Freedom's Treasure (19 page)

“I don’t know,” no apology, no anger, his tone was flat. “Here, drink this,” Hunter shoved a bottle of water into her hand. Anna swished some to clean out her mouth. A Kleenex followed and she blew her nose. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m not okay!” Anna thought she was shouting, the scratch in her throat felt that way. It came out as a hoarse whisper. She took a deep breath, composed herself. “Are you okay? It’s your cabin.”

Hunter shook his head. “I feel violated, too. I promise you that I’ll find out who did this. And I’ll make them pay.” It was a promise, a vow that came from the depths of his honor as a man. Anna felt the cold that came from his soul and knew it matched her own.

“We’ll
make them pay,” Anna corrected. “Do you think it was more than one person?”

“I don’t know. The level of destruction tells me it was but I just don’t know. It feels like a lot of rage, for some reason.”

“I don’t want anything that was in the cabin. If something can be salvaged just donate it. I don’t want anything that the bastards touched.” She meant every word, Hunter heard it in her voice.

Something occurred to Hunter. “Anna, where’s the journal?”

She looked up at him, rinsed her mouth out once more and then drank heavily from the bottle. “It’s in my purse. So are the map and the coin.”

“Where’s your purse?”

“Elisa has it.”

“Do you mean that satchel thing weighing her down?”

Anna barked out a quick laugh. “Yes, it’s in there.”

“Okay, good. I hate to say this but I think one of us should keep those with us at all times.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

The sound of an engine caught Hunter’s attention. He turned to the road, expecting to see the Sheriff’s car. Instead he saw Dock in his truck doing a slow drive by. When he didn’t turn in, instead locking eyes with Hunter through the half open window, Hunter had his number one suspect.

With the help of friends and neighbors Hunter made quick work of hauling the debris out of the cabin. As per Anna’s request what could be salvaged was taken to donation centers and what could not was hauled to the landfill. After a few days the cabin stood empty
and ready for its next incarnation.

“It would make a great museum when we find the treasure,” Anna suggested. She had cried all of her tears and worked through her anger over the past couple of days. True to her word she had not stepped inside however. Hunter did not force the issue.

He considered her idea. “That’s definitely a thought. I could donate the property to the county with that stipulation.”

They stood side by side, hands on hips, shoulders touching. Anna leaned in and bumped her shoulder against his bicep. “It would make a great tax deduction, too.”

“I can’t believe you can still see the bright side, considering. I’m still pissed.”

“Oh, I am, too, but concentrating on that isn’t going to be productive.”

“That’s a good point. In order for it to be a museum we have to have exhibits. Right now we have a journal and a coin,” Hunter pointed out.

“Are you suggesting we’re slacking off on looking? It’s not like we know where to dig,” Anna paused as Hunter answered his phone. He spoke for a few minutes and slid the device back into his pocket. “Was that news?”

“Yes, of a sort. Sheriff Jackson says there weren’t fingerprints besides the ones we expected. Yours, mine, Colby’s,” Hunter recapped the brief conversation.

“That’s about what we expected but it’s hard not to be disappointed.”

“Yeah but as the Stones say, you can’t always get what you want.”

“And the best puzzles shouldn’t be easy to solve.”

“That’s a rather cynical viewpoint,” Hunter commented. He looked down at her ankle. Anna had taken the boot off and wrapped it tightly with a long bandage to ease her driving and shopping. She’d located an antique cane at a thrift store and was using that instead of crutches. “Are you up for a short walk on that thing?”

“What did you have in mind? I really don’t feel like going trampling through the woods,” she said.

“How about going down the driveway and over to the graves? I feel an urge to check in with old Nathan today.”

“Sure.” They walked at a moderate pace, enjoying the peace and quiet that was interrupted by chattering squirrels and quarreling birds. A woodpecker gleefully thrashed its head against the trunk of a tree above Anna’s head and she paused to watch. “I really loved that cabin,” Anna confided. “I saw myself as an old woman out feeding the birds every morning and enjoying the sunshine on the deck.”

