“What … what are you doing?” Nick asked anxiously. When he saw Nick’s scandalized expression, Mark sighed and put down the phone.
“Nick, we can’t just drive over to Mr. Jones’s property and search it without his permission. In case you have forgotten, that’s called trespassing.”
“Then what are you going to tell him?”
“The truth … or at least a version of it,” Mark admitted. “Look, there has to be an old home, an old farmhouse or barn, or something that still exists either standing or in ruins. Otherwise, nothing would have shown up on the map in the book. I’m going to borrow Daddy’s metal detector and ask Mr. Jones if we can search for old coins on his land.”
“But what if he says no?” Nick protested.
“That’s a chance we are going to have to take. I am not going to sneak onto someone’s property without their permission!” Mark replied heatedly.
Looking at Nick, Mark saw he now wore an expression akin to that of a spooked rabbit. Seeking to allay his friend’s fears, Mark said, “You’re just going to have to trust me on this, Nick. I work with clients all the time, and if I can’t get permission for us to search this old home site, nobody can!”
Seeing Nick’s reluctant nod, Mark picked up the phone again and placed the phone call to Cornelius Jones. After several rings, someone picked up the phone, and after introducing himself, Mark spent the next few minutes in friendly conversation with them.
Finally, he got around to asking permission to search for old coins on the Jones’s property.
Nick held his breath as he saw Mark smile. There were a few more moments of friendly banter before Mark thanked Mr. Jones and hung up the phone. Pushing back in his chair, Mark leaned back with his hands behind his head, smiling.
“What?” Nick blurted, unable to contain himself any longer.
“We’re in! He said we could come over today if we wanted to!”
Chapter 15
After much backslapping, and shouts of self-congratulation, Nick and Mark finally settled down long enough to plan their next step. After gathering all the tools they believed they would need, they made a last stop to collect Mark’s father’s metal detector.
By this time, it was almost three o’clock in the afternoon. Going back to Mark’s office, Mark changed out of his coat and tie into a pair of old jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes, hanging his good clothes up on coat hangers and placed them in a closet. Apparently, Mark had stopped at his house for a change of clothes while on his way back to Pleasant Mountain from Texarkana. Peering at Mark’s clothes, Nick saw a sharp crease in the pant legs of the old jeans, as if they had been ironed, while the T-shirt didn’t contain a single wrinkle anywhere that he could see. As for the tennis shoes, they were a pair of white Nike Runners without so much as a smudge or discoloration on them to indicate they had been used.
Grinning at his friend’s fastidiousness, Nick followed Mark out of his office. Stopping only long enough to tell Susan he was leaving early today, Mark and Nick exited the office and went to Mark’s Expedition in the parking lot. Climbing in, they briefly consulted the county map before Mark started the SUV and they pulled out onto the road.
Although The Book of Lost Treasures’ map made the county map unneeded, it led from Nick’s trailer, not the State Farm Insurance office, so they spent the next fifteen minutes or so using the county map to get their bearings before finally settling on the route diagrammed in the book. Leaving town, they followed a farm-to-market road for ten minutes or so before stopping before an overgrown meadow or field. A barbed wire fence enclosed the field, and an ancient gate, leaning on its hinges, provided entry. A rutted dirt road, itself overgrown with weeds and grass, led from the gate. Winding its way snake-like through the meadow, the road disappeared behind a grove of oak trees. Looking at the book’s map, Nick and Mark determined they were at the right place, so Nick got out of the SUV to open the gate.
A strand of wire attached to a wooden post and looped over a metal strut on the gate proved to be the only thing holding the gate shut. Slipping the loop of wire off the gate, Nick pulled the gate open, and Mark pulled the SUV through. Closing the gate and looping the wire back onto the gate, Nick climbed back into the Expedition, and they slowly made their way down the dirt road. Pausing now and then to negotiate around a particularly deep pothole, Mark eased the SUV down the road and past the grove of oaks. Located approximately one hundred feet due east of the oak trees were the remains of an old house and barn. Stopping the car, Nick and Mark got out and studied the ruined structures.
