by Don Bruns
“I believe he did.”
“Where?”
“It comes back to me. All that death and destruction. Limbless bodies, animals dashed on the rocks, and corpses hanging high in the trees where the tidal wave washed ’em. And that odor. The stench of rotting flesh.”
“Bernie?”
“I never knew what was in those boxes, but he told me they buried the crates, the ones from the train that we never saw the insides of. They buried them in the old Pinder Methodist cemetery. Kind of fitting, don’t you think?”
“And Jackie?”
“Never saw him again after that. I did hear that he moved to South America and bought some plantation down there, but I never knew for sure.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
“Skip, we’re going to be rich.” James had dollar signs in his eyes. “Rich, I’m telling you.”
“Don’t call me Rich.”
He smiled. We sat in our room, waiting for Mary Trueblood to come in. I’d called and told her we had some big news.
“James, we’re dealing with a cemetery plot. A place where they bury people. Souls are interred there. You realize this is not something we can just explore with no consequences?”
“We’re dealing with the property around the cemetery, amigo. Around the cemetery. Not in it. Em made a good point. There’s a big difference. This is on the beach, amigo. Ten crates of gold. Oh, my God, Skip. Over forty million dollars’ worth of precious metal. Not only will we get two million, but our company will be mentioned everywhere. Think about it. The publicity will be overwhelming.”
He was practically foaming at the mouth.
“Skip, I think there’s a very good chance you’ve found it.” Em was smiling a very wide smile.
“Have you guys lost all your senses? There’s no guarantee that-”
“Amigo. Did you not hear the old man?”
I had.
“Let me ask you two something.” I was now the voice of reason. “Have you ever thought about how we’re going to dig it up and remove it from a five-star resort? Have you?” I heard myself getting louder. “Under the scrutiny of guards every twenty minutes, not to mention people watching from their windows? People in the pool, on the beach. You guys are acting a little crazy, you know? What do you want to do, just pull a bulldozer up and start tearing up the beach?”
Like that would ever happen.
“Whatever it takes, buddy.” James was lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Skip,” Em was not far behind him. She had always been the voice of reason. Not any more. So it seemed a little strange to me that I was asking for some sanity. “Maybe we go to the authorities. We get Mrs. T. to admit to them we’ve found buried treasure. We get our money, the state of Florida gets theirs, and Mrs. T. still comes out a multimillionaire.”
That was a concept I hadn’t considered.
“But what if the Methodist church says it’s theirs?” My thought.
“Point well taken,” James said.
“What if Cheeca Lodge says it is theirs?” My thought.
“Another point to Skip,” Em said.
“And what if the town of Islamorada says it’s theirs?”
There was a knock at the door. Mrs. T. had finally arrived.
“We’ve got some pretty exciting news about the lost treasure,” I said as I opened the door.
Maria Sanko stood at the entrance, her face in a knot of anger.
From the back of the room, James said, “Oh, shit.”
“Suppose you tell me what was in those crates. You’ve been yanking my chain since we met, boys, and you,” she pointed to Em who was sitting on the bed, “the three of you must think I’m pretty stupid.”
“Look, Maria,” I started the explanation, “we’re working for someone. We have an employer. If it was just us, we’d work with you, but we have to explain everything to-”
“To whom?” Mrs. T. walked up behind Maria.
“You two may as well come in.” They entered and stood in front of us, both of them with arms folded across their chests.
“Have a seat.” There was one place on the bed, and Maria sat down on the floor.
I told Mrs. T. about Mr. Blattner and what he’d said. Then I told her that Maria suspected we were being less than truthful in our explanation.
“Do you want to tell her what we’re doing?”
Mrs. T. suddenly looked very tired. She’d been carrying the weight of this story for over six months and right now, when we could smell victory, she was facing all kinds of problems.
“Oh, hell. She might as well know the whole story. But if she wants a cut for bringing in the old man-”
“We really should give her something,” Em said, “latecomer that she is.”
Mrs. T. gave her a death stare. “One hundred thousand. If, if we find all ten crates. And if we don’t, we give her-” she paused, looking exasperated, “we give her our undying gratitude. Okay?”
Maria nodded. It was probably better than she expected. Yet here was a lady who got her husband’s motorcycle in a divorce settlement. She could probably get a lot more out of Mrs. T. if she wanted to.
“Done.”
“Maria, make yourself worth one hundred thousand dollars. Tell us how to get ten crates of gold out of that resort with no one interfering.” I was anxious to get a different take on the situation.
Maria smiled. “Ah, a challenge.”
“Yeah.” I smiled back at her. “And keep in mind that there are two other treasure hunters who are looking for the same gold. Dangerous dudes, I might add.”
Without a pause she said, “You know what I’d do?”
James rolled his eyes back in his head. “No.”
And she proceeded to tell us.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“You know, eventually we all have to get back to our day jobs. Especially if this doesn’t work out.”
We grabbed some burgers across the street at the Ocean View. Sitting out back on picnic tables we looked over the bay.
“If we’re due a break, and I believe we are,” James drummed his fingers on the rough tabletop, “Maria had a brilliant idea.”
