Treasure Sleuth (6 page)

"Gene lived his life sitting in cars on stakeouts watching deadbeats all day who were trying to fraud insurance companies," he began. "He spent days, weeks and months just tracking down low-life criminals who the police didn't have time for. He spent nights setting up sting operations to catch cheating husbands and wives. Catching up with people who couldn't pay, wouldn't pay. People who were abusing their children, and pedophiles who were abusing other people's children. Then he gets hired for a different kind of job where it isn't a person he is tracking down but a treasure. Something went off in his brain that day and he wasn't the same after."

Abby could sense her grandfather's frustrations in Marks voice as she listened.

Mark continued, "He looked back at all that time wasted sitting in cars waiting, looking at life through a lens and seeing disgust and negativity everywhere he went... he looked back at all that with heavy regret. The last few years of his life was his best. His most adventurous. But he was pissed off."

"Pissed off with what? I thought he was happy," Abby asked.

"He was pissed he needed me. He wanted to be out there every day himself, experiencing it, looking for the treasure with his hands rather than just his mind. He wanted it to be his fingers digging in the mud rather than tapping away on a keyboard. Seeing the trees in 3D life rather than watching it happen on a monitor via a GoPro camera mounted to my head."

Mark turned to face the shelves of maps, stacked on top of each other with green and pink highlighters marking areas of interest. "We were a great team for sure, and I would have gotten into some real trouble if it wasn't for his eyes and ears looking out for me. I knew he got a buzz talking me through an escape route, but I also knew he was secretly wishing it was him hiding from the bad guys, close enough to hear their breath while holding a cold artifact down your front which you've just taken from them. I knew he wanted to follow me down the wells and into the secret tunnels using night vision scopes. And I knew his frustration when I got caught in underground rivers and got into breathing difficulties because of all the heavy gear I was wearing and trying to carry," Mark said looking down at the floor where breathing tanks lay amongst various back packs, ropes and metal clasps. "There were times when I couldn't talk to him because I didn't have a cell of energy left and all he wanted to do was pull me out with his bare hands. But he couldn't because in recent days he barely had the energy to walk up and down the lighthouse stairs. This became his mission control and finding the adventures became his adventure. So this is probably why Gene would never sit down and try to explain this to you because he'd rather you saw it, and felt it. Now that I know you've dreamed of becoming a writer, and he's left the key for you in this book, I can see he wouldn't want you to waste your life like he felt he wasted his."

Abby was in shock. She had never seen her Grandpa or his life through those eyes before. Nor had she heard anyone talk with that level of passion.

"But I'm not wasting my life. I like my job. I work for a forensic genealogy company that traces missing heirs. Thanks to me, families are located..."

"Sorry that's not what I meant. That's not what your Grandpa meant. He felt he wasted his life because he didn't discover what he wanted to do until he was too old and frail to do it. Leaving you a book on writing is your Grandpa's way of giving you a shove in the direction of your dreams. To start writing. Not get caught up with life, with jobs or with helping other people without helping yourself. You can still do all that, but make sure you give yourself time to pursue your dream of writing and not wait until you're too old to start, lest you realize you could do it, love it and end up wishing you started sooner."

Abby sat in silence, her eyes welling up. She opened her mouth to speak but her brain shut down and she just sighed.

Mark continued. "This was for your eyes only. Not your Mum's, she has her passion. Not your Dads and certainly not your hair brained relatives who only care about themselves and money. This is for you because I think your Grandpa believed in you and thought this might stir something inside you. So yes, it's your decision Abby."

It was too much. Abby began to cry. Mark immediately stepped forward and leaned into her putting his arms around her body and his hand up to cradle her head. She put her arm around his waist and held it there and absorbed the moment.

"Do you really think that coin is worth as much as the lighthouse?" she softly asked, pulling away and looking into his deep soulful brown eyes.

"I'm not sure, but it could be close."

"I thought we'd need a whole bag of them, I've never heard of a single coin being worth more than a thousand or so."

