A Treasure to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  Martha seemed satisfied that the pair had no interest in anyone but themselves, so the six walkers again proceeded along the Promenade, with Jason and Gwen continuing their conversation and laughter. At least they provided a good cover for Carrie and Eleanor, who were staying as far behind as they dared.

  Then Martha stopped and looked back a second time. Carrie and Eleanor pressed into the shadows as Jason turned to hug Gwen.

  Gwen giggled, and Carrie heard her say, “Oh, you are some tomcat.”

  Before Carrie could wonder what would happen if Gwen and Jason caught up with the women and had to pass them, Martha pulled Greta off the brick sidewalk and down a grass slope toward the back of one of the silent, empty bathhouses. Evidently the couple had been dismissed as people of no consequence, simply folks out on the town.

  In the glow from service lights Carrie saw Martha climb over a chain link fence guarding the sheer drop between the back wall of the bathhouse and the retaining wall against the base of the mountain. After what looked like more argument, she persuaded Greta to follow and helped her balance, first on a crossbar, then, very slowly, to crawl up until she cleared the rest of the fence. The women stepped easily over the gap between the mountainside and first floor roof covering the back side of the bathhouse. They walked across the flat roof to the wall of a second story that rose on the street side of the building. There were windows and a small door in the wall. Martha hesitated briefly at the door, undoubtedly unlocking it, then she switched on a flashlight and both women disappeared inside.

  Carrie studied the back of the bathhouse. It was a large building, probably the largest of the eight on the row, and there was a dome crowning its second story. She looked for light flickering behind the second story windows where Martha and Greta had entered, but could see none. They had evidently headed to some other part of the building as soon as they were inside. That meant the door was probably unguarded. Good. Now if it was only unlocked...

  “I recognize the dome,” Eleanor said in her ear. “It’s the Quapaw. What do we do next?”

  “Are you game to follow?” Carrie asked.

  “Sure. But where are Jason and Gwen? Let’s confer with them before we go through that door.”

  In a minute the other two returned along the path, keeping up their act until they reached the shadowed area where Eleanor and Carrie stood. Then, suddenly, both were all business, intent on the mission.

  “They went in there?” Gwen whispered, pointing to the door.

  “Yes. I suppose an unused bathhouse would make a dandy place to hide someone. Agree?”

  “It would. I guess Brooks, Bell, and Company overlooked that because the buildings are supposed to be almost inaccessible. Most of them don’t have any opening in the back at all, and of course they’re fenced. Well, the boys will soon learn about access. I’m calling for help.”

  “For heaven’s sake, tell everyone to keep quiet!” Carrie said.

  “Don’t worry, they will know enough to do that,” Gwen told her.

  “I’ll try to get in through that door,” Carrie said, “and take a look around. They probably aren’t in this part of the building. I don’t see any lights. Maybe Eleanor can keep watch by the entrance while I’m inside. We’ll signal for you to join us after I see where they are and what they’re doing, especially if I find Henry and Brad Jorgenson. If Martha and Greta happen to catch me, well, one silly woman will seem less threatening than a man and a cop.”

  Jason’s voice was sharp. “No, it’s not safe. Wait for the FBI.”

  “Legions of cops and agents can’t do what I can,” Carrie said. “We need to find out if Henry and Brad really are there and exactly where in the building they’re being held before any rescue is attempted. That’s a huge place—looks like three floors including the basement. I’ll be very quiet, stay out of sight, and take a look around, find out what we face. I still have my trusty little flashlight and can use it as long as I don’t hear any noise or see a light. Think about it. That’s the best way. I will be careful because if they hear someone coming, they could...hurt Henry and Brad.”

  “No! Stay here,” Gwen said. “Jason’s right, there’s too much danger. Besides, you’d make a wonderful hostage, and we don’t need any more people to rescue.”

  But Carrie and Eleanor were already climbing the fence.

  Chapter XXIV

  Henry

  The footsteps were getting louder. Had to get out! Too helpless...had to break the cabinet door, get out.