The barn’s roof had completely collapsed, leaving only the walls, which were themselves leaning precariously. A wild rose had taken root within the barn; its thorny canes grew in a wild profusion as they thrust through the rusted tin of the collapsed roof. Brambles from a blackberry bush grew thickly on one side of the ruined barn, competing with the wild rose for sunlight and space. An old persimmon tree, its branches heavy with unripened fruit, cast a long shadow on the west side of the barn. The old farmhouse was built in dogtrot fashion, with a breeze-way in the middle of the structure separating the two main sections of the homestead. Its condition was little better than that of the barn, with large sections of the roof containing gaping holes.
Where windows had once existed, all that remained were empty, glassless window frames, the dark interior they revealed cloaked in black shadows. Of pier and beam construction, jagged holes could be seen by Nick and Mark in the wooden floor of the homestead’s breezeway. The front porch, its foundation rotten, leaned drunkenly toward them. A chimney thrust upward from the east side of the house. Made of the native rust-colored rock found so commonly in the area, thick layers of masonry cemented the rocks of the chimney together. A trumpet vine had grown up the chimney’s exterior, its orangish-red flowers hanging in clumps here and there from the clinging vine.
“Doesn’t look very stable, does it?” Mark said doubtfully to Nick as they both continued to gaze at the old house. Nodding, Nick opened The Book of Lost Treasures, and both he and Mark spent the next several minutes studying the map within it. It soon became apparent to both of them that the map indicated a section of the chimney contained the hidden money they were looking for. Returning to the SUV, Mark retrieved a thick pair of gloves and a small crowbar he had brought from home. Then they both stepped up onto the porch and entered the breezeway.
The old wood groaned and creaked beneath their footsteps as they gingerly made their way, with both Nick and Mark half afraid that at any moment, their feet would plunge through the rotten flooring. Stopping before an open doorway, they stepped into the room containing the chimney.
The room’s gloomy interior revealed that at one time, this must have been the kitchen. A pantry had been built to their right, its shelves empty now of anything but a thick layer of dust. A sink with a pump handle for drawing water was to their left, with the chimney directly across from them. An old table, one of its legs splintered in half, was balanced precariously on its remaining three legs in the middle of the room. If chairs had once complemented the table, they were now nowhere to be seen.
“The map shows the location of the money to be about four or five feet above the fire grate and almost exactly in the middle of the chimney,” Nick commented as he squinted at the map in the dim light. Nodding wordlessly, Mark made his way to the chimney, with Nick following close on his heels. Leaves, which had blown in through the open doorway, formed scattered drifts on the floor. A dry crunching sound filled the room as Nick and Mark walked across the leaves toward the chimney.
Stopping before the chimney, Nick ran his hand along the rough masonry and rock of the chimney’s surface. Taking the crowbar, he tapped the chimney with it, slowly moving upward as he did so. He was rewarded moments later when instead of a solid tap, a hollow sounding thunk resulted from striking the chimney with the crowbar. Excitedly, Nick and Mark looked at each other before Nick attacked the masonry with the crowbar. A short time later, Nick had exca
vated all the masonry around a rectangular piece of the reddish-orange rock that made up the chimney’s facing. Carefully prying it loose, Mark helped him lower the rock to the floor.
A dark hollow or cavity was revealed behind the stone. Taking a small penlight from his pocket, Mark turned it on and pointed it toward the hollow. As he and Nick craned their necks and jockeyed with each other for the best view, they both saw almost simultaneously a small metal box nestled in the cavity.
Coated heavily with dust and cobwebs, it gave off a dull metallic gleam as the flashlight’s beam played across it. Mark reached in with one gloved hand and pulled out the metal box. It was heavy in his hand, and something inside slid around loosely, making a clinking sound as he set it on top of the old table in the middle of the room. Mark brushed the dust off the box with his gloves, revealing that the money box was painted gunmetal gray.
Studying the metal box, Nick saw it was about a foot long and half that in width, with a height or depth of three inches. It reminded Nick of an old-fashioned cashbox a business might keep loose cash, change, and receipts in.