“There are other options,” Hunter replied. “I can think of a fairy tale cottage that could use an old woman’s touch. There are definitely a few birds and squirrels that wouldn’t mind some stale bread. The poor things are starving.”

Anna’s heart stuttered for a beat. She cleared her throat. “That’s a thought.”

“So think about it,” Hunter wrapped his hand around hers as they drew to a stop at the grave of Nathan Lucas.

“There’s something else I’ve been thinking about,” Anna began haltingly.

“What’s that?” Hunter was thinking about the war Nathan had fought in and the horrifying pictures the man must have had from his time fighting in the South. Anna’s voice brought him back to the present.

“You’ve been avoiding my questions,” she replied. It wasn’t an accusation, not quite.

“Which questions?”             

“I’ve asked you a few times who you thought did that to the cabin. I know you have an idea, I can tell. But you won’t talk about it.”

“Honestly it’s because I have no proof. It’s a feeling that I have deep in my gut.”

“I’ve often found my gut is the most honest part of me,” Anna said.

“Let me look into it for a few more days, okay? We’ll come back to this and I’ll explain everything.”

Anna wanted to tell him she was not a patient person when it came to satisfying her curiosity but at his request she merely nodded. She bent down and cleared some sticks from the simple grave, smoothed the grass. “Are you ready? I have some work to do yet today.”

“Sure. Do you want to go back for your truck?”

“No, you can take me to the library. I’ll do some research there and then wait for you at the diner. We can get take out for dinner. I understand today’s special is-“

“Country fried steak,” they said in unison.

“Every Tuesday,” Hunter told her, “since the place opened that has been the special.”

“The Fourth is tomorrow,” she reminded him. “Should we order extra for the picnic?”

“Good Lord, no,” Hunter exclaimed. “Elisa would have my head. She’s going to make her own fried chicken from her grandma’s recipe. If I’m a good boy for the next 20 years or so she said I could have it. I’m not sure I’m going to make it.”

“Cheeky.”

“That’s what she says.”

Hunter left the meeting with the VFW old timers, content that the fireworks planned over the lake for the next night’s festivities were taken care of. They had extensive plans for explosive choreography and
Hunter could only hope the evening would work out as they wanted.

He had volunteered to be a load and lighter, someone who ran around with a long match who lit the fuses and reloaded the long tubes. Other than that he was along for the ride. Hunter knew the men enjoyed being able to boss him around and make use of his long, fast and, the keyword here being young, legs.

He didn’t relish the idea of being away from Anna during the fireworks display. He’d been having fantasies of the two of them laid out on a blanket wrapped around each other for the finale. Next year, he promised himself, and they’d start that tradition.

With that meeting out of the way Hunter had one last errand to run before he joined Anna at the diner. He hoped she was making progress with her research at the library and that it was keeping her mind off of the mourning of her possessions. It was a harsh feeling to recover from and he retained a simmering anger that she had been subjected to it. This next errand would hopefully answer a few questions he had about that night’s assault.

And maybe, just maybe, he could get a small slice of revenge. We’ll call it a side benefit, he thought.

The trailer Dock called home looked abandoned. The shades were all drawn, the lawn was overgrown and if the man had ever trimmed a bush Hunter wouldn’t have known when. The roof over the carport had buckled and the shed door underneath swung in the wind, slapping against the wall with a bang.

Broken beer bottles littered the driveway and Hunter parked at the end, wary of his tires being shredded. He walked down the drive, keeping his eyes and ears peeled for any sounds of Dock’s presence. Hunter knew the absence of the man’s truck wasn’t proof in and of itself that he was not nearby. He was a sneaky bastard through and through and always had been.

Hunter rapped his fist against the door and wasn’t surprised when it popped open. Dock wasn’t exactly known for his high standards of maintenance. It was but one more reason the family business struggled at a time when it should be thriving.