  Sweating, Henry bent his knees, braced his feet against the front of the steam cabinet and—with all the strength he could gather—shoved, over and over. The door moved slightly but showed no signs of breaking open. Finally he gave up and slumped back, defeated, though his mind still raged against this diabolical prison. Even if he could break the front door, he hadn’t any idea how to open the doors locked around his neck. Why did people ever choose to get in these things? They were nothing but miniature torture chambers. Once he was out, he’d never get in one again. When he was out...when he...was anyone searching for them? Where was Carrie right now? Surely she was safe...Bell would be with her now.

  As Henry’s rage subsided, frustration and regret took its place. In the face of Brad Jorgenson’s comment about how effective steam cabinets were as a prison and the description of his own attempts to free himself before Henry got there, well, he was sorry he’d even tried to break out. Brad, a strong, physically fit young man, knew what he was talking about, and Henry shouldn’t have doubted that. Such stuff could be humiliating to a junior officer. The ability to understand junior officers was one reason Henry had risen to the top of his unit in the Kansas City Police Department. His trust in those under him built a cohesive, effective team.

  But no matter how young, the officer would also understand something about Henry...the feeling of frustration, helplessness, even fear; the need to fight against his prison. He’d know how Henry felt and why he had to keep fighting. Henry, after all, was only a man. He had to keep fighting.

  They could hear voices now, two women. It sounded like one was complaining about being brought to this derelict bathhouse.

  “I’ll act like I’m still under the influence of the drug,” he whispered. “Might help us if they thought that.” He hadn’t any idea how long the effects of this particular drug were supposed to last, but then, people reacted differently to drugs.

  Brad didn’t answer. The women were silent now and might be close enough to hear.

  Henry wished, as he had several times earlier, that the edge of the metal rim circling his neck was padded. When the cabinets were in daily use attendants probably put towels around the necks of people sitting in them. Now, flopping his head over against the sharp edge hurt, no matter which direction he flopped. But then lots of things hurt, his shoulder and head included.

  A flashlight beamed through the door; he could sense its light against his eyelids. The next thing he heard was a startled cry from one of the women. Greta Hunt’s voice.

  “What? Why are these men in the steam cabinets? Mattie, what is this? They’re all locked up. What’s going on—they look like prisoners.”

  “They are prisoners, Greta dear. That one is a Hot Springs cop who got in the way. You know the other guy, your old friend, Henry King. We have him so he can tell us where our money is hidden.”

  That voice sounded like Martha Rae Jones. Henry supposed it was the Jones woman, though she seemed able to change her voice as well as her looks at will. She had sure done a good job mimicking Eleanor and a hotel housekeeper.

  He detected new noises...a clink, striking of a match, humming whoosh. He recognized the sounds. Someone was lighting a propane lantern. Steady light beat against his eyes and he heard the high shhhhh of pressure-fed gas burning.

  Greta spoke again, her voice pinched and squeaky. “You have Henry King? Have him? A prisoner? Money? You think this man is Hank...oh, I don’t believe what you’re saying. This is crazy.”

&nb
sp; “Don’t play the innocent with me, Greta. You knew what you were doing when you sent me that Elderhostel list, sent it to me and to Mark. You want your share of the money as much as we do. We all knew Victor Bogardus held the key, wherever he’d got to. If you didn’t want help finding our money, why would you let us know Victor’s son was coming back to Hot Springs after all these years?”

  “Well, of course I recognized the name and thought you’d find it as interesting as I did.” Greta’s voice was stronger, incredulous, scornful. Instinctively Henry thought, Watch out, Greta. The Jones woman is a loose cannon. Don’t make her angry.

  “It sure wasn’t because of that old story about some hidden money. I don’t care a thing about that, and I know Mark doesn’t either. Why would he? He’s rich already. He has very important friends in Chicago, some of them high up in government. And we certainly weren’t thinking about you doing this stupid, wicked thing, not...not putting men in steam cabinets. Mark wouldn’t condone this.”

