Swope's Ridge

by Ace Collins

  “Yes,” the professor replied, his tone showing he was unimpressed. “The medal’s not worth much, but it’s an interesting piece. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

  “But look at the ring.” Lije all but begged his guest.

  “Mmm. It’s in really good shape,” Cathcart noted, turning the ring over with his fingers. “But again, except for sentimental reasons, it has little value. No offense.”

  Taking the ring from the professor, Lije held it up as if to emphasize its importance. “This belonged to my great-aunt who disappeared in 1946. Recently it was sold out of the Kansas estate of a bachelor farmer, as was that medal. How would a farmer in the Midwest end up with JoJo Worle’s ring? Makes the mind spin.”

  “I’ve got no explanation,” Cathcart said, “but it does spell out a somewhat tantalizing mystery. Still, I’d think it can wait—”

  Ignoring the fact that his long-time friend was trying to tell him something, Lije said, “Professor, I need to tell you about something we found on Swope’s Ridge.”

  Cathcart seemed to forget his original mission as, over the next half hour, the lawyer told him about the body they had discovered under the bus and what Curtis had learned in Germany. As Lije spoke, the professor picked up the ring and took another look at what he had thought was nothing more than an insignificant family heirloom.

  “You’re telling me that you believe this all ties in to something that happened more than five decades ago in Kansas? That the body under the bus, the ring, and the medal are all connected?”

  “I don’t know, but wouldn’t it be worth three days of your time to find out? You love mysteries.”

  Cathcart glanced down at the old Nazi medal. “It is interesting, but I don’t relish a long drive right now. It’s not like we’re going to Little Rock.”

  “We don’t have to drive. Great Lakes Airlines serves Jonesboro. It’s a ninety-minute drive there, then we catch a plane that will do a bit of puddle jumping. We might have a couple of layovers, but that’s all it will take to get us to Liberal, Kansas. We rent a car and thirty minutes later we’re at the Schneider farm. We can leave tomorrow and have this whole thing cleared up by Friday.”

  “Okay,” Cathcart said, his tone reluctant. “Call me when you find out when we leave.”

  Lije grinned at his old friend. “I’ll let you know by this afternoon.”

  Cathcart took a final look at the ring and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  37

  LIJE HAD ALREADY PICKED UP THE PHONE WHEN JANIE walked into his office.

  “Just a second,” he whispered to her.

  “I really need to show you something,” she insisted.

  “Let me make these reservations.” He held up his hand as if she could see the gesture. “Yes, sir, I need two tickets for tomorrow on Great Lakes that will take me from Jonesboro to Garden City, Kansas. The names on the tickets will be Elijah Evans and Robert Cathcart…Yes, that’s right…American Express…If you’re ready, I can give you the number.”

  While the reservations were being made, Janie stood patiently waiting to be acknowledged. Finally Lije hung up, smiled, and said, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You’ve been trying to catch me all morning. What can I do for you?”

  Janie never got the chance to speak. Jameson stormed in. “What about the stuff McGee’s going to send me? Checked my email. Nothing there. And I’m leaving for Little Rock in a few minutes.”

  “Call his office and pick it up there,” Lije said. “By the way, Heather, I’m going to Kansas for a couple of days, so hold down the fort. If you need me, I’m just a phone call away.”

  “What’s in Kansas? You looking for Oz?”

  “Believe it or not, maybe some answers about Swope’s Ridge.”

  “Really. What could…No, tell me later. I’m late.” Jameson hurried out of the office.

  Janie cleared her throat. “I need you to look at something.”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “It’s—”

  Curtis barged in, moving past Janie and Harlow, waving a piece of paper. “I just got a report from the sheriff’s office on the bomb in my car.”

  “Good. Anything useful?”

  “The ATF said the bomb used to transform my car into a twisted metal hulk was a professional job.”

  “No doubt,” Janie said.

  “The ATF said the device was set on a timer to go off within a few seconds of the car being entered. Opening the door triggered the countdown. It was supposed to take me out as I was driving away from the office. Oh, and they think it was hidden inside a Coke can.”

  “No way of knowing who did it?” Lije asked.

  “No. They were careful. And there are no surveillance cameras in this block. Are there even any in this whole town?”

  “So we still have nothing,” Lije noted. “We still have no idea who’s been trying to pick you off.”

  “No. I need to go to Batesville and pick up a new car. Okay if I leave now? There’s an insurance guy waiting out front for me.”

  “Fine. I’ll probably be gone all day tomorrow.”

  38

  THEY HEARD THE FRONT DOOR OF THE OFFICE CLOSE. Lije looked back toward Janie, but as he did, the phone rang.

  “Let it go,” she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. Inside was the piece of onionskin paper. “I found this yesterday.”

  Taking the thin paper from his assistant, Lije looked back to the phone that was now hitting its third ring.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Janie warned.

  How did she know he was considering answering the phone? While the phone continued to beg for his attention, Lije moved to his desk and sat down. Janie found a chair in front of the desk and took a seat. Harlow plopped down beside her.