Hunter didn’t enter as he wasn’t quite prepared to do that. Instead he poked his head in the door. The musty smell of old beer and stale sweat assaulted his senses. When he had verified that Dock wasn’t in his usual position in front of the big screen television he pulled back out, pushed the door closed and stepped backward. His goal was the shed.

He quickly went in and scanned the walls and floor. He saw Dock’s boots carelessly strewn across the floor. He bent down and picked one up. He saw the distinctive black dirt that surrounded Anna’s cabin in the treads. He shook his head and laid it where he’d found it. On the wall he saw Dock’s pack.

Like most of Dock’s clothing the item was sewn from camouflaged material. He lifted it from the hook, surprised at the weight of it. The handle of the small sledgehammer sticking out of the top explained the weight. Hunter’s ire grew. Without a qualm he dug through the pack, taking special note of the flashlight. It had been rigged for cat burglary. Small bits of insulation fell from the black electrical tape Dock had wrapped around the handle and lens.

Hunter flung the pack against the wall and grinned in satisfaction when the expensive rifle scope inside cracked. He didn’t bother reloading the items he had removed. He wanted Dock to know that he knew what the bastard had been up to. He could consider it a warning, the only one he’d get.

Anna pushed her chair back from the table. She eyed the stack of dusty books on the table. This was not the first time that she’d been through them but she’d hoped she would discover somethi
ng she had missed. Sadly to no avail.

“This is a waste of time,” she muttered. She had to watch her volume. The librarian had come down to shush her twice though Anna swore she hadn’t been making any noise. She figured the woman was bored and nosy which were two qualities Anna could empathize with except the hushing sounds were followed by several items of unsolicited advice. Anna was beginning to itch with aggravation. Was a slice of privacy too much to ask for in a library?

She scanned over the various notes she’d made and then closed her notebook. She slid it into the backpack she’d borrowed from Hunter, quickly followed by the laptop she hadn’t bothered to boot up. She checked the clock and realized she had at least another hour before Hunter would be meeting her at the diner. With that in mind she made her way out of the dark basement and went to the library’s Information Desk.

“Excuse me,” she kept her tone low, mindful of the patrons sitting at carousels or reading in cozy side nooks.

The elderly woman was stamping books with an old fashioned date stamp and slapped one shut as she looked up, way up, at Anna. Her glasses had slid down her nose and Anna resisted the impulse to bend down and push them into place.

“Yes?” Anna was amazed at the woman’s ability to use a polite hiss.

“I was wondering if you had any maps of the area from the early 1860’s. A topographical map would be best, though if you have a road map I’d like to see that, too, please.”

The woman flashed a broad smile of dentures at Anna. “Well, now, let me think for a moment. I think we had some for a while but no one’s asked for those in 20 years or more.” The woman tapped her finger on her chin as she considered Anna’s request. “Those kinds of things are usually stored at the courthouse down the street but I could swear we had some when I first started here.”

In the 1950’s,
Anna mentally finished the sentence and nearly giggled.

The woman rolled her chair back and rose. She noticed Anna’s cane and gestured her to a chair. “Have a seat there. I’ll take a look and be right back.”

“Thank you so much,” Anna replied and promptly sat where she had been directed. To do anything else might encourage even more advice.

The woman, Madeleine Shaffer according to the bronze plaque at the desk, disappeared through a door Anna had not noticed before. She came back a short time later with a bundle of rolled up pages and set them on her desk. Anna rose immediately and met her there.

“These are not available to be checked out but you can take them to one of the conference tables and take a look at them. I’m afraid the copier is too small to handle the size of the papers.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Anna exclaimed. She immediately schooled her features to look contrite when she realized she was about to be shushed once again. “Thank you so much for looking for them.”

“You’re that writer lady, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, my name’s Anna.” She didn’t want to remind Madeleine that she had already spoken with her in the basement and in such a way to remind Anna that the entire town knew every step of her daily life.