Great, I’ve probably hit a main pipe and killed the water for the entire hill.
I looked around to see if anyone could offer guidance, but I was alone. I dropped the shovel and bent down for a closer look. As I cleared a square of soil around the object, I was able to determine that it was a rusted metal box. With a little more digging and some help from Bardot, I managed to loosen it enough to get my fingers underneath and lift it to the surface. It had been painted red at one time and after tilting it toward and away from the sun I was able to make out writing that said LA UNION CIGARS.
Cool. I have just the spot for this antique in my office.
When I placed it in the wagon, I could feel something inside shifting. Once again I looked around, this time hoping that nobody was in viewing distance.
I used a small knife and delicately worked on the seal between the lid and the main box. It looked very old and may be worth something, so I didn’t want to damage the box anymore if I could help it. Like wrestling with opening a pickle jar, I finally heard the sound of air escaping and the lid popped up.
Inside I saw a piece of blue velvet fabric cut to fit snugly in the box. I carefully lifted it and placed it on the wagon. Beneath was a yellowed folded document. It had printed type on it as well as pen and ink handwriting. It all looked very official. When I opened it, I saw the words “DEED” and below the name “Anderson Rose” and the date, “April 16, 1902.”
I didn’t want to risk exposing it to the elements, so I folded it back up and returned it to the box, facedown. On the back was written Transfer of mineral rights. I hadn’t a clue what all this meant but my heart was racing. As I moved the box, I once again felt the weight of contents moving. It clearly wasn’t coming from that light piece of paper. I noticed that the deed and the fabric only took up a small portion of the depth of the box, so there was something under the bottom piece of velvet. Carefully, I lifted the deed up, sandwiched between the two protective pieces of fabric. Underneath was what looked like a men’s gold signet pinky ring and it bore a strange looking engraved crest and embellishment.
Cool.
When I looked up, I saw that Bardot was embracing her green paw and had been working feverishly on the far corner of the plot.
I need to nip this in the bud.
“Bardot, no more.” She looked at me with a big grin on her muddy face, and promptly went back to digging. I figured “just this once” and secured all the contents of my find back into the cigar tin. I had a fun project, now dirt is good.
I heard Bardot give off a high-pitched whine and noted that her digging had stopped. She was crouching and backing away from the hole.
Then I spotted it, a still partially fleshy, liver-spotted hand that seemed to be reaching out from the grave.
Crap. Here we go again.
Full Bodied Murder Page 22