the antique store owner had a mischievous nature, and he wouldn’t put it past the diminutive Hank to pull a practical joke on him. However, the more he thought about it, the more he doubted Hank would have done that. First of all, a prank such as this is something you might pull on an old friend, not a customer you have met for the first time! Hank also knew the reason why Nick had bought the painting, and a practical joke under the circumstances would seem … well, it would seem somewhat cruel. Even though Nick had only met Hank the one time, that was enough to convince him that Hank didn’t have a cruel bone in his body.
At a loss as what to do next, Nick sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Looking around, he noticed the interior of the motel room for the first time. An ancient chest of drawers sat against the wall in front of the bed with a small oval mirror hanging on the wall above it. A dark blue, indoor-outdoor carpet that looked equally as ancient as the chest of drawers covered the floor. A coin-operated TV with an obsolete set of rabbit ears antenna sat on top of a desk next to the chest of drawers, and a wooden chair was pushed under the desk. A small bathroom was located to the right of the bed, and Nick stood up to look inside it. Given what he had seen so far in the motel room, he half expected to see a claw foot tub. He was pleasantly surprised to see a modern shower-tub combination. That reminded Nick of how dirty and gritty he felt, and he immediately stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the bed in preparation of taking a shower.
Nick paused as he gave the motel room one final glance. Despite the age of the furnishings, he had to admit the room looked clean. As he was about to turn away to start the water in the bathroom, his eye caught the nightstand next to the bed. Resting on it was an old black rotary phone. Next to the phone was a pad of stationary with the name “Poolside Motel” printed on the top, with a green, plastic, ballpoint pen lying on top of the pad. On impulse, Nick quickly strode over to the nightstand and picked up the pen. Sitting on the bed, he picked up the mysterious book and opened it. Turning to the first page, he located the “Your Name” writing at the top of it. Hesitating for only a moment, he wrote grandly, “Nick Hollister,” next to it. Grinning, he was about to pitch the book back onto the bed, when suddenly, writing began to flow beneath his name, as if written by some invisible hand!
“What th
e … !” Nick shouted, dropping the book as if it were a bomb that had gone off in his hand.
His shower forgotten, Nick stared at the book lying on the bed like it was some sort of dangerous snake. Surely this was some kind of elaborate joke someone was playing on him, he thought! It had to be! He almost pitched the book into the trash then and there, but his curiosity got the better of him, and sitting back on the bed, he picked up the book and began to examine it carefully. With the miniaturization of computer chips and electronic components, anything was possible nowadays, Nick thought, and with that in mind, he began to search the book for any kind of embedded circuitry or power source, like a small watch battery. After five minutes of fruitless searching, Nick finally gave up.
Exasperated, Nick next turned to studying the mysterious writing that had suddenly appeared. It said:
Rules of The Book of Lost Treasures
Rule One: The book can have only one owner
Rule Two: The book may reveal the location of only one lost treasure at a time
Rule Three: The lost treasure must be found before the book may reveal another
Rule Four: The book will only reveal the location of a lost treasure that is precisely described
Rule Five: Only a treasure that is truly lost may be revealed by the book
Nick read the mysterious writing in silent fascination. Glancing down, he saw there was one more sentence beneath the rules. It asked:
What is the lost treasure which you seek?
Reading the last part caused a sudden shiver of excitement to run up and down Nick’s spine. The book claimed to be able to reveal the location of “lost treasures!” That meant valuable stuff, didn’t it? Nick’s enthusiasm quickly waned as he realized that what the book purportedly claimed to do was patently impossible. It was crazy to believe otherwise! The sense, however, that there was something extraordinary about the book would not leave Nick, even after he closed the book and prepared to take a shower.
Later, as he lay in bed with the lights off trying to sleep, the same feeling persisted. Finally, he drifted off to sleep, but not before one last thought drifted through his consciousness.
Maybe, just maybe, the strange book could find lost treasures.
Chapter 8
Nick got up early the next morning amazingly refreshed. His stomach growling, he counted his dwindling supply of cash before deciding he could afford breakfast. Quickly dressing, he made his way to the restaurant behind the motel. Nick saw a smattering of cars in the motel parking lot as he closed and locked the door to his room. However, there was another parking lot adjacent to the restaurant, one he hadn’t seen the night before, and it was full of cars and pickup trucks. A sign on top of the restaurant said “Poolside Restaurant: Home of the World-Famous Rotating Buffet!” Puzzled as to what “rotating buffet” meant, Nick pushed through the double glass doors of the restaurant. The raucous noise of many people talking immediately assaulted his ears, and his nose detected the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon and eggs.
The noise momentarily abated as those within the restaurant looked up curiously at Nick before they returned their attention to eating and talking.
After standing for a few minutes, Nick decided the patrons here seated themselves and took a seat at one of the few tables not occupied near the back of the restaurant. Looking around, Nick saw the place was packed. The motel, he decided, may not do a booming business, but its restaurant sure did! Curiously, he looked around the place.