  Martha’s voice turned to acid. “Oh, wouldn’t he now? Think again, little Greta.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Mattie, get it through your head that Mark’s a big, important man. He’s head of a huge law firm and has lots of famous clients. Even people from other countries have him represent them in the United States. He doesn’t need money somebody is supposed to have hidden here forty years ago. Besides, Stephen says he doubts there’s any money left now. He should know—he talked to Hank, he wrote the story. Stephen says if there ever was money it’s already been found; whoever found it, kept it and didn’t say anything.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “I could not care less what you think, Mattie, and where is Mark? You lied to me. He isn’t even here. You said he needed me...”

  “Oh, he does, little Greta, he does. He needs you to tell me who this man is.”

  “One of my Elderhostel group, Henry King, and you’d better let him and this other man out. They could sue you. You could get arrested for false imprisonment...or something. I’ll call the police...the FBI.”

  “Shut up about the police, Greta. You’re beginning to make me angry. You always were a self-righteous little snot, spoiled rotten by Mark and your folks. Well, I’m not impressed, and all I want from you now is confirmation of who this man is.”

  “I told you, a man from the Elderh...”

  “It is Henry King?”

  “Sure. And you think it’s the Henry King from way back when?” Greta began laughing. “Well, there might be more than one Henry King in this part of the world.”

  Henry heard the sound of a slap. Brad said, “Hey!” as Greta’s laugh changed to a cry of pain.

  “Who is he?” That was Martha Jones’s voice again—sharp, angry. “Mark said he’s the one Stephen got all the inside information from, the man who told him what happened back in the ‘60s.”

  Greta was laughing again, but now her laugh sounded more like hysterics. “Oh, boy, oh, boy, Mattie, did you get fooled. Hank King, the one Stephen talked to, only told him about the money because he was dying and didn’t care any more who knew his story. All he cared about was that Stephen didn’t publish it until after he was dead. Stephen kept his word, and Hank King from Hot Springs was buried last spring. Did it ever occur to you that this might not be the same man?”

  “Oh, yes, it occurred to me, it just didn’t occur to your stupid brother. He said looks can change, hair can be dyed. That’s why I brought you here, because your brother insisted this man was the key to finding our money, and I suspected...well, never mind. I’ve proved he isn’t who Mark thinks he is.”

  “You’re lying about Mark. He had nothing to do with this. He wouldn’t...why, he isn’t even here. Now, open the cabinets and let these men go.”

  “I don’t think so, Greta. I don’t think so.”

  “You aren’t thinking. Shelley said...”

  “Shelley?” It was a shriek. “What’s she got to do with this? I never told her about the money. I wanted her to think her dad and I...”

  “Oh, it’s nothing to do with some imaginary money. Shelley’s worried about you, that’s all. We still exchange Christmas cards, so I wrote her to get your address after Everett Bogardus sent in his registration. I thought you’d have a good time at this Elderhostel and that it would be fun for all of us to see what Victor’s son was like now. I thought you and Mark might remember him as a boy.

  “Shelley said you were still mourning the death of her dad and spent too much time alone. She told me inviting you here was a good idea, it would perk you up, help you meet new people. She thought you’d feel at home in Hot Springs and it would be good for you to see what the town is like today, help you get away from the past and have some fun.”

  Now Martha Jones sounded sulky. “Shelley always wanted to boss me, even when she was a little girl.”

  “Shelley only wants...”

  “Stop it, Greta. My daughter is out of this. I brought you here to tell me who this man is, that’s all. You’d better leave now. I’m sure you can manage that fence by yourself. And I wouldn’t get smart and think you want to tell anyone about these men. Don’t forget Stephen Hunt is as much involved as Mark and I are. He’s the one who found out about all the money, remember? Oh, he’s involved, all right, and the FBI would be very interested to learn that. You can imagine how guilty he’d look to them. ”

  “You can’t...are you threatening me? Oh, Mattie, just look at those poor men.” Greta’s voice changed, quavered. “One of them, see him, Henry King from my Elderhostel, he looks sick or...dead.”

  “Oh, no, Greta, he’s a long way from dead yet.” There was a pause, a scuffling of feet as Martha Jones bent so close to Henry that he could feel her breath on his forehead and smell the onions she’d had for supper. “But you may be right, he could be acting dead. He should have come out of that drug by now.”

