A Treasure Deep (15 page)

“Social visit? Business? Other?”

“Other,” he said flatly. “I prefer you do it
alone. We’ve had trouble in the past with . . . contract help.”

Julia continued to stroke Rutherford’s hair.
“I’m listening.”

“DRAWING ANOTHER PICTURE?” Claire asked Joseph, not
expecting a reply. Joseph sat at the dining room table, hunched
over a large piece of butcher paper. Joseph often spent hours
drawing and going through paper at an alarming rate. The solution
had been to buy a large roll of white paper used by butchers to
wrap meat. The roll lay on a spindle in a wood rack. Jamison had
made the rack for the roll, and Claire had carelessly remarked that
it looked like a giant toilet paper dispenser. She wished she could
take the comment back.

The small house in which they lived suffered
from an “open floor” plan. Claire had grown up in an older home in
which each room was . . . well, a room. Ever since the sixties,
architects and builders had decided that people wanted rooms that
were open to others. In her home only a counter separated the
kitchen from the dining room, and both were open to the living
room. A “great room,” they called it. Claire didn’t think it was so
great, but the house had been in their budget, and it was close to
the seminary where Jamison worked. Over time, the house grew on
her. Now she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. This house had
become home, open floor plan and all.

It was emptier now. It had been six months
since that night when the phone call came, when she quickly dressed
Joseph and they drove across town to the hospital. After Jamison’s
death, Claire had come to believe in ghosts. Not disembodied
spirits that haunted castles and homes—that was foreign to her
Christian doctrine. The Bible spoke of angels, of demons, and other
unseen intelligences, but not ghosts as most people understood
them.

Still, Jamison “haunted” the house in a
thousand little things that reminded her of him each day. His
clothing had been moved out, his shoes given away or tossed, but
that couldn’t remove the impression a man left on a house after
living in it for nearly twenty-five years.

Sometimes she’d find something he’d put away,
something in the back of a cupboard or on the shelf in a closet.
Once she found a bar of shaving soap, the kind that was put in a
cup and whipped into lather by a bristled brush. He’d used such
soap when they first married, reluctant to yield to shaving cream
in a can. He had once said that foam from a can was “unearned.”
Claire had never been certain what that meant.

Jamison had been an odd man, more comfortable
with books and journals than with people. Learning and teaching had
been his two great loves, that and his family. Jamison and Joseph
had been as close as any father and son. In private, and very
seldom did he reveal a hint of the guilt he felt over his savant
boy. “Bad genetics,” he had said one night while she and he lay in
bed. “I gave him bad genes.”

She had tried to convince him that it was no
fault of his. “Such things just happen.” He agreed, but she knew he
wasn’t convinced. He never spoke of it again, but she was certain
that the guilt remained alive, sequestered in some corner of his
great intellect.

Claire was fearful of Joseph’s response. He’d
never seen death before, but her fears had been unnecessary. Joseph
had shown no emotion at all. He was a mystery; he’d always been so.
He seldom displayed his feelings, but when he did, the display
always seemed exaggerated for the event. At times he would cry for
no apparent reason, and in those times when sadness seemed
appropriate, he was unmoved. There was no understanding a person
like Joseph. Intuitively she knew that he processed information,
processed life in a way no normal person could fathom.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Claire said. Again
there was no response; again she expected none. Still she spoke to
him as if he could be induced into a conversation. “I made your
favorite: macaroni and cheese.” Claire didn’t know if it was
Joseph’s favorite or not. He showed no signs of pleasure or disgust
when eating. Her only indication was that Joseph ate more macaroni
and cheese than anything else she set before him.

Filling two bowls with the pasta and creamy
yellow sauce, she added a few shakes of pepper then walked to the
table. “How are we going to eat if you have the table covered in
crayons and paper—”

Claire dropped the bowls on the carpet.

THE EARTH GAVE way easily to the assault of shovels.
Still, by choice, the digging went slow. Perry and Jack put blade
to ground while Gleason poked around looking for any hints of
artifacts in the pile of dirt that they had accumulated.

