Sinking Suspicions

by Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

  Lance returned to his truck and threw his binoculars on the front seat, then drove slowly across the pasture, hoping that if the old man had fallen he would see him before he ran over him. As he neared the spot where the deer had been feeding earlier, he stopped and killed the engine. He leaned out the window and yelled Buck's name.

  Nothing.

  The grasshoppers sang around him and a crow called from a nearby tree. The staccato bursts of a woodpecker echoed in the valley below. He called out Buck's name again and listened.

  Still nothing.

  The day wore on, until the relentless Oklahoma sun finally started its descent in the sky. Lance had searched acres of pasture, bottomland, ridges, and valleys. He was hot, hungry, and dog-tired. He flicked a brown, spotted deer tick off his arm and out the window of his truck. If the other volunteers came up empty-handed as well, then the sheriff would most likely call off the search. After all, Buck could be anywhere.

  Lance nosed his truck back toward the makeshift command center at Buck's house to regroup and try to call Sadie again. Maybe she would answer this time.

  His path took him through the pasture back by the old farmhouse where Buck's truck still sat. When he reached the springhouse, a thought occurred to him. Had anyone even bothered to look in the abandoned house?

  It could be dangerous. The roof had already begun to cave in over the front door and there was a possibility the floor could be equally rotten. Sadie's presence was never far from his mind, and he could hear her cautioning him to not go in alone in case something happened. He knew her concern for his safety reflected her love for him, but he brushed away the echo of her voice. He parked his truck and walked toward the house.

  With flashlight in hand, Lance carefully pushed the side door of the house open and called out Buck's name. A bird flew from an unseen perch and escaped through a broken window. Startled, he instinctively ducked. After a few moments, he calmly entered and shone his flashlight around a small empty room that appeared to have been a kitchen in years past.

  He continued through a doorway to his left and into a larger room with a very old potbellied stove standing at attention in the center of the room. As Lance moved past the stove, the floorboards creaked and sagged beneath his feet. He froze, calculating his next step. The flooring appeared to be more stable near the wall, so he took that path to the end of the room, where he found another empty room that must have been a bedroom. Next to that doorway, he found a narrow stairway.

  Lance looked up to the top of the stairs at a closed door with a glass doorknob. He called out Buck's name again. Silence. He let out a deep breath and began to climb, testing each step before placing his full weight on it. Surprisingly, the stairs felt remarkably strong compared to the flooring in the rest of the house.

  He pushed open the door at the top of the stairs and watched the heavy dust float into the air, reflecting in the last slender rays of sunshine filtering through a western window.

  “Buck?” he said, even though he knew he was alone in this sad, empty place.

  He directed the beam of his flashlight around the small room. A tall, narrow, tarnished mirror leaned against one wall. Three metal clothes hangers lay strewn on the floor. At the other end of the room an old trunk sat in a corner, the kind of chest one would expect to contain a treasure. Careful of his footing, Lance approached the trunk and paused before opening it.

  In the early evening distance, a hoot owl began to call into the night. Lance tensed and then cursed. “Not now,” he said. How many times had he heard his Cherokee uncle say that an owl was an omen of death? Go away, he thought, I don't have time for you right now.

  Fighting the urge to forget everything he was doing and run, Lance returned his attention to the trunk. He took his pocketknife out of his pocket, pried open the rusty latch, and forced open the lid. He had indeed found a treasure.

  One by one, Lance pulled out an array of World War II memorabilia, in surprisingly good condition considering its age and whereabouts. Yellowed newspaper articles lay on top of an old military uniform. He pulled the uniform out and carefully inspected the shoulder patch—a gold “4” on a scarlet background—the insignia of the 4th Marine Division. The stripes on the sleeves indicated the rank of corporal. Having been a Marine, and knowing the history of the corps, Lance knew that whoever had worn this uniform had been a part of the famous Fighting 4th, the division that had taken on the Japanese in their own backyard and won. The 4th Marines were legendary.

