Gold (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 4) Page 14

  “Looks like it was about killed itself,” said John.

  The truck was indeed little more than a frame with its red cab all that remained of its former glory. Inside the cab were sections of twisted fire scorched black metal and a rough plywood bench on which Mouse could drive the machine and run the pump. Behind the cab in shiny and perfect form was the powerful fire truck pump.

  Mouse said, proudly, “She was a Nineteen Eighties model with a twelve hundred fifty gallon per minute pump. I got her for draining wells. Hell, even if I hadn’t of been able to get the truck transmission running, I’d still have towed her around. That pump is worth it. Never figured to use her for hunting treasure, though.”

  “Only you, Mouse, would be smart enough to figure all this out,” said John.

  “Hey, I ain’t figuring to send her to no parades, you know,” he grinned.

  The second truck was also converted to Mouse’s well digging purposes. It had retained its large hoist winch, powerful enough to lift the front ends of the great Kenworth and Peterbuilt truck tractors that often broke down on the highway as they pulled long trailers. Struts had been lengthened from the wrecker crane base and extended well over the back of the truck chassis making a crane. That crane had its cables extended over the opening of the well. At the end of the cable were harnesses to drop and lift passengers, as well as hooks to attach the miscellaneous boards and steel framing that was needed to rebuild the walls. This replaced the simple struts and pulley rope that they had used before.

  The Captain looked out at the river surface where already several small boats had congregated in the sunlight. “This should be worth the effort,” he said. “I think so because the treasure hunters tried it at the Oak Island site and the currents in the inlets did pull out some of the dye. Problem was they didn’t find enough of the inlets with the time and budget they had. Storms came up while they were working and ruined the scheme. Then they ran out of money to continue.”

  The Captain hesitated and said, with a grin, “At least we know why those boys were put in the ground face down. This is definitely the right place to dig.”

  “What do you mean?” asked John.

  “I’m talking about the pirate who I think left those men behind. Captain Every. The man wanted to warn trespassers away, scare them until he could figure out himself how to get his chest out from below that water. That’s why he left the men with their guns. I couldn’t figure that at first. You see, they weren’t killed by anyone. They were probably filling in the hole and were drowned, killed by the same water coming in just like it flooded into Hoadley. Every couldn’t get them out. He just left them there, covered them and left them in the hole.”

  “He couldn’t deal with the water,” said Mouse, looking at the Captain.

  “That explains why the money was never touched until Father Sweeney found it,” the Captain added. “Might have been very discouraging to a pirate. He essentially lost all his money.”

  Captain Penny continued to scan the river. More boats had arrived and about twenty of them were moored along the shoreline, each of them filled with spectators, some of them partying and some intensely watching the shoreline with binoculars.

  “A mixed group out there,” said John, following the Captain’s gaze. “I wonder if we’ll have more luck than the searchers at Oak Island and find all the inlets.”

  “I don’t know,” said the Captain. “If Mouse’s plan fails, the only other alternative is to do what they did in Nova Scotia. We’d have to build a cofferdam by digging up the whole side of the river to find the inlet tunnels.”

  “A lot of money and time.”

  “Unfortunately, even that didn’t get them anywhere. The hole still flooded after a big storm washed away the cofferdam and all their investment.”

  Mouse said, “I hear what you are saying about storms. Don’t forget we have them here too.” As he spoke he looked at the sky which was clear and sunny.

  It took a while for the tide to do its work. John took a rowboat out into the river and moved it to different locations among the cluster visitors as he waited for any sign of the dye. The first notice of a stain came from a small inlet bay to the right of the marsh, near the Tolman farm shoreline.

  John called, “Here. I see it. The red.”

  Reverend Blue who was watching from one of the visitor crafts immediately called out to his associates that they were seeing the blood of Jesus descend on the project. Other spectators hollered and pointed to pools of red water surfacing near their vessels.

  After about ten minutes, the Captain reported that he counted forty spots of red stain across the shoreline out as far as the channel in the middle of the river. John busied himself with anchoring buoy markers at each of the spots. When he finished he rowed back to shore. Mouse and the Captain were huddled over the map of the shoreline.

  “What are we going to do?” he asked.

  “First I want to see what an inlet looks like and see if I can devise an easy way to close it,” said Mouse.

  Mouse stripped down to his shorts and waded out into the river. In a few moments he swam out to the closest puddle of red dye and went under the surface. John and the others waited for him to surface. Mouse came up for air and went back down again. The spectators circled him with calls to coming to John on shore asking what was happening. John shouted back that Mouse was checking out the mud level of the river in different spots. After about ten more minutes Mouse swam back to shore and came up to them to report what he had found.

  “Stone. Stone tunnels that are very well made,” he said in a whisper so that the visitors would not hear.

  “Stone? Like a conduit I guess,” said his father.

  Andy added, “The Romans made stone aqueducts that carried water for centuries.

  “So did the Incas,” offered Andy.

  “Incas?” John asked, smiling.

  Andy replied, “They were engineers, remember.”

