by Carol Miller
Daisy touched Bobby’s arm again, and this time she stopped him. “Do you see those dark areas over there?” She tried to guide his gaze toward the caves without using her flashlight. “Three of them in a row to the right of that big cluster of boulders and just above the pointy outcropping?”
He followed her directions. “Are those them? The roosting caves?”
“I think so. It looked like there were only two before, except we were a lot further away then. If you want my opinion, that’s where we should go.”
Bobby agreed without the slightest deliberation. “We’ll cut over from the trail after the next switchback. We’re going to have to go across the boulders, because we can’t come up from under the outcropping. But that’s good. We won’t be as visible or make as much noise on the rocks as we would in the woods.”
It was an excellent approach, and it gave Daisy an increased sense of confidence. If they were lucky, the geocachers might not see their lights after all, at least not until they were actually at the caves. Although he needed her to show him their destination, Bobby had a remarkable forte for figuring out the best—and most concealed—way to get there. It was the hunter in him. Only instead of an eight-point buck, he was tracking his fiancée.
Keeping their flashlights down and speaking as little as possible, they finished their trek on the trail. As soon as they hit the switchback, Bobby slowed his stride and studied the undergrowth for the right place to turn toward the caves.
“Maps,” he mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?” Daisy asked.
“You said old maps.”
Her brow furrowed, not understanding the relevance.
“Ha!” Bobby exclaimed suddenly in a low tone. “I knew I’d find ’em. Look!”
Straining her eyes in the darkness, Daisy followed his outstretched finger. He was pointing at something just off the trail in between the trees. It was a thick pile of branches. They appeared to have been cut and stacked. Then she saw what was under them. The branches had been cut and stacked to cover a pair of ATVs.
She squeezed his elbow in excitement. “You may get lost a lot, Bobby, but you’ve also got some awesome backwoods skills. If Rick were here, he would be mighty proud of you.”
“Aw, shucks. Thanks, Daisy.”
The man practically beamed with gratitude and pride.
“Well, let’s go then,” she said with a smile. “We don’t want to keep Laurel waiting any longer than she already has.”
Bobby headed into the trees first, which Daisy didn’t mind. Just as with the path from the campground to the trailhead, if he was in front of her, then he couldn’t wander away without her noticing. But unlike the path from the campground to the trailhead, there was no clear route for them to follow. All they had was a general direction—through the woods, across the boulders, to the caves. At least there was no longer any question about them being the correct caves. The secreted ATVs were proof enough of that. And because of them, Daisy found her confidence waning a bit. As happy as she was that they had found the ATVs, so they knew for certain they were on the right track, it also meant that the geocachers were close. Very close.
Twigs snapped against their legs, and dried leaves crackled beneath their feet. Both Daisy and Bobby moved as lightly as they could, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. If the geocachers were inside the caves, they probably wouldn’t hear them. If they were outside, they most likely would. Bobby paused occasionally to listen. No twigs snapped or leaves crackled in reply. It was growing late. The night seemed to have fewer sounds now. Except Daisy knew that it was just an illusion. She was listening so hard for some sign of the geocachers that she heard nothing else.
Finally they reached the boulders. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be one massive sheet of rock rather than a collection of individual stones. Daisy reached out and touched it. The face of the rock was smooth—too smooth to make it an easy climb. But thankfully, it was solid stone, not the typical Pittsylvania County clay, which tended to first compact and then crumble when subjected to any substantial amount of weight.
“How’s the knee?” she asked Bobby for the second time that evening.
“It’s fine,” he answered without quailing. “It’s going to have to be.”
Nodding at him encouragingly, Daisy reached out and touched the rock again. She felt around for the craggiest part. It was where she would start. When she found a suitably rough and uneven spot, she freed her other hand by tucking her flashlight into the placket of her jacket. That way she would have at least a little light to guide her. Daisy wished that she had a headlamp instead, and she could already guess that she was going to wish it even more when they got to the caves.
“Good luck,” she said to Bobby, as she stepped from the relatively safe and level dirt onto the sloping stone.
It wasn’t a fun climb, primarily because Daisy couldn’t really see where she was going. She had to move by a combination of touch and pressure. Her fingers first tried to find a place to grip, then her feet tried to find a place that would hold her. She slipped repeatedly, and on one occasion, she slid nearly a full body length before managing to grab a jagged piece of rock to stop herself. Based on the muffled mutterings and cursing not far from her ear, Daisy knew that Bobby wasn’t having a good time, either.
She ended up half crawling like an unsteady toddler and half slithering like a slightly tipsy snake until her legs at last landed on the blissfully flat and horizontal outcropping on the other side of the sheet of stone. The trio of caves lay above her. Below her and the pointy outcropping was open air. If she accidentally stumbled off its edge, then she tumbled down the mountain. As Daisy waited for Bobby to join her, she couldn’t help but think that if there actually was silver hidden in the vicinity, this would be a particularly well-chosen hidey-hole for it: accessible but definitely not too accessible. The old geezers with their charts and notebooks and metal detectors weren’t climbing around here.