  “Drug? What have you done?” Feet scraped again. “I am getting out of here, and I am going to call the police. You can’t do this. You can’t hurt these men, so you just run now, Mattie, run. Get away from here. Your father ran from the police. You run too. Maybe you’ll have better luck getting away than he did.”

  Martha Jones’ shriek was so close to Henry’s ear that only long training kept him from flinching. “Oh, no, Greta, no, you don’t. Not unless you want Mark in jail for murder, not unless you want your precious Stephen’s career ruined.”

  Greta was shouting back now. Maybe adrenaline had taken over. “This is crazy, a stupid nightmare. If you let these men go right now, I won’t call the police. And stop talking about Mark. He wouldn’t put up with this. That’s crazy.”

  “Well, who do you think killed old man Bogardus’s son? Use your head for once. You know Everett Bogardus was murdered even if your precious Elderhostel folks don’t. It wasn’t me who did that deed. I was with the tour group the whole time. Mark wasn’t. He was gone for more than thirty minutes—ask anyone. I’ll bet even the FBI knows that by now. It was your brother who killed Victor’s son. Mark slashed his throat. Talk about stupid. He probably killed the only man who knew where our money is.”

  Greta’s shout became a cry of fury...or fear. Henry couldn’t tell which. Then the noise stopped as suddenly as if someone had cut her throat too.

  But no one had. After a few moments the room was filled with soft, whimpered sobs and the words, “No, no, Mattie, no.” Unmistakably Greta’s voice. What was Martha doing?

  The fear that had been bubbling just under the surface of Henry’s thoughts came out full force now. Martha Rae Jones did not plan for him or Brad Jorgenson to leave this place alive. Alive, either of them could do too much damage to her and to Marcus Trotter. Dead, there would be only very silent bodies to dispose of. He was beginning to suspect that Marcus Trotter from Chicago might be very good at disposing of dead bodies.

  That’s when cool metal touched Henry’s right ear. At the moment of contact he smelled an odor that was burned in his brain after long years of fa
miliarity with it—the oily-sweet scent of gun-cleaning solvent. Almost before his brain could register the smell, he heard the unmistakable snap of a revolver hammer.

  Chapter XXV

  Carrie

  As she and Eleanor scurried across the flat roof, Carrie could see that the door Greta and Martha had used was obviously a utility door, put in place to allow workers access to skylights and equipment. Stile-like wooden steps led up to a sill at the same level as the bottom of the windows next to it. Probably the door had once been a window.

  Carrie climbed the steps, reached for the handle, turned it, pushed. The door wasn’t locked. She opened it a crack and peeked through. The building was dark and silent. She eased the door shut, climbed back down, faced Eleanor.

  Eleanor looked exactly like a woman trying to appear brave and fearless. In other words, she was as scared as Carrie.

  “I sure dread going in there, but...”

  “Maybe we should...”

  They stared at each other.

  Finally Carrie broke the silence. “If it weren’t for Henry, you wouldn’t find me anywhere near this place, but I can’t think how else we’ll learn what’s going on inside and do it quickly enough to be of help. Henry could be in great danger right now. Oh, Eleanor, if only I hadn’t been so interested in what Everett Bogardus was doing in that basement...”

  Resolve flew into Eleanor’s face and she held up a hand. “Hush now. We have a mission to complete. You said if we stuck together we’d be okay, and I agree with that. Therefore I am coming in the building with you.”

  “Only to just inside the door. Maybe there will be a place you can hide while I look around. You’ll be my back-up, listen for problems, and summon the agents after I case the place...search, you know? Shall we go?”

  She climbed the stairs again and pushed the door wide open.

  The windows next to the door were painted over, but front windows in the room they entered faced the street with its multiple lights. Since their eyes were already used to the dark, Carrie didn’t turn on her flashlight. The room was empty except for bits of miscellaneous junk lying around. She wondered if there was something here she might use as a weapon. If only she’d brought the geologist’s pick with her.