  “All right,” said the Captain, “so stone tunnels carry the water in. How do we plug them up?”

  Mouse shrugged and looked out at the river. “We got at least forty tunnels to fill up,” he said.

  “Besides that, I’m sure we’ll still miss some more,” said the Captain.

  “How did the plugging work in Nova Scotia?” asked Mouse.

  “Like I said,” the Captain replied, “it didn’t.”

  “That’s what I thought. I got an idea how to do this that I have been thinking about. Let me see that river map again,” said Mouse. He nodded at his father.

  Mouse and his father walked away and John asked Andy, “How do you think he is going to do it?” Andy shook her head.

  Hoadley called from the front gate. “Someone here to see you, John.”

  It was Peterson. Newspaper coverage with a cutthroat reporter from the Baltimore Sun was the last thing John needed but he knew he could not dodge him. The man looked more like a bill collector than a newspaperman. He had the stare of a man who wanted his money fast and didn’t care to hear any excuses. Peterson was also dressed the part, even in the summer heat. He had on his still wrinkled seersucker suit but now decorated with sweat stains under the arms.

  “I haven’t got any money if you are collecting,” said John joking as he put out his hand to greet the reporter.

  Peterson grinned and replied, “I don’t want any money. I just need some questions answered.”

  “I’ll try to help you out,” said John. John noticed the work going on across the road where the homeless families had formed long lines of men, women and children to carry earth and clay up from the several trenches.

  Peterson followed his glance. “They aren’t finding anything, are they?” he said, more as a statement than a question.

  “I don’t know,” said John.

  “Are you guys getting anywhere?” the newsman probed.

  “Depends on what you mean,” said John.

  “Captain Penny is a pretty good expert,” said Peterson. “Him being he
re means to me that he thinks you have the best chance of any of these treasure digs.”

  “We hope so,” said John.

  “You are a farmer’s lawyer, aren’t you, Mister Neale?”

  “Yes, that is what I studied, agricultural law.”

  “That’s why you practice here in River Sunday, I mean, to help farmers with their legal problems?” persisted Peterson.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t make much money doing that, do you, with the state of farming as it is? Look at the poverty, the corporate farms with their big city lawyers meeting you in court. Must be tough to make a living.”

  “I do all right.”

  “So how come you worked with the priest?” asked Peterson, holding up his recorder for John’s answer.

  “He came to me. We had known each other for some time.”

  “You’ve only been in River Sunday for a few years.”

  “What are you implying, Peterson?”

  “Just trying to get your take on the rumors, Mister Neale.”

  “What rumors?”

  “People say that you might know more than you are telling about this treasure.”

  “I don’t get your point,” said John.

  “I’ll make it simple, Mister Neale. Some say you planned this whole setup to make a lot of money.”

  “Make a lot of money. How?”

  “They say that he was just an old man who trusted his lawyer. You advised him to keep most of the treasure hidden.”

  “Why would I do that and who are these people starting the rumors?”

  “Let’s just say that people are out there around Maryland who have opinions. We hear them. Then we investigate.”

  “Have you found anything?”

  “I’m here to ask you if the rumors are true.”

  “You mean, that somehow I knew about the source of the money all along?”

  Peterson nodded. “He’d soon die of old age and you’d be able to spend the money on yourself.” He smiled, and added, “Some people figure you come up with the money and if nothing else you’ll make a big fee handling the estate. Isn’t that right, Mister Neale?”

  He went on. “See, we know that you were at the monastery when the monks were killed and the place was burning down. On top of that you are the executor and you know all about the old priest’s money. Two and two adds up to four. Simple as that. Also, it’s funny to me how you just happened to come along and find this hole in the swamp out here in the middle of nowhere. My readers aren’t stupid, Mister Neale. I’m wondering when the police are going to start asking you a lot more questions.”

  “What about Father Sweeney? Don’t you think he had ideas of his own?”

  Peterson smiled again, his bill collector smile, and said, “It would have been easy for you to advise him to give some away. That would have kept him quiet about the rest. After all he was a priest and must have been interested in helping people with the money.”

  “All I can tell you is that your readers have a lot of imagination,” said John. “I’m sure you don’t mind adding to the mystery so you can sell more papers. Maybe you will become one of those experts that talk on the internet.”

  “So that’s your comment?”

  “Yes.” As he looked at the reporter’s face, his determination, John realized that this was going to be his future world. When he began to take on wealthy clients in Baltimore, his actions would be even more suspect. He would be taking cases that made money and when that happened the reporters like Peterson would be there, digging for dirt, for illegal actions, for influence peddling. It was a premonition of what his life would be and it was something that he had not faced before when his motives were always clear and filled with care for the less fortunate. He had not thought of this problem before but he would have to think about whether he wanted this, wanted that black roadster so badly that he would sell his current unquestioned integrity as an attorney.

  A voice boomed from the swamp brush behind John. “This fellow bothering you, John?”

  It was Mouse.

  “No, he’s just leaving.”

  “I’ll be back,” said Peterson, a sneering look on his face as he turned away.