The floor of the restaurant was covered in speckled linoleum tile. It must have at one time been white, but time and hard usage had turned it a dingy yellow. The furnishings, including the table and chair Nick sat at, were straight retro from the sixties and seventies. The legs of the tables and chairs were made of bright, shiny metal, and the chairs were upholstered in alternating colors of mustard yellow and forest green. The Formica tops of the tables were nicked and scarred and looked suspiciously to Nick like the same type or pattern of Formica that covered the motel office’s counter.
A battered jukebox was located in one corner of the restaurant and was playing an old Brooks and Dunn song, “Only in America.” Located above the jukebox and pinned securely to the wall was a large Confederate flag. However, what immediately caught Nick’s eye was a contraption located roughly in the middle of the restaurant that looked, for all the world, like a Lazy Susan on steroids.
Peering curiously at it, Nick realized this must be the “famous” rotating buffet advertised on the restaurant sign. Oval in shape, the buffet had an open area contained within it much like a salad bar, while a flat, tread-like surface extended from it on the outside.
This surface was segmented and moved across rollers, with a chain-like track for propelling it located underneath it. It vaguely reminded Nick of a race car track set he had when he was a kid. Shaking his head, he pulled out a menu that was sandwiched between a bottle of ketchup and a bottle of mustard that were sitting on the table. The menu was a single-laminated sheet, with breakfast entrées on one side and lunch and dinner entrées on the other.
Nick was just beginning to study the menu when a feminine voice, edged with a rich Southern drawl, asked, “What can I get for ya, honey?”
Looking up, Nick saw the source of the voice was a waitress. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, and her waitress uniform was a skirt and blouse of the same color combination of yellow and green as the chairs. A white plastic nametag with “Lilly” etched on it in black letters was pinned to her blouse. Heavy makeup, applied pancake-like, covered Lilly’s face, while blue eyes peered at Nick from under a set of false eyelashes.
Bottle-blonde hair with dark roots beginning to show was arranged in a beehive bouffant style on her head that hadn’t been in fashion since Elvis was rocking in “Blue Hawaii.” Realizing he was staring, Nick quickly averted his eyes back to the menu.
“Um, I’ll take the breakfast special,” he managed to say.
“For just fifty cents more, ya can get the Poolside Breakfast Grande. It comes with grits and an extra egg.” Eyeing Nick’s skinny frame critically, Lilly added, “From the looks of ya, honey, ya could use an extra helpin’.”
Red faced, Nick sputtered, “Uh … sure. The breakfast grande sounds fine.” Nodding, Lilly wrote the order smartly on her pad and turned on her heel to take the order back to the kitchen. Relieved, Nick idly studied a cheap paper placemat that sat on his table and was firmly anchored by a rolled-up napkin containing silverware. The placemat had activities printed on it that seemed to be geared for children.
It contained a word puzzle, a connect- the-dots drawing, and finally, a maze, with a big black “X” marking the end of the maze. Above the maze in bold print were the words “Find Efurd Buckley’s Hidden Gold!” Looking at the maze suddenly reminded Nick of the book that had been hidden within the painting. This caused him to wonder anew about the book’s ridiculous claim to be able to locate lost treasure.
Feeling foolish but thinking that he had nothing to lose, Nick decided he would work up the courage to question Lilly about this Efurd Buckley when she returned with his order. Ten minutes later, she appeared at his table and placed his plate full of bacon, eggs, toast, and a bowl of grits in front of him.
“Uh, I couldn’t help but notice this maze about Efurd Buckley,” Nick said rather lamely while pointing at the placemat. “Is he, uh, is he some sort of, you know … historical figure around here?”
Laughing, Lilly waved a hand in the air as if to swat at some invisible fly. “Oh, everybody around here knows the story about Colonel Buckley!” Pulling up a chair across from Nick, Lilly eagerly launched into the saga of Efurd Buckley.
“Ya see, Efurd Buckley was a colonel in the Confederate Army, and he was born and raised just a few miles from here. He led a group of Mississippi militia that fought in battles from Richmond to Vicksburg. Toward the end of the war, when it was apparent that the South had lost, Colonel Buckley decided to lead one last desperate raid against the Yanke
es. His target was a train carrying gold for the payroll of the Union forces occupying Vicksburg. Colonel Buckley and his men pried up sections of the track several miles out of Vicksburg at a point on the track that the train would be coming around a blind bend and the engineer couldn’t see the missing sections of track until it was too late. The train derailed, and as soon as it slid to a stop, Colonel Buckley attacked. Unfortunately, the train was heavily guarded, and there were enough Yankee soldiers left uninjured to put up a good fight. Although Colonel Buckley managed to take the strongbox containing the payroll from the train, most of his men were killed, and he himself was mortally wounded. Days later, he stumbled home and died in his wife’s arms, but not before he told her he had hidden the strongbox. No one has ever seen the Yankee gold shipment since.”
“What about the men he led on the raid? Surely there must have been some survivors that helped him hide it,” Nick asked curiously.
“Oh, there were some survivors all right! But they all claimed Colonel Buckley had taken the payroll strongbox off by himself. To a man, they denied knowing the location of where the gold was hidden.”
The Treasure Hunt Club Page 5