  Underneath the uniform lay a knife in a leather sheaf, a handful of unspent rounds wrapped inside a black silk kimono, a stack of old letters tied together with a string, and a small wooden box. Lance lifted the lid of the box to reveal an assortment of colorful medals and ribbons. He whistled softly through his teeth as he gingerly picked up a Purple Heart Medal, turned it over in his hand, and then respectfully returned it to the stack of other medals. A name badge read “Skinner.”

  Lance wondered about the trunk and why it would be in the abandoned house, and then he instinctively knew the answer. It held painful memories that Buck probably wanted to forget, yet the old man had never taken the steps to destroy the contents. Instead, he'd left it to eventually rot with the rest of the decaying structure.

  The owl made its presence known again, and the muscles tightened in Lance's back. He removed the letters and the box of medals, and closed the trunk lid on the rest of the gear. He quickly retreated to his truck, put the treasure he'd found on the seat beside him, and drove out of the eerily quiet and dark valley.

  Chapter 3

  Sadie leaned on the balcony railing and stared at the ocean as its waves rolled into the shoreline in front of the building. The view stole her breath away. In the distance she could see the other side of Ma‘alaea Bay, which, according to the woman she'd first met at the registration desk, was a place called Wailea. Sadie liked the way it sounded so similar to her own last name—Walela—and hoped to learn the Hawaiian meaning before she went home.

  She returned to her carry-on and pulled out the guidebook she had studied on the plane. She stared at the map and then at the landscape. “Molokini,” she read aloud. “A favorite snorkeling spot shaped like a horseshoe.” To the right of Molokini she could see another island name, Kaho‘olawe. Maybe Pua could teach her how to pronounce it.

  The lady on the plane had told her all about it, that the island had been used for bombing practice by the U.S. military during World War II. Sadly, she had explained, it was now completely uninhabitable because of the unexploded ordnance still there. Of course, that was the land that the government wanted to give back to the Native Hawaiians. Sadie thought Hawaiian history must be a lot like Indian history—the white man took what he wanted and, after he ruined it, gave what was left to the Natives.

  The gentle surf calmed her as the water repeatedly rose and fell against the rocks in front of the building. The excitement of the trip began to fade as she relaxed in a patio chair, taking in the fragrance of an unfamiliar yet heavenly floral scent that mingled with the sea air.

  Her mind returned to Lance, and she recalculated the time difference. It would be almost 10:00 p.m. in Oklahoma. She went back inside, retrieved her cell phone from her purse, and dialed his number again. He answered on the second ring.

  “Oh, Lance, I got your message. How is Buck?”

  “Lost.”

  Sadie's heart dropped. “Buck is not lost,” she argued. “He's spent his whole life in those hills. He might be hurt somewhere and can't get home, but he is not lost.”

  Lance let out a long sigh. “I know. But we can't find him, so as far as I'm concerned that means he's lost.”

  “Oh.”

  “We've been searching all day, but the problem is we don't really know where to look. We found his truck down at the old springhouse, but the keys weren't in it. So, for all we know, it could have been there for days or weeks.”

  “Why exactly are you looking for him then? You know he takes off from time to time
. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.”

  “His niece in California called the sheriff's office and said she had been trying to call her uncle and couldn't get an answer. I guess O'Leary didn't want to take any chances. You know how blazing hot it is.” Lance let out a heavy sigh. “Anyway, a group of folks was out looking for him when I got back to your place to check on the animals, so I stopped to see what was going on, and that's how I got involved.”

  Sadie fought off a vision of Buck, his wiry body sprawled on the ground with a twisted ankle or a broken leg, his straw hat just beyond his reach with the sun beating down on his military-style haircut, speaking quietly in Cherokee to a rattlesnake coiled nearby, trying to convince it to move along.

  “He could have caught a ride and gone somewhere,” she finally said. “You know he loves to go to those all-night gospel singings down around Stilwell and Tahlequah.”