Mark shook his head slowly. "This coin is not like other coins. It's an Edward III Gold Double Florin. Mega rare. Known as a Double Leopard, it was issued in 1343."

Mark put the writing book back down on the desk and picked up the gold coin. Looking at it pinched between his finger and thumb, he said, "There are only two others known and both of those are in the British Museum. I could imagine a few people wanting to get their hands on this."

"What do you think it's worth?"

"Hard to say for sure. Maybe somewhere in the region of three hundred thousand. Maybe three fifty."

"Dollars?"

"Pounds."

"You're kidding? For one coin."

"What's the guide price on this place?"

"Four hundred thousand pounds."

"Have there been any interested parties that you know of?"

"A few. Mainly locals. But it doesn't matter because I can just tell my Mom to pull the listing. If you think we should sell the coin, she can use the money from that and I get to keep the lighthouse."

"Yes that's true." Mark thought for a moment. "Tell me about your Mum's brothers and sisters. If they found out what was in here, and your Grandpas secrets, would they try and contest the will?"

"What, you mean if they found out Grandpa left Mom a lighthouse which contained a four hundred thousand dollar coin?"

"Pounds. Four hundred thousand pound coin."

"That's like six, or seven hundred thousand dollars then? Yeah, they'd go crazy."

"Not to mention what's in the safes."

"Oh my goodness. What is in the safes?" Abby asked, her eyes widening.

"Probably best you didn't know at this stage."

"I don't get why we can't just stop the sale and transfer the lighthouse into my name and sell the coin and transfer the money to mom."

"Because of your uncles and aunts. They might be watching the auction and will see that it's been cancelled."

Abby nodded, "Then they'll assume Mom wanted to keep it after all."

"Yes, and then they'll see that not only has your Mum not lost her rescue center, but that she somehow managed to have a new rehabilitation room built. They might just get curious and wonder if anything of value was in this lighthouse that they didn't know about."

"And if it's in my Mom's name, or even mine, they could come and surprise visit anytime I guess."

"Right. So better to let the sale go ahead and buy it back under a different name. Keep it separate. Keep it hidden."

"Okay. But doesn't my Mom need to be on the paperwork."

"Not your mum. You."

"Me?"

"Sure. You could sell all of this, the lighthouse and the coin and take all the money back with you. Or you could use the coin to buy the lighthouse, send money to your mum and you get to keep the lighthouse. It's all your decision remember. Keep it only if you feel a sense of calling or if you want to come back to England for a holiday. You fancy another drink?"

"I fancy some air."

As they got up to leave the underground room, Abby stopped and looked back at the row of metal detectors that belonged to her Grandpa.

"Will you show me how to use one of them?"

"Sure," said Mark, picking one up and checking for batteries. "This one was his favorite beach machine. It's good for ignoring small pieces of aluminum foil."

"And the coin? What are we going to do about that?"

"We need to find out if it is worth the guide price of this place, and if we can find a buyer. It's time you met someone."

Abby watched as Mark turned off the tunnel light and closed the inner closet door. Clicking the hook back up into place and securing the lock tight, the secret door was once again an invisible part of the closet.

Abby unbolted and opened the lighthouse front door, closing her eyes as she held her face towards the warm sunshine. As they made their way across the gravel towards the cottage, car engines could be heard struggling their way up the steep lane leading to the lighthouse. Mark turned to face the gates in anticipation.

"You expecting company?" he asked keeping his stare dead ahead.

"No," replied Abby looking towards the gate. "Could be the estate agents."

"Don't they make appointments?"

"No, they are under instruction to show anyone here at any time they can between 9am and 9pm."

A dirty, mudded up Land Rover came into view with the 'Fargo & Pitt' livery down the doors. The estate agent gave a wave at Abby and pulled up in front of the lighthouse, followed closely behind by a Ford Mondeo. Two men got out.

"I don't believe it," Abby whispered to herself.

"Friends of yours?" asked Mark.

"Not exactly."

The estate agent led the men over.