Three feet down, the digging turned delicate.
Based on the depth indicated by the coring, Perry knew that he had
to be close to the first layer of wood. Instead of plunging the
blade of the shovel down into the dirt, he now scraped through it
layer by layer.

The texture of the ground changed.

“Hand me your trowel,” Perry said to Gleason,
who surrendered it gladly. Lying on his stomach, Perry eased over
the edge, reaching down into the pit. The trowel extended his reach
by nine inches. Gently he scraped away another layer of soil. “It’s
definitely wood and it’s man-made. Where’s Brent?”

“Still in the grove.”

“Have him bring his camera.”

Jack let out a shout, and Brent jogged over.
Perry pushed himself to his feet. “Get some shots of the pit,” he
said.

Brent looked down in the hole. “It’s pretty
dark in there. The work lights are leaving too much shadow. I think
the camera’s flood will do the job, but just to be sure, let’s take
a few shots, then let’s do a few more with additional light.”

“I’ll bring over a work lamp,” Jack said then
trotted off.

Brent started shooting. “Not much to see. The
camera is having trouble with its auto focus. It’s hard to tell
where the dirt leaves off and the wood top begins.”

“Wait a second,” Perry said. Once again he
lowered himself to the ground, reached in, and set the trowel on
the wood surface. Rising again, he asked, “Does that help?”

Brent raised the camera back to his eye,
aiming its lens at the trowel. “Yeah, that’ll do it. The camera can
focus on that.”

Jack showed up with a metal yellow stand upon
which was mounted a high-intensity work light. “It’s plugged into
the generator. This should drive away the shadows.”

The taller construction lights set up earlier
that day bathed the hillside in harsh white light, but the walls of
the pit cast deep ebony shadows. A more direct light was
needed.

“Hang on a sec,” Brent said. He shot another
few seconds of video, the camera’s electric light shining brightly
across the ground. “Okay, fire away.”

Jack flipped the switch, and light flooded
the open maw. Perry felt like he was looking down the gullet of
some great fish. The direct light bathed the pit. Brent started the
camera again. “This should work great.”

“Okay,” Perry said. “I’m going to try and
pull back some of the boards. Brent, I want you to videotape the
whole thing.”

“Will do.”

Perry went to his belly again then inched
himself forward. He felt a pair of hands grab his ankles. With Jack
anchoring him, he knew he wasn’t going to fall in headfirst.
Placing one glove on the surface of the wood, he picked up the
trowel and gently pressed the point of it in the wood. It gave
easily.

“It’s seen better days,” Perry said. “The
surface is a little spongy and uneven.” With his head down, blood
began to rush to his brain. He could feel the pressure build. He
had no desire to stay in that position longer than necessary.

He set the trowel down and began brushing
dirt aside, searching for what he knew must be there. Probing
fingers felt along the coarse surface. Found it—the hole the corer
had bored. The digging had filled it with dirt, but Perry cleaned
it out easily. The hole was large enough for him to slip in two
gloved fingers. A chill ran down his spine as he wondered exactly
what he was sticking his fingers into. Driving the discomfort from
his mind, he gave a gentle pull. Under the glare of the work light
and Brent’s video camera light, he saw the board bow slightly.

Before pulling again, he looked around the
perimeter of the boards. They had been careful to clean as much
dirt away from the edges as possible. He took a deep breath and
tugged. The board bowed more but remained intact. Still, it gave
more than fresh lumber would have. This has been buried a long
time, he said to himself.

“Kinda reminds you of an old horror movie,”
Brent said. “You know, something hidden behind the locked door or
in the closet or something.”

Perry turned toward the bright light of the
video camera and scowled. “Did I just hear young Mr. Hapgood
volunteer for a stint in upside-down excavation?”

“That’s what I heard,” Jack said.

“Me too,” added Gleason.

“No way,” Brent said quickly. “They teach us
at Caltech not to get into situations like this.”

Perry returned his attention to the task.
Positioning his left hand directly under him, he tightened his
fingers in the bore hole and pulled. The plank that he used for
counterforce bowed down as the board with the core hole bowed up
but remained fixed. Perry relaxed for a moment.

