The Cemetery Club (Darcy & Flora Cozy Mystery Book 1) (17 page)

I knew the moment our
pursuers found our little hideaway. I heard that guttural voice exclaim, as if
he were far away, “They aren’t here!”

Grabbing my mother’s wrist,
we stood, hardly daring to breathe. Then, once again silence fell, as complete
as the darkness that surrounded us.

Did we dare retrace out
steps and crawl out? Was it safe or would Drake and his companion return?

Standing against the smooth
walls of the tunnel for what seemed to be hours, I heard no further sound
except the thundering of my heart and Mom’s breathing.

Finally, she whispered in a
voice that echoed eerily in that chamber, “Let’s go on a little farther, Darcy.
These stairs lead somewhere. Maybe there’s another way out.”

I couldn’t argue with that,
especially since I was too weak to face the possibility that if we returned the
way we had come, we might crawl right into the arms of death.

Forcing myself to focus on
each slow, sliding step, I fought the panic
that
threatened to raise its ugly head. Claustrophobia had never been
a
problem for me, but I could not see where I was going and the sides of this
tunnel seemed to be closing in. I was definitely claustrophobic now.

Mom’s hand pressed lightly
on my back. I knew this was as much to comfort me as it was to be certain we
were not lost from each other in the inky blackness. Would we suddenly step off
into a bottomless pit and disappear forever? Silently, I prayed that God would
guide us. What a time to remember stories of rattlesnake dens hidden far
underground. My shivering shot into high gear.

I had always believed that I
could choose my own thoughts. Unwelcome ones might come knocking, but I didn’t
have to invite them in. However, I had never before been below the earth in an
unknown, unrelenting darkness with death waiting above and who knew what
waiting below. Now, memories of teenage tales told at slumber parties or around
a campfire crept up on me and I could not dispel them. Stories of unexplained
lights flickering near old graveyards, of strangers who mysteriously
disappeared, of eerie nighttime noises, not only knocked at my mind’s door,
they moved in and took up residence.

Sadly, I had not counted the
steps as I descended. It was too late to do so now. Had we gone twenty or fifty
feet under the earth? My head pounded and I labored to draw in each breath and
expel it, fighting the urge to run back up to daylight and fresh air.

Mom saw it before I did.
“Darcy,” she whispered in my ear. “Look.”

The blackness was no longer
absolute. I blinked. Did I see a dim glow somewhere ahead? Rubbing my eyes, I
looked again. Yes, there was no doubt about it. A faint light flickered below
us.

Forgetting my discomfort, I
hurried down the last two steps, which ended in a level stone floor. The
flickering gleam came from a lantern hanging from a peg stuck into a crack in
the cave wall.

Gripping my mother’s hand, I
pointed to that wonderful light, feeling like laughing and crying at the same
time.

A lantern that was burning
meant some human hand had struck a match to it and not so long ago that the
kerosene had been consumed. A lowly lantern had never looked more welcome, no
matter who had placed it there.

My mother breathed either an
exclamation or a prayer that sounded like, “Dear Lord.”

Closing my eyes, I wondered
if I was dreaming but, no, when I looked again, the lantern was still there.

“Where are we, Mom?” I
asked. “What is this place?”

“I have no idea,” she said
faintly. “I am just as dazed as you. Maybe we are both dreaming. Maybe that
wreck injured us more than we thought. Maybe this is just an hallucination.”

“I’ve
never heard of a joint hallucination,” I said, “but nothing is
impossible.”

Looking around slowly, I saw
that we were in a circular area about the size of my mother’s kitchen. The
lantern dispelled total darkness, but it left much of the cave in shadows.

“I don’t understand any of
it,” I said, “but I’ve never been so glad to see a light in all my life.”

Where were we and who had
been here before us? Who left the lamp and when did he light it? Would he
return soon? Surely, that unknown person was not a threat to us. And, almost
certainly, Drake and his friend did not know about this underground room or
they would have been following us.