  “You wouldn't happen to know who he might've gone off with on this little adventure, would you?”

  “No, not really.” Sadie tried to lighten the conversation. “Maybe he has a new girlfriend, or something.”

  “I doubt that.”

  So did she. “Just kidding,” she said.

  “I suppose anything's possible. We don't have a lot to go on right now. I helped O'Leary search his house. Nothing unusual there. The only thing that keeps bothering me is the letters I saw from the IRS on the kitchen table.”

  “The IRS?”

  “Yeah, it said ‘Notice of Lien’ on the outside of the envelope, but I can't imagine Buck having trouble with the IRS. Can you? The only income he probably has is his social security. He seems to be a man who lives well within his means, and if I was a betting man, I'd bet his ranch is paid for, free and clear.”

  “Oh my gosh, Lance. A few months ago Buck told me someone had used his social security number and messed up his taxes. I didn't know it was that serious.” After a few moments Sadie forced a chuckle in an attempt to hide her concern. “He was threatening to run down whoever it was and make them pay with their hide. If anyone could do that, Buck could. You think that's where he is? Looking for whoever stole his identity? You know that's what it is—identity theft. I bet I saw it a hundred times when I was working at the bank.”

  “I think I'll see if I can get another look at those letters.” A long pause meant Lance was thinking on the other end of the line. “I don't know,” he continued, “but I'm going to have to get some help from the Cherokee marshals if I'm going to keep looking for him.”

  “So does that mean you're going back out?”

  “O'Leary is calling off the search tomorrow if something doesn't turn up by then. I think I'll call and have him meet me back at Buck's house. There's got to be something there that explains Buck's disappearance.”

  “Lance, why don't you take Joe and Sonny with you?”

  “We had some men out on horseback today. Besides, your horse and your dog don't respond very well to me when you're not around. They act like I'm an alien.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes and bit her lip.

  “I tried to see if your Uncle Eli or Aunt Mary had any ideas, but I couldn't find them, either.” Lance sounded exasperated. “Maybe they're all lost somewhere together.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Uncle Eli sold a colt to someone out in the Texas Panhandle and he and Aunt Mary went to deliver it. They're going to take their time and stop in Oklahoma City on the way back to visit some friends and do some shopping, so they won't be back for at least a week. Maybe I'd better come home after the meeting tomorrow.”

  “No, Sadie. There isn't anything you can do. Go ahead and enjoy your trip and I'll see you in a few days.”

  “I'm not sure I can enjoy anything now. I feel like I should be there looking for Buck. I know I could find him.” Sadie moaned. “Besides, I feel awful about coming here without you. Oh, Lance, it is so beautiful. I wish you were here.”

  “Oh, come on, Sadie. You can't be in control of everything. If he's out there, we'll find him. If he's not, he'll turn up in a few days—one way or the other. I was in law enforcement for a long time before I met you.”

  His words hurt. Her brain churned with things she'd like to say, things she would most likely be sorry for later. “You know, Lance—” she started, and then swallowed hard.

  “We'll handle this,” he broke in. “Relax and have a good time. It'll all be here when you get back.”

  “Fine.” Sadie hung up, dropped the phone on the couch, and returned to the endless sound of the surf. She rocked back and forth on the patio glider and thought. Lance could be so serious when he was working, and she didn't like it when he was short with her. Exhaustion began to creep into her arms and legs and work its way into the rest of her body. She went back inside the condo and collapsed on the bed. She whispered a prayer for her good friend Buck Skinner and fell sound asleep to the rising and falling of the ocean.

  Chapter 4

  Lance checked the time—5:00 a.m.—while he sat in his truck in front of Buck Skinner's house and sipped coffee, waiting for Sheriff O'Leary to arrive. Lance wanted a closer look at the letters from the IRS he'd seen the day before. However, he didn't want to enter Buck's house without the sheriff present in case there were any questions later. Lance spent a lot of time in Eucha due to the fact that he couldn't stay away from Sadie for any length of time, but that didn't put Buck's house or this investigation in his jurisdiction as a lawman.