“Don’t hide what you’re doing.” Em took a bite from her sandwich and sat back, obviously impressed with Maria’s savvy.
“Exactly,” he said. “Do everything in plain sight. If you’re blatant about it, people accept it. It’s when you sneak around like we’ve been doing, that’s when you get caught.”
“Do you think she can pull it off within twenty-four hours?” I asked. I had serious reservations.
“That cash incentive that Mrs. T. offered should motivate her.”
“I can’t believe that people are that gullible.” Em shook her pretty head, her golden hair swishing across her face. Maybe I just had gold on the brain.
“She hasn’t pulled it off yet.” Maria seemed a little too cocky. A little too sure of herself.
“No, she hasn’t pulled it off yet, but I’m betting on her, Skip.”
“What surprised me was that Mrs. T. agreed to fund the project.”
“Again,” Em pointed her index finger at me, “it’s not a lot of money considering the payout. Skip, for a profit of even ten million dollars you would spend at least ten percent. Forty million means she could commit up to four million dollars. I’ll bet she hasn’t committed five thousand dollars. I’ll guarantee this lady hasn’t even come close to that amount.”
She’d poured about two thousand dollars into our account and maybe she’d fronted Weezle and Markim. Not a lot considering what the reward might be.
“If she gets her money, she stole it for a song. As for Maria Sanko, the girl has a lot of moxie.” Em smiled.
“Moxie?”
“You know what it means.”
“I’ve never heard you use that word.”
“Well,” Em looked at James, “moxie is my middle name.”
“Wait,” he said. “I know this one.” He studied the water for a moment as a
sailboat drifted across our horizon. “Parker Posey in Party Girl. I’m right, aren’t I? Ninety-five, ninety-six?”
“I loved that movie. Always remembered the quote.”
I should have been proud of her, but somehow she was invading our turf. Movie quotes were for me and James.
We drove back to Cheeca Lodge, telling the uniformed gate attendant we wanted to see the cemetery.
“We’re getting a lot of action on the old place.”
“Oh, really?”
“You’re the third people today. I’ll go a month and not have anyone ask to see the old graveyard.”
“Three people?”
“Yeah. Some single guy, then two people actually asked if there was a room that overlooked the place. I checked it out. Nobody has ever, ever asked for a room with a view of the cemetery. At least as far as we can tell.”
“Really?”
“They asked for a view of the plot. Seems they have family that traces back to this piece of property.”
“No kidding?” James said.
Handing us a pass, the gate attendant pointed us in the direction of the Methodist property.
It was mid-afternoon and the temperature was up in the mid-eighties as the valet drove off in James’s truck.
Standing outside the fence, I gazed at the angel who had watched over the little graveyard during the worst storm in history. There she stood, surrounded by the beauty and the opulence of one of the finest resorts in the Florida Keys. The pool, ocean, suites, bar, and restaurants were just a stone’s throw away.
“This is the spot.” I walked it off. “There could be another nine boxes that surround the cemetery. They wouldn’t have interfered with the bodies, being fifteen feet away from the picket fence, but chances are no one would mess with them.”
“This evening we’ll know for sure.”
Maria had phoned Em. Everything was a go and the plan would go into action in the next three hours. In less than two hours, Maria Sanko had received the blessing of the hotel to dig up a portion of their precious beach and explore its suitability for sand sculptures. And they had no knowledge of what the real purpose was. The woman was a miracle worker.
Pacing the circumference of the cemetery, I happened to look up at the main resort building, directly to the west. Drapes in one of the bottom floor windows were open and there were two faces staring out at us.
I froze, realizing someone was watching. Someone was aware that we had an interest beyond the history of the dead bodies.
I froze, recognizing those faces. Markim and Weezle.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
“Dude, you’ve got to be wrong.”
“It was them, James. No question.”
“I checked at the desk. No such persons.”
“Look, they were there.”
“She looked it up. The desk clerk said absolutely no one has checked into that room yet.”
Closing my eyes, I pictured those two faces, staring intently at the three of us. As soon as I looked up, they disappeared. Either they ducked out of sight or vacated the room.
“James, it’s never that hard to get into a vacant room. The maid is in there and you walk in and ask if she can come back later, or you catch a door when someone walks out and you grab the handle before it closes all the way.”
“It’s that dark side of you, partner. That’s what intrigues me. That you think about things like that.”
I glanced at my cell phone and saw it was almost time for Maria to arrive. Glancing up, I saw her coming out of the lodge with a guy about our age.
“Skip, James, Emily, this is Diego. He’s in charge of special events here at the hotel.”
He shook our hands. “I am delighted that you two want to do a practice session here. I understand your benefactress will pay us one thousand dollars for this evening.”
We both just nodded our heads.
“You must be very good sculptors.”
“Up and comers,” Maria said. “They’ve won some contests in Europe, right boys?”
We nodded again.
She laid a hand on his arm. Surveying the beach, she looked up and down, then back at the cemetery.
“Diego, do you know anything about sand?”
“No.”