  “Goodbye, Mister Peterson.” Mouse’s size seemed to make the little reporter move quicker.

  After the reporter was well out of sight, John turned to his rescuer and asked, “Any progress on the inlets?”

  “I think we can handle it,” Mouse said, “we are all going to have to get wet. A lot wet,” added Mouse, after a pause. “We’ll have to swim underwater and close up every one of them with more stones.”

  “I’m worried about the inlet near Ricker’s dig. I hope he doesn’t find out what we are doing and unplug it.”

  Mouse nodded. “I saw him and his buddy Bent down there looking at the dye. He could cause us a lot of trouble.”

  “If it happens you can be sure it would be Wink Ricker who thought of it,” said John.

  They worked for several hours. After some of the inlets had been closed, as well as they could be, the large fire truck pump was started. The truck’s engine rumbled and John could see water splashing back into the river. The truck diesel was loud and unmuffled, barking and throwing clouds of smoke as it ran. The pumped water was hosed across the lower area of the swampland toward the river where its outlet had already formed a sizable stream. As he watched, it seemed to John that the pump was pulling out more water than was coming in, that the level of water in the well was going down and staying down, and that all of them would be able to get back to digging soon.

  Chapter 14

  Wednesday, July 17, 6 PM

  The flooding at the site was under control. Mouse and his father had guessed right about the inlets. After a lot of work enough of the inlets had been sealed with new stone to slow the water from coming in. The huge pump had taken out the water and the inner bracing had been quickly restored. As Mouse had said, the bracing was not the problem. The pressure of the water was far more than any bracing could have handled. The implosion of the walls from the water pressure of the inlets had done the damage. If they could control the water, the bracing would reduce the risk of cave ins by holding back the soil.

  Sundown was beginning to spread a warm glow over the river as John slowed to enter the lane to Andy’s home. As he was closing his truck door, the Chief drove his cruiser in behind him.

  The Chief waved to him and said, “Mouse said you’d come here.”

  “What’s on your mind, Chief?” John said as he walked over to the shiny police cruiser in the hot evening air. He grinned and added, “Andy and her mother will be thinking I always bring the Chief of Police along with me when I come for dinner.”

  “You folks are sure stirring up a lot of excitement,” the older man said as he got out. He leaned against the gray sedan hood.

  “What do you mean?”

  The Chief said, “It’s like the town has moved out to the sites. You go down Strand Street by the hotel and the place is deserted. Everyone is either watching from the road or from the river in his boat.”

  “We haven’t found any treasure. Maybe you could tell them.”

  “No one would listen to me. Besides, I got more important things on my mind.”

  “That reporter been talking to you?” John asked.

  “Peterson? You mean about your involvement in the old man’s money? Don’t worry about him. He’s just looking for a story. I’ve known him for years. You’re a lawyer. You must be used to that kind of rumor mongering by now.”

  John nodded, even though he knew that he wasn’t used to it. “I still don’t like it. So what have you got?”

  “Trail has gone cold on those murders up at the monastery.”

  “The city police find out anything about the pawnbroker’s death?” asked John.

  The Chief rubbed his neck and said, “They don’t have anything yet. Whoever did it was a sneaky son of a bitch. He hasn’t left us anything to work with.”

&nbs
p; “How about Celebrity?”

  “That’s what I came to tell you. They found her a few blocks from her apartment in an alley. Somebody strangled her then burned her in gasoline.”

  “That’s our guy. He likes to burn people,” said John.

  The Chief nodded, “One of her roommates came down to the morgue and identified her by a piece of jewelry we found next to the body.”

  John gave him a questioning glance. The Chief said, “A small necklace. The roommate said it was Celebrity’s all right. Said it was the only thing she didn’t take off when she was stripping. Can you believe this, Neale? Looks like whoever killed her took the necklace and smashed it on the street, ground it with a shoe so it was broken into three parts, two side parts that looked like wings and the center what was the body of a bird that the wings had been attached to. Enough of it was left to tell it was hers.” He shook his head. “This guy is nasty.”

  “She told me about that necklace,” said John. “Had it on when I saw her. Her father gave it to her when she was a kid.” As he looked at the Chief, his thoughts moving back to when he had seen her in the bar. He wondered if Father Tom had been right in what he told his religious sister, that Celebrity, for all her faults, would find religion before she died.

  John added, “You’re going to warn me again about my safety, right, Chief?”

  “You got that right.”

  “I might be in line to get burned up by this maniac,” said John. He thought about the knife he had stashed under his truck seat.

  “The situation hasn’t changed. People think you know something. That’s just the way it is. On top of that, as I said, if you get killed, the whole project loses a lot of its push. The killer might want that so he can move more freely to get the gold.”

  “You mean, without me and my guys watching for him.”

  “Something like that. Also, without an executor for the old man, the property goes into a limbo and no matter what we do, it will be more uncontrolled. The little piece of land will be overrun.”

  “I’ll watch my back,” said John. “Beside, Mouse keeps an eye on things. He won’t let anything happen around the site, I’m sure.”