  Lije held up the small piece of paper to get a better look, with his desk lamp illuminating the writing from the back. This note had to mean something, though no words leaped from the page. The person who had written the note had excellent penmanship. The writing was careful and precise; there was a complete break each time the writer had picked up the pencil at the end of one letter and started the next. These weren’t words, at least none he knew. It looked more like a chemical formula. He had no idea what the series of letters and numbers and symbols meant. “What is this?”

  “I was hoping you’d know.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “When we were in church yesterday, I noticed one of the satin ribbons used as a page marker in Bleicher’s Bible was different from the others.”

  “No, I examined them when we found the body.” His tone was defensive but not harsh. “All four were the same. They were from some funeral home, purple and in pristine condition.”

  “One was actually two ribbons. They’d been sewn together to look like one. When I pulled out the stitches, I found that paper hidden inside.”

  Lije got up, rushed over to the office door, and closed and locked it. He returned to his desk and sat down to carefully examine the note.

  What was recorded? Why was it hidden in the Bible that they’d found with the body? What made it so important? Did it have anything to do with the Ark and the legend that brought Bleicher to the U.S.?

  He turned to click on his computer, waited for the screen to refresh. He hesitated, his hands over the keyboard. If this paper was the key to unlocking the mystery that had cost so many lives, he couldn’t risk sending out an electronic transmission. Email could easily be intercepted. Using the phone was not an option either. He needed to have the writing, which looked like a formula, analyzed. He needed someone he could trust.

  “What is it?” Janie asked.

  “Some kind of formula.”

  He picked up the phone and pushed redial.

  “Reservations, please.” He waited a few seconds. “This is Elijah Evans. I made two reservations for Garden City, Kansas, a few minutes ago. I need to cancel them…That’s right…Thank you.”

>   He pulled out his cell, scanned his directory, and hit Send. A familiar voice answered.

  “Dr. Cathcart, this is Lije. Something just came up. Would you go with me to OBU tomorrow? I’ll explain when I see you…Good, I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Why are you going to Ouachita? And with Professor Cathcart?” Janie asked as he snapped the cell phone shut.

  “Only you and I know about the formula. Don’t tell anyone else in the office. I need to have someone I trust look at the formula. He’s at OBU. And I need a cover for why I’m going to the university. If anybody asks why my plans changed, tell them Cathcart needed a ride to Arkadelphia and I felt I owed him.”

  Harlow turned her head and yipped. It almost sounded as if the dog was issuing a greeting. Strange, Janie thought.

  “What’s up with Harlow?”

  “I don’t know. She usually doesn’t make a sound. Do you think this piece of paper holds the answer?”

  “I don’t know, but it was hidden for a reason. Someone was very careful to preserve it. Without your special touch, Janie, it might never have been found.”

  39

  UNTIL HE ACTUALLY STEPPED ONTO THE GREEN LAWNS of OBU, Robert Cathcart had forgotten just how much he missed teaching. It felt incredible to be back at a college—the students walking across the campus, the instructors standing under trees sharing stories, and the unmistakable feeling of learning in progress. He had found the fountain of youth. The energy that was a part of higher education seemed to wipe twenty years off Cathcart’s age.

  The four-hour drive had been wonderful. Lije Evans was an interesting fellow. He was driven to find the truth. Yet he had a unique way of looking at life in multiple hues. The lawyer saw things not in black and white but in shades of gray. His clear sense of right and wrong did not inhibit his ability to forgive those who blended that distinctive line. That was a good quality needed in more classrooms, pulpits, industries, and in government.

  Lije had asked him to see if he could dig up more information on the Ark of Death legend in the World War II archives kept in the history department’s library. He figured that would give him time to take care of other business in a different building.

  Lije parked the Prius and led the way to the heart of the campus. “The history department is in the building just to your right, Lyle Hall,” Lije said. “The person you need to meet with is Dr. Edith Lehning. She’s expecting you. She can get you into the right section of the archives.”

  Edith Lehning! How many years had it been? Until Lije said her name, Cathcart had had no idea what happened to her. They’d each been working on a master’s at Brown. They’d shared notes and conversations. A few years later, he discovered she was teaching at the University of Iowa. Then he lost track of her. How many times had he promised he would find her? Yet he never had. Why not? Now, all these years later, the tall, willowy brunette with the startling aqua eyes had landed in Arkansas.

  “Dr. Cathcart,” Lije said. His words snapped the professor’s chain of memories, the late-night study sessions, the concerts, a kiss under an archway at a long-forgotten boarding house.

  “Yes,” Cathcart answered, trying to refocus.

  “You go ahead. I want to visit a friend in the Jones Science Building. We went to school together and it’s been years since I’ve seen him. I’ll wait for your call and meet you wherever you are.”

  “I might be a while.” It was as much a wish as anything.

  “Take as long as you like. I’m sure Nate and I can kill a couple hours.”

  Cathcart watched his friend walk into a newer brick building before turning to the steps that led to the history department. He suddenly felt like a kid on a first date. Lehning’s office was just inside the front door on the right side of the hall. He stood just outside her office and wished he had more time to get himself ready for the reunion. Wished he had worn a suit—the gray tweed one would have been perfect.