A single latch held the lid of the box shut, and Nick pushed the latch open. The hinges gave a rusty squeal as Nick pulled the lid open. A thick roll of bills was revealed lying on top of a pile of what looked to be loose change or coinage. As Mark breathlessly directed the flashlight’s beam on the money, the scattered coins glinted with a metallic sheen.
“It’s too dark in here. Let’s take the box somewhere outside in the sunlight!” Mark said enthusiastically. Closing the lid, Nick picked up the cashbox, and he and Mark hurried outside.
Walking into the bright sunshine, Nick opened the lid, and once again, they stared into the box. Strewn loosely within the box were old coins of various sizes and in colors of copper, gold, and silver. Seizing one of the coins, Mark held it aloft, studying it. He said, “Nick, this is a Morgan Dollar! Do you know what that means?” When Nick shook his head no, Mark blurted, “It means it’s made of gold!” Hurriedly sifting through the coins, Mark collected half a dozen more of the Morgan Dollars.
“This is unbelievable! There are seven Morgan Dollars among these coins! Depending on their mint date and their series, they could be worth thousands of dollars!”
Nick, caught up in Mark’s excitement, still managed to grab the roll of bills with shaking hands. Untying the string that held the roll, he carefully counted the money. When he had finished, the bills totaled $323.
Although the total amount of money in the metal cashbox was small by today’s standards, Nick knew it represented a king’s ransom and probably the life savings of a farmer struggling to make ends meet during the Great Depression.
Nick looked up just in time to see Mark sit heavily on the ground. “What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.
“Noth … nothing,” Mark said as he stared vacantly at the gold coin in his hand. “It … it just occurred to me that your crazy book
… it can actually find lost treasures, just like you said it could! I mean, even after that map appeared in the book at the office, I … I still didn’t believe it. I just knew that somewhere, somehow, a logical explanation would present itself. But the map led us straight to where this money was hidden, straight to it!” Standing up, Mark began to pace back and forth. Finally, he stopped and gazed at Nick, a look of wonder on his face.
“I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but for once, you’re right, Nick. The Book of Lost Treasures can find hidden and lost money, valuables, treasures, and who knows what else!”
Grinning, Nick put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Don’t forget the most important part I also told you, Mark!”
“What’s that?” Mark asked, puzzled.
“That we’re gonna be rich!”
Chapter 16
Nick and Mark stayed at the old homestead and talked until long shadows began to form in the late afternoon sun. When finally they got into Mark’s Expedition and began the drive back to the State Farm office, it was decided they would meet again the next day at Nick’s workshop. Mark felt strongly that they would need the skills and talents of other people to maximize the book’s potential. The problem was whom could they trust? Indeed, who would believe them—much less join them—in their endeavor? The short list they had finally produced included three names besides Nick and Mark’s: Patti, Steve, and Kenneth Langston. Kenneth was a friend of both Nick and Mark, and besides being a computer expert, he was also an avid collector of baseball cards and vintage comic books. The only area of disagreement between Nick and Mark had been what to do with the money they had found. Mark felt they should give at least some of it to Cornelius Jones, as it was his property they had found it on, while Nick felt just as strongly it was theirs to keep. Repeatedly, Nick had argued to Mark that had they not found the money box containing the old money and coins, Cornelius Jones certainly wouldn’t have, and it would have forever remained lost. Although Mark agreed with Nick on that point, he maintained that the right thing to do would be to at least share some of their discovery with Mr. Jones.
When Mark dropped Nick off at his car, they finally agreed to disagree on the subject.
Nick’s mind barely registered the drive back to his place. His thoughts were so full of the events of the day and the possibilities that now lay ahead that they claimed his complete attention and crowded out all else. Turning onto the rutted dirt road that led to his trailer, the little Sprint rolled to a stop under the car awning, and Nick sat for a few moments before turning off the engine and exiting the car. Rather than going to his trailer, he headed straight for the workshop. Rolling one of the doors to the side, Nick turned on the lights and walked in. Switching on the lathe, Nick lost himself in woodworking as he let his mind drift. When he finally switched the lathe off, he had a fully assembled chair made of white pine resting on the floor before him. The smell of wood glue and sawdust drifted in the air as he squatted beside the chair and gave it a critical inspection. It needed to be stained and varnished, but besides that, Nick could find no imperfections or mistakes in his craftsmanship. Nodding in satisfaction to himself, he picked up the chair and carried it up the flight of stairs to the false second-story platform.