  Lance didn't really have a connection to Buck other than he was Sadie's neighbor and Lance knew Sadie thought the world of him. Lance knew Buck was Cherokee, grew a huge vegetable garden that he generously shared, loved wild horses and homemade chocolate brownies, and that was about it. Buck seemed friendly enough, but always kept to himself, an apt description of a lot of Indians in Delaware County.

  Lance had a sixth sense when it came to people. He didn't know if it came from his years in law enforcement or was simply a trait he had inherited from his ancestors, but he didn't think O'Leary, a white man with political ambitions, would spend much more time looking for an old Cherokee man. That uneasy feeling had caused Lance to make arrangements with the Cherokee marshals to cover for him while he took a few days off from his job as the police chief of Liberty, Oklahoma. If he was going to find Buck Skinner and run down who had stolen the old man's identity, he was going to have to do it on his own time. O'Leary had already told him he had other people in Delaware County to worry about and he couldn't keep spending county money looking for someone he wasn't even sure was missing.

  Lance also thought that sorting out Buck's problems would help keep his mind off Sadie while she was out of town. He could hear her asking him why he hadn't worked harder at finding her friend, and he knew she'd never forgive him if something really bad had happened to Buck and he had failed to find him.

  O'Leary drove up next to Lance's truck and rolled down his window.

  “This'd better be good, Smith. I haven't even had breakfast, yet. Hell, it ain't even daylight.”

  Lance got out of his vehicle and waited for the sheriff to do the same.

  “Just wanted to get another look at those letters we saw on Buck's table. If he's not out here on the property somewhere, maybe he went looking for whoever is causing him all those problems with the IRS.”

  “You've got to be kidding me.” O'Leary shook his head and cursed. “You got me out of bed for this? You're on a wild goose chase, Smith.”

  Lance smiled and followed the sheriff to the door.

  O'Leary rapped loudly on the door and then turned to Lance. “He probably came home drunk last night and is inside sleeping it off. That'd be about par for the course.”

  With a stone face, Lance crossed his arms and waited.

  O'Leary pushed the unlocked door open and the two men entered the house. Lance immediately went into the kitchen, flipped the light switch, and found the letters he'd seen the day before. He opened the top letter and studied it, then took a small, spiral-bound notebook out of
his shirt pocket and started making notes. When he finished, he turned to the sheriff.

  “Mind if we take a walk through the house again?”

  “I can't imagine anything has changed from the last time we looked, but go ahead.”

  The small, one-bedroom house looked like the obvious home of a bachelor—bare and in need of a woman's touch. A tattered map of the Hawaiian Islands and the southern Pacific Rim hung on the bedroom wall, attached with thumbtacks. Lance glanced at the map and noticed it had been marked with an ink pen as if tracing several routes, all beginning and ending on Maui. He continued to the closet, and then checked under the bed and in the bathroom. Back in the kitchen, he noticed the blinking red light on the phone.

  “Sheriff, you want to listen to this message on Buck's phone?”

  O'Leary rose from the living room chair where he had been waiting for Lance and walked into the kitchen. “Sure, knock yourself out.”

  Lance pushed the button and began to take notes.

  “Uncle Buck, this is Dee Dee, again.” The tone of the woman's voice sounded as if she were talking to a child. “You know, I'm getting worried about you because you won't return any of my phone calls. I'm afraid at your age something is going to happen to you…and how would I ever know? Are you feeling okay? Eating more than beans and jerky, I hope.” The woman chuckled and then her voice took on a more authoritative tenor. “If I need to come out there and take care of you, you know I will. Call me.”

  Lance shook his head and looked toward O'Leary, who was already walking out the front door. Then a small notepad next to the phone caught his attention, where Buck had scribbled some numbers and words. They made absolutely no sense to Lance.