by David Wood
Maddock turned around to see a stout police officer of late middle years standing behind him. He was blocky with gray eyes and hair to match. The calm detachment with which he eyed the people at Maddock’s table said, I own this town and everyone knows it. Rodney’s battered face peeked over the man’s shoulder. He spotted Maddock and whispered something to the officer, who nodded and approached the table.
“Good evening.” The man’s gravelly voice held no emotion. He took a chair from a nearby table and sat down. “Miss Halsey.” He nodded to Avery, whose face reddened as she whispered a soft hello.
“My name is Charles Meade,” he said to Maddock and Bones, ignoring Angel. “I am the sheriff and, as such, it is my duty to keep the peace.” The man’s calm demeanor and articulate speech took Maddock by surprise. He’d been expecting an older version of Rodney.
“Everything’s peaceful around here,” Bones said, his tone easy.
“That is gratifying.” Meade steepled his fingers and his gaze turned flinty. “But I understand that was not the case only a short while ago. I need to see your identification, please.”
Maddock, Bones, and Angel all produced identification, but Meade declined Angel’s proffered driver’s license with a flick of his index finger.
“Only the gentlemen, please.” He examined the licenses. “Dane Maddock and Uriah Bonebrake,” he pronounced, like a principal calling unruly students into his office. Maddock saw Avery glance at Bones when Meade read his name. Bones hated his birth name. “You are a long way from home, gentlemen.”
“That’s not a crime, Sheriff,” Maddock said. “As I’m sure you’re aware.”
“But aggravated assault is a crime, Mister Maddock. As I’m certain you are aware. I don’t know what your relationship is with Miss Halsey, but I can assure you I do not condone beating up ex-boyfriends.”
Avery started to argue, but Meade silenced her with a cold glance.
“You and your friend provoked a fight with my son. Were it not for the presence of his friends, his injuries might have been even worse.”
Now it was Maddock’s turn to quiet Avery. Meade thought the game was his, but Maddock held the trump card. He had to play it just right, though.
“I assume you’ve taken statements from witnesses?” Maddock said.
“Of course.” Meade smiled, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest.
“Witnesses other than your son’s friends, I mean,”
Meade shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“They all tell the same story. Rodney and Miss Halsey were talking out their differences. You interrupted, my son spoke rudely to you, and the two of you attacked him. His friends pulled you off, both of them sustaining injuries in the process.”
“Well, allow me to retort,” Bones said, quoting a line from his favorite movie, Pulp Fiction.
“Did your son and his friends tell you he was manhandling Avery?” Angel snapped, cutting across Bones’ rebuttal with one of her own. “I tried to get her away from him, and was forced to defend myself when one of his friends grabbed me. Or do you condone violence against women in this county?”
“That is not the story as I heard it.” Meade’s voice remained calm but Maddock did not miss the annoyed glance he shot at Rodney, who, beneath his mask of bruises, wore a guilty expression. “Can you produce witnesses to support your version of events?”
“You’ve got four witnesses sitting right here,” Bones said. “Two of them decorated veterans of the United States Navy.”
“You’re not in the States, Mister Bonebrake. In any case, your ribbons and medals hold no sway in my county.” Meade looked around the table. “Do you have any unbiased witnesses who can support you?”
“You know everyone in this county is afraid to testify against Rodney,” Avery said,” because they’re afraid of you.”
“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Meade said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you gentlemen to come with me. Please know I have deputies waiting outside should you resist.” His smile indicated he welcomed the thought.
“You’re an elected official, aren’t you, Sheriff?” Maddock asked. The question stopped Meade as he rose, his bottom hovering a few inches above the chair.
“Why do you ask?”
“I take it you have not yet reviewed the security video.”
Meade eased back into his chair.
“The video confirms our story. The owner was kind enough to make a digital clip of the incident and email it to me. I’d rather not post it online and send links to the local news outlets.” From the corner of his eye, Maddock saw Rodney shuffle away from his father, who had gone stock-still. “Let’s be realistic,” Maddock said. “We both have the power to make trouble for each other, but why bother.” He hardened his voice. “I’ve been in all kinds of battles, Sheriff Meade, and one thing I’ve learned; it’s better to avoid them whenever you can.”
Meade was intelligent enough to see reason.
“Clearly I was misinformed. But next time you have a problem with someone, let the authorities deal with it. That is our job, not yours.”
Angel looked like she was itching to make a sarcastic comment, but Maddock nudged her under the table.
“We will,” Maddock said. “Thank you for hearing us out.”
Meade nodded to the ladies and beat as fast a retreat as dignity would permit.
“I can’t believe him!” Angel said. “Like it’s so easy to stop and call the cops when some guy’s got his hands all over you.”
“We let him save face,” Maddock explained. “That way, maybe he’ll stay out of our hair.”
Angel thought for a moment, then nodded. “You know, you’re a lot smarter than Bones gives you credit for.”
Maddock grinned and called the server over for another round of drinks. Their meals arrived, and they passed an easy hour of beer, seafood, and conversation. Angel, who had joined Crazy Charlie’s island work crew at the last minute, steered the conversation away from Kidd’s treasure, asking about the history of Oak Island and its fabled Money Pit.