I saw a look of relief on her face. “Good. I mean, let me tell you a little bit about what we’re looking for and why the boys decided to use your beach to work on their project.”
She bent down and picked up a small pinch of sand.
“We’re looking for very small grain size. Maybe point one to point three millimeter grain size. And, we’re looking for sand with sediment still intact. You see, clay particles and other sediment help the sand pack hard. That’s what we’re looking for.”
“Is that what we have?”
She shook her head. “Hard to tell. We’re going to be bringing a dump truck load of similar sand and a small backhoe loader. We may mix our sand with your sand. It should give us a stronger bond, better packing.”
“A truck and backhoe? On our beach? You didn’t say anything about a truck and a backhoe.”
Maria smiled and shook her head. “Diego, please. Understand that that’s why we’re coming in later, so we can do this in relative privacy. No one will be on the beach at that hour and-”
“A dump truck? And a backhoe?”
“Diego,”-like a nurturing mother-like someone who was looking out for his best interest, like someone who wanted a one-hundred-thousand-dollar commission, “you get to keep the sand. And I know how it’s important to renourish your beach. It’s really a win-win proposition. It’s going to work out very well for you.”
The man frowned. “It is a worthwhile project, but-”
“We’ve brought yellow tape to cordon off this area. We’ll run it from the building to a post out by the water. For safety reasons, you understand. We can’t have people anywhere near us.”
“And you’re going to do this when?”
“Around eight or nine o’clock this evening. While we can still see, but most of your guests will not be outside.”
He was biting his lip. “A backhoe and a dump truck. It seems like an awfully big undertaking for a practice session.”
“Think about this, Diego. If the sand works, you’re going to have what may be an award-winning sculpture on your beach tomorrow. You’ll have it as long as you can preserve it. And, as the boys compete in national and international competitions, you’ll be able to say that Cheeca Lodge had the first. The original sculpture. A giant sand sculpture of a futuristic seahorse.”
“Okay, okay. We want to do this. We’ll make sure that we keep people away from your operation. Just put the rest of my beach back the way you found it.” He let out a deep breath. “Please?”
She smiled and touched his arm. “You’re not going to regret this, Diego. It could be a huge project.”
He was worried about the temporary truck and backhoe loader on his pristine beach, but dead people were right beneath the surface. I was just hoping that we didn’t unearth any of them.
We hung out by the pool, Em in her white shorts and blue halter top, James and I in cutoffs and sandals.
“I still don’t see how we’re going to load ten crates.”
“If those crates are really there,” I added.
“Dude, you found one.”
“Maybe.”
“Ten crates, about two hundred pounds each,” Em said.
James just smiled, taking a swallow of his beer. “Hey, this Sanko chick has got us this far. Ingenious, I say. Really.”
“High-end sand sculpting. I saw some of those down on South Beach one year.” Em sipped a rum and Coke. “Angels, naked women, Neptune, sea serpents, castles. The ideas were fabulous.”
I’d made several sandcastles as a kid. Small ones, using milk cartons as molds, but the role we were playing took things to an entirely different level.
“I want to know what happens tomorrow when Diego comes out here and there’
s no sculpture. I mean, what happens when he calls Maria and says, ‘Hey, where’s my one-of-a-kind world-famous sculpture?’”
I didn’t want to be here to find out.
“Maybe the sand wouldn’t bond, or one of you got sick. You had a fight and broke up, you decided not to share your idea with the world at this time. Come on Skip, James. You’re both born storytellers,” Em said. “Surely you can think of a dozen reasons for why there’s no sculpture tomorrow morning.”
James was silent for a moment. He had picked up a cheap cigar from a shop up the street and lit it, puffing until the smoke streamed from his mouth. He quenched his thirst with the last swallow of beer and looked at me.
“Wonder if there’s serious money in sculpting sand, Skip.”
“James, we don’t know the first thing about sand sculpting.”
“Think about it, amigo. No bosses. You get to play in the sand and water all day,” he glanced at Em, “work on a beach surrounded by bikini-clad girls who are oohing and ahhing about your work.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe not. I say we at least look into it.” He lay back and closed his eyes. “I Googled it, Skip. Fifteen to thirty thousand in prize money in these contests. And you’re kind of like the rock stars of the beach, huh?”
“James, we’re about to embark on a project that could gross us two million dollars. And you want to play around on the sand for fifteen thousand dollars?”
I know, it sounds absolutely crazy, but James is always half serious about his business ideas. Myself, I didn’t want to travel the world with a butter knife, cutting and smoothing lifeless sand into art forms.
It was eight o’clock when James and I ran the yellow tape from a pole by the building to a pole by the ocean, effectively cordoning off our section of the beach and the little cemetery.
At nine, the dump truck pulled up followed by a flatbed truck with a backhoe loader on the back. I have to admit I got a chill. Funded by Mrs. Trueblood, Maria Sanko had gotten us everything we needed.
Em, Maria, and James watched the perimeter. I supervised the dumping of a load of sand. After we’d created a mountain of the silicate and dirt, I helped the two drivers roll the tractor off the flatbed.