“You want me to give it a try?” Jack
asked.

Jack could do the job all right, but this was
something that Perry wanted to do for himself. “What, and give you
something to hold over my head for years to come?”

“Pride goes before a fall,” Jack said and
loosened his grip on Perry’s ankles. For a moment, Perry was
certain that he was going to drop face first into the pit.

“Very funny,” Perry cried. “Now, if you don’t
mind, hang on to me. I’m going to apply a little more muscle.”

“Oh, so you do want me to do it,” Jack
jibed.

Perry chose to ignore him. He dug his fingers
into the hole a little deeper and curled them to grip the wood.
Perry yanked and pulled, grunting with each effort. On the fourth
tug a hunk of wood gave way. Perry tossed it up to Gleason. The
bore hole was now large enough to admit Perry’s whole hand. Able to
get a better grip as a result, Perry gave a hard jerk. The lower
section gave way, some of the wood crumbling at the edges and in
his hand. The piece was too large to toss up the grade, especially
from Perry’s inverted position. He started to say something, but
Gleason had anticipated the need. He reached down with bare hands
and took the chunk of lumber.

“Feels slimy,” he complained.

“So would you if you had been buried down
there,” Jack said.

“It’s a plank, all right,” Gleason said.
“About two inches thick, I’d say.”

“That’s what I like about engineers,” Brent
said. “The precision of their conversation.”

“Hey, Perry,” Gleason said. “Brent really
wants to come down there.”

“Okay, okay,” Brent said. “I’ll be
quiet.”

Perry ignored the banter. He recognized it as
nerves, something he understood. He switched the position of his
hands so that he could grab the remaining half of the central
plank. He pulled and the lumber came free easily. “Got it.”

“Hang on,” Gleason said. “Let me come
around.” A shadow fell over the opening as Gleason stood in front
of the work light, leaving only the weaker light of the video
camera.

A second later Perry felt his friend take the
board from his hand. He could feel the pounding of his heart in his
head as it tried to compensate for his inverted position.

“Got it.”

“You’re in my light, buddy,” Perry said. The
exertion and the added blood pressure in his head made Perry feel
dizzy. Sweat was running into his eyes and his vision was
blurring.

“Sorry.”

He could tell that Gleason had stepped aside
because the light once again flooded the pit. Perry blinked hard
and tried to focus his eyes. At first he saw a glint of metal, then
a dark, dirty white tube, like PVC. The synapse in his brain
started firing madly as he realized that the tube was not a tube at
all, but a long bone. Instinctively, Perry pulled back an inch and
turned his head, only to find himself staring into the empty eye
sockets of a skull. Where once eyes had been, there were vacant
holes.

“Yeow!” Perry shouted. Suddenly he was
moving, not by choice but because Jack had pulled him up in a
single, fluid motion. One moment he was staring into the face of a
dead man, the next, he was face down on the ground. He was
instantly thankful.

Quickly, Perry righted himself and came to
his feet. His heart rattled in his chest. He leaned over and placed
his hands on his knees, forcing his heart to slow and his breathing
to ease.

“You okay, pal?” Jack asked. Perry could hear
the concern in his voice.

“I was expecting to see that, but . . . I
wasn’t expecting to see that. If that makes any sense.” Perry
inhaled deeply then stepped to the edge of the opening, an opening
that could now properly be called a grave.

“It makes sense to me,” Jack offered. “It’s
not every day you pop open a coffin.”

“Oh, major cool,” Brent said.

Perry exchanged glances with his friends then
watched as Brent approached the edge of the opening. He squatted
down to get the camera a little closer.

“Cool?” Gleason asked.

“More than cool,” Brent said. “Beyond cool.
No one at school is going to believe this. Do we pull up the rest
of the boards?”

“No,” Perry said as he returned to the edge
of the hole, brushing dirt from his shirt and pants.

“But I can’t get a good shot. I can only see
part of the skeleton.”

“We wait,” Perry said firmly. “We have to
make sure this is chronicled correctly. It’s time to call in our
expert.”