  He stuck his head in and saw no secretary or assistant, so he walked through the outer office toward an open door on the far wall. She was there, sitting at her desk, her head down, reading what appeared to be a student’s paper.

  Had it been forty years? Maybe for him but not for her. Yes, there were a few gray streaks in her shoulder-length hair, but her skin still glowed with the freshness of youth. Why had it taken him so long to get back to this place in his life?

  He knew he needed to speak. He had to announce his presence, but something held him back. Like a gangly teen, he searched for both courage and words.

  “Edie?” Did he just say it or did he only think it?

  She raised her head and their eyes met. “Bobby?”

  Like one of those plaster dogs with the spring-mounted neck, his head bobbed. His throat was suddenly dry.

  “Bobby.” She smiled. “It’s you. It’s really you. Are you still chasing trains?”

  40

  “ACTUALLY,” CATHCART SAID WITH A GRIN, “I CAUGHT one, Edie.”

  She stood up, swept around her desk like a ballerina, opened her arms, and together they erased the empty years. He had no idea what she was feeling, but the tumble of emotions falling on him was like a strong summer rain. As her heart beat with his, he suddenly knew how much he had missed.

  “Would you like to sit down?” she asked as she stepped back.

  Was that a tear in her eye? Surely not! Nodding, he took the chair to his right. She studied him for a moment, then chose a matching chair, dragging it to a spot right in front of his, so close that as she sat down their knees almost touched.

  “That train you finally caught,” she said, “I saw the stories on the news. That was something you talked to me about when we were in grad school.”

  “I talked your ear off.”

  “I think it’s why you never married.”

  Was there a hint of sadness in her tone? “Time sometimes rewards us, but it also shines a harsh light on the many things we should have done. I have regrets.”

  “We all do, but we also have so many blessings. My students. They are the children I never had.”

  “You never married?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “Too busy trying to become too smart…Now…why are you here?”

  He wished he didn’t have a reason. He wished he could just spend one more day with her. It seemed a sin to break the spell that had magically wiped away so many years. Yet he was on yet another mission, one that would again take him away from where he wanted to be. And if Lije was right, lives were in danger. “I need your help to track down a World War II legend. Ever hear of the Nazi’s Ark of Death?”

  “Heard of it! That legend is my old train.” She chuckled. “You’d know that if you had ever given me a chance to tell you. It’s not a legend. It’s real! “

  “Oh…we need to work together on this.” He hoped she would agree. “But it might be a dead end. I can’t guarantee this will lead anywhere.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s more about what you learn from the search than it is what you find.”

  Those words! He had said them exactly that way so long ago. They’d been standing in front of a boarding house. Evidently she remembered that night too. Except then he had been talking about the risk of looking for love.

  He looked into her eyes and realized that the impossible had happened—time had somehow backed up to a cool fall evening and the worn steps of a boarding house.

  41

  “NATHANIEL.”

  The man looked up from a microscope and grinned. “Lije Evans! Liji-Boy, you’re looking pretty good.”

  Lije walked over and shook the hand of a man who’d once lived down the hall from him during his college dorm days. While Lije was not as close with him as he was with McGee, Nathaniel Brooks had been a good friend. They’d played on the same intramural basketball team and often double-dated. Lije couldn’t begin to count their road trips to football and basketball games and the monthly hops over to Hot Springs to watch a movie or to bowl. Smart, athletic, driven,
Nate had been at the top of the class.

  Getting up off his stool and pushing it under the laboratory table, Brooks said, “Good to see you. Remember when folks used to call us Salt and Pepper?”

  “Still haven’t figured that out,” Lije said, jabbing at his friend’s shoulder.

  “Don’t suppose it had anything to do with the fact I’m black and you are…how can I say this…pale?”

  “Naw. Must’ve been something else.”

  Joshing each other had long been at the center of their friendship. A part of it had been simple personality—they were both cutups. Jokes had also masked their rather obvious economic and cultural differences. Lije had come to school in a new car, sporting an expensive wardrobe and a hefty bank account he could tap. Brooks had ridden in from West Memphis on a Trailways bus with everything he owned packed in his grandfather’s old Navy footlocker. Yet for reasons neither fully grasped, they had discovered a special bond that began when they sat next to each other in Dr. Root’s Introduction to Writing their freshman year.

  Brooks wrote a short note on a paper beside the microscope, then removed his white coat and draped it over a chair. With a roll of his head he signaled for Lije to come with him into his office.

  “We’re looking for a cure for MS,” Brooks said.

  “You hitting me up for a donation?” Lije asked.

  “Not directly, but it never hurts to make folks aware. My junior and senior students are researching new ways to treat multiple sclerosis. There’s some good work going on here; we just need more funding. These kids might just uncover something that would end a lot of pain and suffering.”

  The smile melted from Brooks’ face. “I’m sure it’s been hard for you,” he said.

  Brooks didn’t have to say more for Lije to know what he was thinking. “I’ve tried to keep busy. I miss Kaitlyn.”

  “Not knowing who did it, that would be the toughest part.”