Mom’s whisper seemed as loud
as a shout. “A
kiva
,” she said. “It must be a
kiva
. I’ve read
about them.”

“What are you talking
about?” I asked, noting the way she was turning slowly around as she
scrutinized the area.

“
Kivas
were places
where early people would store their grain. Or, sometimes they were used as
meeting places, or . . . I don’t know, Darcy. It just seems to be a
whole lot more than a cave.”

I agreed. The flickering
glow glinted on something on the wall near
my
outstretched hand. Stepping closer, I examined what seemed to be
a
drawing etched into the rock. Reaching up, I traced an outline of a figure.

It took a few moments for my
vocal chords to work. Gulping, I said, “An owl, Mom. This is a drawing of an
owl.”

We both stared at the
strange image. Curiously disproportioned, it had a huge, round body with a
small head that was made up almost entirely of enormous eyes. Shiny, black
pupils as bright as onyx glowed in those eyes. Had they been painted with some
sort of glossy enamel? Were they circular pieces of a shiny, black gem? The
murky light made it impossible to scrutinize them closely, but those eyes sent
a chill down my spine. They seemed to follow me when I moved to the right or
the left.

Turning to my mother, I sputtered,
“The owl, Mom. Remember what Jasper said? Something about an owl knowing where
Ben is. And then, that word on the map, the Cherokee word for owl.”

Mom covered her nose with
her hand. “That smell. I’ve just noticed it. Oh, Darcy! What is that horrible
odor?”

Sniffing, I gagged. This was
a stench that once a person smells it, they can never forget. I hadn’t noticed
it at first, but now a drought of air brought a repugnant foulness full force
into my nostrils.

The sickening scent seemed
to come from a shadowy object on the side of the cave farthest from the
lantern. Pulling my t-shirt over my nose, I stepped closer. On the floor lay a
bundle wrapped in what appeared to be a flowery, homemade quilt. The covering
had slipped away from a green plaid shirt. One of the person’s hands protruded
from the quilt, a left hand with a missing third finger. We had stumbled onto
the place where Jasper placed Ben. The quilt was undoubtedly one of Pat’s. He
had laid Ben where he would be safe, Jasper said, where Ben wanted to be.

My mother’s raspy breathing
was akin to gasps. “Is it . . . is it him?”
she asked hoarsely. Then, she answered her own question. “It is. It’s
Ben.”

At that moment, I would have
given everything I owned to keep her from seeing this ghastly sight. But, of
course, there was nothing I could do.

She swayed against me and I
grabbed her before she slid to the floor. As I backed away from that awful
bundle, I was unable to take my eyes off it. Now that we had found him, what
could we do? Was Ben’s tomb going to be ours too? Were two murderers waiting,
even now, to shoot us if we dared climb up out of this cavern?

Drawing a shuddering breath,
Mom whispered, “I’m all right. This is not really Ben. He has gone on to a far
better place.”

I tried to think of some
sort of benediction I could give to Mom’s old friend, but my mind was frozen.

“He was a good man,” I said.
“He is at peace now. He’s with God.”

In a rush, the events of
this harrowing day caught up with me—the pounding in my head, the dizziness and
loss of blood assaulted me in a wave of nausea. Fighting against the need to
let go of consciousness and sink into oblivion, I struggled to remain on my
feet.

Staggering a couple of
steps, I leaned against the wall. At first, I thought the movement beneath my
shoulder was just vertigo and I was losing the battle to stay upright. Was I
keeling over like a root-pulled sapling, or had the wall actually moved?

I stepped away just as a
portion of the side of the cave swung inward. A narrow panel in the solid rock
moved backward as if on a pivot and disappeared while another panel swung
outward, like a giant lazy Susan.

Rubbing my eyes, I blinked
and looked again. Mom’s quick intake of breath told me she saw the same thing.
Unbelievable though it seemed, I had inadvertently opened a hidden compartment
built into the side of this cavern.