There, Nick found a long iron hook and hung the chair from the ceiling to join the other chairs hanging suspended from the ceiling.
As Nick made his way back down the stairs, he looked up, and his face registered surprise. Through the open shop door, he saw it was completely dark, and night had fallen. Glancing at his watch, he was shocked to see it almost ten o’clock! It had been around six o’clock when he had arrived home, and he had worked nonstop for four hours, the time passing like a slipstream. A sudden sense of exhaustion came over Nick. However, it was a pleasant tiredness, one born of accomplishment and purpose, an unusual feeling for Nick. Deciding he rather liked the feeling, Nick yawned one more time as he turned off the lights, locked the workshop doors, and headed toward the Airstream trailer. Later, after he had showered and eaten, Nick lay in the trailer’s bed loft with a small overhead light switched on. In one hand, he held The Book of Lost Treasures; in the other hand, he held the cashier’s check for $10,000. Gazing at both of them, the whirlwind series of events by which he had obtained them flashed like a video loop through his mind.
Who would have believed it? he thought to himself. Who would ever have believed that a world-class screw-up like him could ever have stumbled across such good fortune? Gripping both book and check harder, Nick vowed he would make good on this opportunity, no matter what! His old life was behind him now, and he would never ever go back to it! With that grim determination in his mind, Nick placed the check in the book, switched off the light, and went to sleep.
The next day, a Saturday, dawned bright and cloudless as Nick rolled out of bed and fixed himself a cup of coffee. Eating a breakfast of cereal and milk, he changed into old shorts, T-shirt, and a beat-up pair of tennis shoes. Exiting the trailer, he went to the workshop, unlocked the doors, and pushed t
hem wide open. Switching on the lights, he put his hands on his hips and surveyed the shop’s interior. It was a mess! Sawdust was everywhere, with mounds of it lying beneath the various woodworking machines. Tools and various cuts of wood were scattered haphazardly throughout the shop. Chairs, stools, and tables in various stages of completion were distributed throughout the workshop’s interior, with no apparent rhyme or reason as to their placement.
A groan of resignation escaped from Nick’s lips. If they were going to have a meeting here tonight, he had a major cleanup job ahead of him. Shaking his head, he eyed a whisk broom leaning against a corner in the shop. Cobwebs stretched from it, giving mute evidence of how long it had been since the last time the broom had been used. Deciding that the sooner he got started, the sooner he could get the worrisome task behind him, Nick strode over to the whisk broom, grabbed it, and got to work.
Nick worked all morning, stopping only for a brief lunch, consisting of a bologna sandwich and chips, before tackling the cleanup task anew. By early afternoon, he was finally finished with the job. The sawdust had been swept up and disposed of, the tools put back in their proper place, the wood stacked neatly, and the unfinished furniture placed and stored in some semblance of order. As a final act, Nick dragged an unstained and unvarnished table to the middle of the workshop’s floor. Oval in shape with a drop leaf in the middle to expand the table’s size, the table was soon joined by a half-dozen chairs that Nick placed strategically around it. Like the table, the chairs were also unstained and unvarnished. The unfinished furniture gave off a pungent but pleasant odor of sanded wood.
Surveying his handiwork, Nick nodded in satisfaction, a slight smile playing across his face. It had been years since his workshop had been this neat and clean! A sudden thought struck Nick, and he laughed out loud. Although it had been unintentional, The Book of Lost Treasures had worked its magic yet again: Nick had cleaned up and put his workshop in order, a task he had put off forever, and he had the mysterious book to thank for it! Still chuckling to himself, Nick headed back to the trailer.
The Treasure Hunt Club Page 11