“It all goes back to 1795,” Avery began, “when a young man found an old block and tackle hanging above a depression in the earth. This area was thick with pirates back in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, and kids around here grew up hearing stories of buried treasure. So, the young man came back with some friends and they started digging. Within a few feet, they hit a layer of flagstones. Not a layer of natural rock, but actual, hewn stones. They kept digging, but kept hitting wooden platforms at regular intervals. That, plus the pick marks on the sides of the shaft, made it obvious to them they were dealing with something man-made.”
“Now the story rings a bell,” Angel said. “I hadn’t put that particular legend together with our project. Bones was always more into legends than I was. If I recall, since that first discovery, treasure hunters have tried to excavate the shaft but, no matter how deep they go, they just hit more platforms.”
“Correct. And the pit keeps flooding,” Avery said. “The island is filled with underground channels.”
“Which is where we come in,” Bones said. “Charlie wants us to locate every channel we can find and see if any appear to be man-made.”
“Which they don’t,” Maddock added.
Bones nodded. “He also wants to see if they can be sealed and the water drained out.”
“No one’s tried it before?” Angel asked.
“They have, but they’ve always failed.” Avery shook her head.
“So why keep trying? It sounds like an impossible task. Has anyone found a single bit of treasure?” Angel’s brow was knotted and she pursed her lips. “Have we signed up for a wild goose chase?”
“A few things have been found over the years.” Avery stiffened and raised her voice. “Seafaring-related artifacts, bits of gold chain, parchment, and, of course, the stone.”
“What stone?” Angel asked.
“A stone inscribed
with strange symbols,” Maddock said. “The message was translated as ‘Forty feet below two million pounds are buried.’ Its authenticity is questionable, though.”
“I have more evidence than that,” Avery said. “Accounts no one else has seen. I know there’s something down there.” She turned to Maddock. “That’s why I need to see your father’s research.” She held his gaze. “I’m not a quack treasure hunter. This has been a scholarly endeavor for me from the start. My colleagues haven’t taken me seriously, but I’m right on the verge of proving them wrong. I’ve got everything I need to publish except...” She fell silent and looked down into her half-empty mug of beer.
“Except proof,” Maddock said. Avery nodded and looked up at him again. Maddock saw the pleading in her eyes. “I don’t want to get your hopes up,” he sighed. “I’ve been through Dad’s papers, and there’s nothing there. But I’ll take another, closer look. If there’s anything at all that might help you, I’ll give you a call.”
“I suppose that’s as much as I could have hoped for,” Avery said glumly. “Thanks.”
Maddock went out of his way to avoid looking at Bones. He knew what his friend was thinking, but Bones was wrong. This was not the beginning of another of their crazy adventures.
Chapter 4
The door to his parents’ vacation cottage overlooking Mahone Bay felt heavier than usual as Maddock pushed it open. Sensing his mood, Bones and Angel slipped past him like shadows to their respective rooms. At Bones’ suggestion, they’d seen Avery home safely before returning to the cottage for the night.
For a moment, he considered leaving his father’s research where it lay and telling Avery he’d checked, but the coward’s way out was not for him. This reminder of his parents’ death was something he’d have to face.
In the kitchen, he slid the microwave oven from its cabinet and grinned. Leave it to his father to ignore the seascape painting in the bedroom, where any normal person would hide a safe, and put it behind a kitchen appliance instead.
He opened the safe and withdrew a fat envelope. He hadn’t touched it since shortly after the accident. Leaving the safe open and the microwave on the counter, he moved mechanically to an armchair by the fireplace, and emptied the contents of the envelope onto the coffee table.
It was much as he remembered: printouts of articles, scans of documents, and a thick sheaf of notes written in his father’s elegant, yet masculine hand. He let out a low chuckle as he recalled, as a teenager, trying to imitate his father’s signature on a bad report card, only to be forced to own up to the bad grades and the failed forgery.
Along with the stack of research, a smaller manila envelope held brochures of museums and other pirate-related sites his father had visited, and loose bits of paper with notes jotted on them. Last was a small, leather-bound print of Edgar Allan Poe’s story, The Gold-Bug. Fitting, he thought, as it told the story of a search for Captain Kidd’s treasure. He turned it over, surprised to discover that the book looked brand new. This was not some old volume his father had taken notes in. He opened it to the middle and flipped through a couple of pages, then turned it over and gave it a shake in case anything was hidden inside, but no luck.
He set the book aside and started with the pile of research. The first several papers were various Kidd biographies, peppered with handwritten annotations. He read through them and found nothing new or unusual, certainly no references to Oak Island or the Money Pit.
He laid them on the table, rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. This was a waste of time. He was putting himself through this for nothing. In fact, he’d been foolish to stay here at all, where reminders of his father were everywhere and his presence seemed to hang in the very air. The weight of an unbearable burden of sadness pressed down on him. He should have stayed in the travel trailers Crazy Charlie had set up for the crew, and where Willis, Matt, and Corey were bunking.