“How the heck did they do that while carrying all the cream cheese?” Bobby wondered, skidding over the final section of rock and coming to a wobbly halt next to her.
“Very carefully,” Daisy replied, gesturing toward the precipitous drop-off beneath them. “And probably during daylight hours.”
He grunted and looked up. She looked up too. There was a ledge in between them and the caves. It was neither thick nor high. They would have no trouble scrambling over it, but it blocked their view completely. If there was anything—or anyone—at the entrance to the caves, they wouldn’t know it until they were directly in front of it.
“I hate going up blind,” Bobby grumbled.
“There’s no light shining out,” Daisy said.
“They might have turned it off to lull us.”
A noise echoed from the caves. It sounded like a cough.
Bobby clucked his tongue. “Somebody sure is in there.” He adjusted the rifle on his back. “I’ll go first. At least that way they can’t get both of us at once. If it’s clear, I’ll give you a signal.”
Putting his hands on the ledge, he gave a little jump and pulled himself up. Daisy winced in anticipation as his body disappeared. Mercifully, nothing happened. No shouts, no shooting, not even another cough. After a minute, Bobby clucked his tongue again. It was safe. He reached an arm down to help lift her over the ledge. Daisy clambered up next to him, and together they gazed at the caves.
There were three openings. None was tall enough for an average-size adult to walk through upright. One was too small for even a coyote to squeeze inside. But the other two were usable. A man could hunch down and enter both of them. And although Daisy could only guess at the size of a Confederate keg filled with Mexican silver dollars, she thought that the two entrances were probably also wide enough for a keg to be rolled through.
Dropping to his knees for a better look, Bobby reported in a whisper, “This one’s got some light. It’s way back in there, but it’s definitely light.”
Da
isy gulped.
He inspected the other openings. “There’s light in this one too. And in the little one.”
“All three?” She frowned. “How can that be?”
“Maybe it’s like you said earlier. The entrances aren’t big, but there’s a much bigger chamber further in the cave. They could all lead to it.”
“Or there are an awful lot of geocachers with lights,” Daisy countered.
It was Bobby’s turn to frown. “There’s a smell. It’s strange.”
She bent down next to him. There was indeed an odd odor emanating from the caves. It was faint, and she couldn’t identify it.
“So which one do we try?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. Flip a coin?”
“Rick always says go with your shootin’ hand.” Bobby checked his right fist. It was turned slightly to the left. “Left,” he determined with all earnestness, and immediately headed toward the opening on the left.
For a moment, Daisy stared after him. They were picking a cave based on the direction of Bobby’s shooting hand? Then she shrugged. If all the entrances did in fact lead to one big chamber, it didn’t really matter which they chose.
The cave was cold and damp—the kind of cold and damp that sunk deep into your bones, making them feel rigid and brittle. With the unidentified light shining dimly from the back, the surrounding walls looked more inky violet than black. Both Daisy and Bobby had to stoop over too much to have their guns at the ready, but Bobby kept one hand vigilantly on the strap of his Winchester, and Daisy slid her palm back into the pocket containing the Ruger. After a dozen feet, they heard the same noise echo as before. It was almost certainly a cough.
“Could you tell if that was Laurel?” Daisy whispered.
Bobby shook his head.
They continued another dozen feet, and the cave gradually began to expand. It grew both in height and in width, until they could eventually straighten up and stand next to each other. Bobby stopped and circled his flashlight around. Everything was wet from condensation—the floor, the ceiling, and the walls. There were no bats in sight, but there were numerous side passages. Some were too tiny to hold anything more than spiders and newts. Others could have housed a slumbering bear.
“This place is like a maze,” Bobby mused.
“That could be why they needed those maps,” Daisy responded, more to herself than to him.
The cough repeated itself—twice.
She turned her light from the side passages to the main cave. “It’s coming from up ahead, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
As they proceeded forward, the previously faint smell intensified. It was acrid and pungent, but Daisy still couldn’t identify it.
“Maps,” Bobby mumbled once more.
“What about the maps?” Daisy asked.
“You keep talking about old maps, and I keep thinking I saw some old maps.”
“You couldn’t have seen these, Bobby,” she told him. “They were stolen just this past weekend, and if they really are that valuable in regard to finding the treasure, the geocachers wouldn’t let them out of their sight.”
“But I did see them,” he insisted. “Only I didn’t realize then they were old.”
With every step, the mysterious smell became stronger. It was bitterly sharp, almost like ammonia. As hard as she tried, Daisy couldn’t figure out what it was. She couldn’t think of anything in a cave that would cause such a harsh, almost overpowering scent—at least not that occurred there naturally. Maybe the geocachers were using some sort of industrial chemical to aid in their search.
“I did see them,” Bobby said again. “I know I did.”
“Okay,” Daisy replied with a touch of annoyance, wishing that he would focus on finding the origin of the cough instead of fruitlessly sputtering on about the maps. “So where did you see them?”
He didn’t immediately answer.
She listened. There was some heavy breathing. It seemed labored. Then the cough joined it.
“Over there!” she cried in a low tone. “In that corner!”