"Abby sweet!" a sweaty overweight man bellowed, his shirt buttons looking at breaking point.

"Hi Uncle Bradley! What are you doing here?" Abby warmly greeted as Bradley kissed her on the cheek.

"Hello precious, this is my business partner John. We were looking for premises in London for a restaurant and when John suggested something completely different - Devonshire - I thought this would make the perfect place," Bradley explained.

"This is Mark, one of Grandpa's friends who is helping me clear up," Abby said. Mark and Brad just nodded at each other, not uttering a word. "I didn't know you were over in the UK, are you here for long?" Abby asked.

"Could be, could be. John is helping with my visa so when we start employing staff for the restaurant then I can be here on a full time work visa. When are you going back?" he asked.

"I'm only here for a few days, I'm going back this Friday."

"Oh that's a shame," Bradley said. "If you were staying you could work for me when we turn it into a restaurant. You'd look nice in an apron," he said in a condescending tone.

Abby just smiled.

"Well don't let me get in your way of cleaning," Bradley said as he turned to the estate agent. "Let's have a look at this joint then."

Once the estate agent had the men inside the cottage, Mark muttered, "Nice man" in a sarcastic tone under his breath.

"He's a prick," Abby openly said, not caring if she was heard.

"Is he serious? They've come here to look with intent to buy?"

Abby shrugged her shoulders. "I have no idea. He's probably got the money, but he's the last person my Grandpa would want buying his lighthouse."

Mark looked at her with a frown on his face. "I need to make a call."

"Where are we heading?" Abby asked watching out of the side window as the sun was starting to set over the vast hills of Dartmoor. The black Jaguar purred it's way along the A38 dual carriageway towards the city of Exeter.

"We're heading to our meeting point, Wolford Chapel," Mark answered watching the road for deer.

"You meet in a church?" Abby asked surprised.

"It's a special little church. It's actually owned by the Canadian province of Ontario so technically the police have no jurisdiction should we be seen handling certain objects we shouldn't be seen handling."

Mark came off the slipway at the small market town of Honiton and headed into the darkness of the countryside. The small chapel was hidden from road view, just before the village of Dunkeswell. The wide tires of the Jaguar crunched over the loose stones on the track way. The flag of Canada flapped overhead making no noise above the wind.

"Does anyone else come here?" asked Abby as she followed Mark to the stone Chapel noticing the lights on inside.

"Sure, it's open to anyone. But that's what's great about here. The deed of the chapel has a permanent right of way allowing the public access at any time, but hardly anyone comes here. It's as private as private."

Mark twisted the large metal door handle and pushed the heavy door open. A man was sat down on the front pew, his back to the entrance. Mark closed the door behind stepping into the entrance foyer, the heel of his boots echoing throughout the high beamed ceiling. Without turning, the man greeted Mark, instantly recognizing his distinctive footsteps.

"Good Evening Mr. Munro." He then stood up and turned to face Mark.

"Good Evening Mr. Lyons," Mark said as they shook hands. "I'd like you to meet the granddaughter of Mr. Hart. Miss Hart."

"How do you do Miss Hart," My Lyons said warmly. "I'm sorry to hear about your Grandfather's passing. He was a wonderful man and our country owes a debt of gratitude to him for his historic research."

Mark and Abby sat next to each other on the front wooden pew as Mr. Lyons stood in front of them.

"Now, you've asked me here quite urgently Mr. Munro, what is it I can help you with?" asked Mr. Lyons getting straight down to business.

"I need to raise some funds," Mark said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small plastic bag with the coin in. "Quickly."

Mr. Lyons stepped forward, squinting his eyes as he looked at the coin. "That isn't what I think it is... is it?" Mr. Lyons asked taking the coin from Mark and examining it closely. "A Double Leopard? Really Mr. Munro? This might generate some news."

"Well, that's why I come to you Mr. Lyons. Is there a suitable flea market she can be sailed through?"

"There's not many for this to be frank. London. Spinks. In nine days. Has she come from a good home?"