The shock of this discovery
kicked my flagging system into gear, and I stepped closer to this amazing
discovery. Shelves lined the rock panel. Putting out my hand, I started to
touch them, then drew back. On the exposed ledges within the panel lay two flat
wood boxes and three leather drawstring bags. Both boxes had small lock plates
made of polished metal that glowed a ghostly greenish yellow in the flickering
light. I knew at once what those lock plates were made of and where the metal
came from.

Mom whispered, “Could this
be what Ben was murdered for? Is this his gold?”

Ben had told the New York
City antiques dealer that the medallion had come from a trunkful of other gold
objects. Did those boxes and bags on the shelves contain the rest of Ben’s
hidden treasure? People had searched, lied, and killed in attempts to find the
hiding place and yet we had stumbled onto it accidentally. It must have been
decreed somewhere that two bumbling, sick, and terrorized women were to be the
ones to uncover an ancient mystery.

Finally, my curiosity
overcame my amazement. “I’ve got to know, Mom,” I said. “What is in those two
boxes and those leather bags? Is it really the gold from Georgia? We’ve
suffered a lot because of a hidden treasure and I’ve got to know if we’ve found
it.”

My mother nodded. Silently,
she reached for the box nearest to us and lifted the lid. The lantern’s light
glinted on a treasure straight out of the dream about a pot of gold at the end
of the rainbow. Neatly arranged in a tray, laid out carefully side by side on
strips of something that may have been deerskin, lay the Dahlonega gold. The
items ranged from a hair ornament the size of a rosebud to a medallion shaped
like a flying eagle and as big as a silver dollar. Every priceless piece shone
with the same strange luster that identified my mother’s ring.

I counted four rows and a
dozen items in each row. Mom replaced the lid on the first box and opened the
second one. It too contained four neat rows of gold pieces whose exquisite
workmanship spoke of expert goldsmiths. Each item was perfect in shape and
balance. Carefully, I lifted out an intricate butterfly. Even the tiny antennae
were lifelike. Dust from the leather bag had settled over its outspread wings.
Gently, I rubbed it with my finger. Feeling as if I could gaze at this lovely
object forever, I understood the greed that took over the lives of men and
drove them to commit lawless acts. I understood what it meant to have gold
fever. I placed the butterfly back into its bed.

Reaching for one of the
pouches, I loosened the drawstring, and shook out its contents. Gold nuggets
lay in my palm. These chunks of precious metal ranged from the size of a marble
to a golf ball. Each bag was approximately six inches long and perhaps six
inches around. Losing track of time, I stared until my mother shook my arm.

“Let’s put it all back,
Darcy,” she said. “And we’ll shove the wall back around so they are hidden
again.”

Air whooshed from my lungs.
“Mom! Do you realize what you are saying? Do you want the gold to just stay
here forever?”

“Think, Darcy,” she said.
“If we don’t get out of this dungeon, all the gold in the world won’t do us any
good.”

Replacing the bag, I pushed
the edge of the rock lazy Susan. It obediently turned until it became part of
the cave wall once more.

My legs trembled so badly, I
could no longer stand. Sinking down on the cold floor, I gazed up at the owl
etched in the wall beside the hidden door. In this one room were Ben, the owl,
and the gold.

Shaking my head, I said, “I
wonder if Jasper knows about the gold or if he just happened to find this cave
and thought it was a good hiding place for Ben?”

Mom spoke softly. “I’ve been
thinking about where we are, Darcy. I believe this cave might be right under
Ben’s pasture. I’m pretty sure we were on his land when we hid under that ledge
that was the doorway to the cave.”

“Maybe that ledge was the
spot marked on the map. Do you think?”

She shrugged. “The area has
changed a lot since the map was made—how long ago? A hundred years? Two
hundred?”

“I don’t see how Jasper
could have carried Ben down that long flight of stairs. It’s too narrow and
that would be almost impossible, even for someone as big and husky as Jasper.”

“Well, then,” Mom said,
“there must be another way of getting into this cavern.”