Daisy hurried toward the noise. Her fingers curled around the grip of the Ruger as she reached the spot. Two passages came together with the main cave to form a small nook.
“Where did I see them?” Bobby repeated over and over, trailing after her. “Where did I see them?”
Her light traveled slowly around the nook. Water dripped from the walls. It hit the ground in great splashy drops. It also hit a bulky shadow. Daisy moved her flashlight toward it. She saw the outline of arms and legs and a torso. The shadow was a person—a person sitting on the floor of the cave. Shifting the light to the person’s face, she gasped.
“I saw the maps,” Bobby declared emphatically, all doubt at last removed. He pointed at the figure. “I saw the maps with him.”
CHAPTER
25
As Daisy stared at Chris, her heart twisted with pain. It wasn’t a lovesick sort of pain. It was the pain of embarrassment, of feeling horribly duped. Bobby had seen Chris with the maps, which meant that Chris was one of Jordan Snyder’s partners in crime. The truth was bad enough, but it became even more painful to Daisy when she realized that Rick had guessed it all along. To his credit, he had tried to warn her. At the nip joint he had told her flat out that Chris could be involved, that he might be one of the men who had broken in to her bakery. But instead of wisely listening to him, she had dismissed it. She had gone so far as to call it ridiculous. Only, it turned out not to be ridiculous in the least.
It seemed so patently obvious to her now. Chris had been to Sweetie Pies. He had been to the nip joint where the crates were dumped. He was a geocacher who could have easily befriended Jordan weeks, months, or even years earlier in order to make all the necessary arrangements. Chris was also one of the organizers of the event, so he had a hand in choosing its location. And he chose the ideal place that would allow him to both steal the maps from the historical society and then use them to search for lost treasure—Confederate treasure, no doubt well researched by a Confederate history professor.
Everything that had confused Daisy before was suddenly explained with perfect clarity. Of course Chris objected to Laurel marrying Bobby, but it wasn’t for the purported reason that Bobby didn’t have a steady profession and spent his days in a broken-down trailer playing with his dogs and cleaning his guns. It was because Chris intended on wreaking havoc in Pittsylvania County, and he didn’t want his sister to remain behind when he had finished.
Why had Chris been so sweet to her, getting cozy with her during the barbecue at the campground and while driving around the neighborhood viewing historical markers? It was all a distraction, nothing more. By flirting and taking her out on a date, he was gambling that Daisy wouldn’t suspect him. And she hadn’t. Nobody had, except, evidently, Rick. Chris’s behavior at the nip joint should have been the ultimate warning to her. If he was willing to cheat at cards for a little bit of cash, then it wasn’t too much of a stretch to believe that he was also willing to lie, steal, and kill for a lot of cash in the form of thirty-nine kegs of Mexican silver dollars.
Bobby pulled the rifle from his back and leveled it at Chris. “Where’s Laurel?” he demanded.
Chris didn’t respond. His head was slumped forward, his knees were curled up to his chest, and his shoulders trembled. He was a darn fine actor, but Daisy wasn’t fooled. She had already seen him play the kind and polite gentleman. That was before he shot Caesar in her parking lot.
“Be careful, Bobby,” Daisy said, thinking of the missing revolver. “He’s got a gun. I don’t see it, but I know he has it. He took a revolver that Rick left at the bakery.”
“You try to draw it,” Bobby spit venomously at Chris, “and I’ll blast you. This Winchester will make a hole in you like a grenade hittin’ an ant.”
To Daisy’s surprise, Chris still didn’t respond. She squinted at him. Although he was strangely huddled, he didn’t appear to be injured.
“
Where’s Laurel?” Bobby demanded again, pushing the muzzle of his rifle toward Chris’s chest.
Chris answered with a cough. The noise was nearly as odd as his hunched position. It sounded like a strangled gasp of breath, almost as though he were choking.
Daisy found herself gasping slightly for breath as well. The longer that she spent inside the closed walls of the cave, the more concentrated and caustic the smell became. It stung her nostrils and made her throat thick.
“What is that gosh-awful smell?” she asked Chris. “Is it some chemical you’ve been using?”
“No. It—it’s not—” He broke off, wheezing heavily.
“Don’t play stupid,” Bobby snarled at him.
Chris lifted his wobbly head in Daisy’s direction. It seemed to require a good deal of effort. “It—it’s not a chemical,” he said, also apparently with a good deal of effort. “It’s from the bats.”
“From the bats?” She frowned, not following him.
“The bats,” he confirmed. “It’s only an inch or two out here, but it’s a couple of feet deep back there.” He gestured toward the interior of the cave.
“An inch or two?” Still not following, Daisy moved her flashlight from Chris to the ground directly in front of her. When she looked down, she finally realized what he was talking about.
She wasn’t standing on the floor of the cave. She was standing in a layer of waste. Bat guano, to be precise. Daisy understood now why the smell was so similar to ammonia and why it was so terribly potent. Thousands of bats flying out every evening at dusk and returning every morning at dawn: that was a lot of excrement. And it obviously accumulated over time. The cave must have been used as a roost for many, many years, if Chris was telling the truth and the guano was a foot or more deep farther inside.