He sensed movement behind him and a pair of gentle hands rested on his shoulders. He looked up to see Angel smiling sadly at him, sympathy shining in her eyes. She kept her silence and, for that, he was grateful. He gave her hand a squeeze and indicated that she should sit down.
She dropped into the other armchair and picked up the papers he had been examining. Understanding dawned on her face as she scanned them.
“This can’t be easy for you. I remember when my grandmother died. Seeing to her affairs and taking care of her things wasn’t so painful for me. That just felt like work. It was the personal things, you know. Letters she’d saved, pictures of me she’d written my name on. It was all too... real.”
Maddock nodded.
“I can do this for you, Maddock. There’s no reason you should have to dredge up painful memories.”
“It’s okay. I’ve been avoiding this place and these papers for years. Besides, I told Avery I’d do it.”
“How about some help? Two of us can get through it faster than one.”
“All right.” He shrugged. “You know what we’re looking for: clues to a treasure on Oak Island. I don’t think a document old enough to be a clue from Kidd himself would have escaped my notice the first time I went through this stuff, so keep an eye out for anything that looks like a scan or copy of something older.”
They set to the task, working in companionable silence. Occasionally, Angel would call his attention to a mention of treasure or the island, but they found nothing like what Avery was looking for.
The night wore on and he found that, the deeper he delved into his father’s research, the more academic the endeavor became. His malaise melted away as he focused his thoughts on the subject. It was interesting, but shed no light specifically on the Oak Island mystery. By the time he finished reviewing his share of the material, he found himself eager to take a look at the rest. Angel, too, was eager to keep going.
When both sets of eyes had passed over every paper, he was forced to admit defeat. Whatever Avery was looking for, had it even existed, was not here.
“Sorry, Maddock.” Angel gave him a quick hug.
“Thanks for getting me through it. Avery’s going to be disappointed, but it was a pipe dream anyway.” He gathered the papers and returned them to the safe, but held on to The Gold-Bug. Perhaps a bit of pleasure reading would help him relax.
Retiring to his room, he dropped down on the bed, opened the book, and froze. There, on the first page, was an inscription from his father. The date was December 25 of the year his parents died. This was to have been Maddock’s Christmas gift. They had lost their lives only a few weeks before the holiday. His father must have written this shortly before his death.
Maddock,
I know you think my search for a pirate’s treasure is a fool’s game. Perhaps, by the end of this book, you will wish to join me on this adventure.
Dad
He closed the book, dropped it on the floor, and turned out the light. He’d always, perhaps a bit childishly, believed his dad’s pirate research to be something from which Maddock was excluded. But now... He rolled over and stared out the window, his mood as black as the night.
Rodney cursed and shifted in his chair, trying to find a comfortable sitting position. He was battered and bruised, and was pretty sure he had at least one fractured rib. He’d get his revenge on that Maddock guy, but that wasn’t foremost in his mind at the moment.
He’d only caught snatches of the conversation Avery had with those jerks, but he’d heard enough. Captain Kidd had a treasure and he’d hidden the clues in old chests. Now, the treasure bug had bitten Rodney, and he was determined to be the one to find whatever it was Kidd had left behind.
Like many locals, he’d done his share of poking around on the island in his youth, but gave it up as hopeless. So many treasure hunters had excavated Oak Island that no one knew which pit was the original. Besides, he lacked the knowledge and equipment to carry out a proper search but, if he could find something definitive, a treasure map, maybe, he was sure he could get help in th
at area.
He looked at the monitor screen and his shoulders sagged a little. He’d never been much for research, or anything related to education, for that matter. Classes were just hoops to jump through so he could play football, wrestle, and meet girls. Tonight, he was wishing he’d paid a little more attention in school.
He’d tried the obvious research sites, searching for any mention of Captain Kidd’s sea chests, with no success. He’d felt a momentary thrill when he found an account of Kidd burying a treasure on some place called Gardiner’s Island, but read on only to find the treasure had been recovered shortly thereafter and used as evidence in Kidd’s trial. The more he searched, the more discouraged he became.
Finally, he stumbled across a website that focused on the Oak Island mystery. Navigating to the forums, he was pleased to see an entire section dedicated to legends about Kidd’s treasure. It took him a few minutes to figure out how to use the search function, but he got there in the end. He typed in “Kidd chest maps legend” and hit the enter key.
Nothing.
Finally, he overcame his revulsion at the thought of being a big enough loser to actually join an internet forum. He created a sufficiently masculine username, HotRod69, and made his first post.
does anyone know anything about a legend where captain kidd hid maps or clues inside sea chests
He stared at the screen, waiting for a reply, but to no avail. After ten minutes, he went to the kitchen for a beer and two pain relievers, but returned to more disappointment. What the hell? People were logged in to the forum. He could see the number of users online down at the bottom of the page.
And then he remembered the circular arrow at the top of the browser. He didn’t remember what it was called, but Avery had shown him how to click it to update the page back when he’d been following a football game he’d bet on, and wondered why the score wasn’t changing. Proud he’d figured this out on his own, he clicked the button and was happy to see he’d gotten a reply.