Chapter 20
It rained sometime during the night and Buck awoke to a damp morning. It was cooler than normal, dark clouds rolling in from the south. Wiley joined him on the veranda and didn't wait long to question him about his return trip to Deception.
“See you made it home okay.”
“Never a doubt about it.”
Wiley smirked. “How'd things go in town?”
“I paid a little visit to Bones Malone's office.”
“Don't want to hear about it,” Wiley said, covering his ears and shaking his head.
Buck removed the piece of broken pottery from his pocket and handed it to him. “I found this under his desk. Any ideas?”
Wiley rolled the shard in his palm, stopping when he saw the India ink inscription. “Indian pottery. You find it all over the place around here.”
“I didn't know there were Indians in east Texas.”
“Caddo Indians. Named the Lake after them. Most were moved to Oklahoma after the Civil War.”
“What's your take on the inscription?”
Tiger rubbed against Buck's leg as Wiley studied the mark. Heavy humidity turned into a drizzle of rain that splattered water through the screen and beat a steady timpani against the veranda's tin roof. Buck scooted his chair away from the screen and so did Wiley.
“NATDEV probably refers to Hogg Nation's development,” he finally said. “That's what Bones was mostly working on.”
“So you think this pottery came from Nation's development?”
“Why not?”
Lightning momentarily illuminated dark storm clouds as Buck pondered the archeological and legal implications. “Maybe Malone found something that impacted Nation's plans.”
“Probably not,” Wiley said. “If the State shut down construction in east Texas every place they found pottery shards, we'd have to turn out the lights and go someplace else. And what does it have to do with Miss Emma, anyway?”
“Don't know. What I do know is that someone's worried about it.”
Wiley's eyes narrowed. “How's that?”
“Malone had a loose-leaf binder in his room upstairs. A key to the artifacts he collected. I came across it the other day when I inspected his room. It's not there anymore. Someone took it.”
“You're shittin' me,” Wiley said.
“I wish I were. The book is missing and whoever took it went out the upstairs window with it.”
“Did you call the Sheriff?”
“Why bother?”
Gusting wind blew rain through the screen, backing them even further away from the fabric wall. Wiley didn't answer his rhetorical question. Instead, he grabbed a fork and sampled the eggs. Then he said, “When you were in Malone's office, did you see his report on the development?”
“If there is one, I didn't find it,” Buck said. “I suspect the person that took the binder probably got their hands on the report as well. If I could just find Malone, I'd ask him. In lieu of that, I'll have to take a look around the construction site.”
“You're not going to find Malone unless he wants you to,” Wiley said. “And they got a big fence around the construction site and guards at the gate. I doubt Hogg Nation will invite you in for a look-see.” Wiley opened the screen door, gazing up at the ever-darkening sky. “Daddy's coming in with a fishing party. Must have got rained out. I better go help him with the customers.”
The drizzle of rain became a blinding downpour as he headed out the door. Buck watched him go. Tiger didn't. Not appreciating water splashing in through the screen, he hid between Buck's legs. Not liking the dampness either, he grabbed the kitten, hurrying inside to the sofa by the big stone fireplace, waiting nearly an hour until the rain passed over. By then, Tiger lay asleep on his lap. Transferring him to a warm spot on the couch, he grabbed the phone and called long distance information.
“Richmond Oil Company in Shreveport.”
When the receptionist answered, he requested to speak to someone in the land department. A George Strait ballad played in the background until a young woman finally came on the line and said, “Land department.”
“Ma'am, I'm calling about the Fitzgerald well your company operates over here in east Texas. Can I speak with the land person that handles this area?”
“That would be Brice Culpepper. Hold the line and I'll put him on.”
“Thanks,” Buck said, again listening to a mournful country tune as the woman put him on hold. He didn't have long to wait.
“Brice Culpepper. How may I help you?”
“By doing me a big favor before I tell that pretty wife of yours what really happened at your bachelor party.”
“Buck T. McDivit. Is that you?”
“You bet your sweet ass it is, Brice buddy. What are you doing in Shreveport? I thought Texaco transferred you to Houston.”
“Got caught in a round of big company layoffs. Richmond hired me when Texaco got bought out. They moved us to Shreveport.”
Buck grinned. For the first time in many days, lady luck had finally dealt him a winning hand. He knew Brice Culpepper well. Texaco had hired him during the oil boom. He had done brokerage work for the Nevada transplant, checking records and buying leases for him. The U.S. oil industry has contracted in size since the boom days, and it's fairly common to have a passing acquaintance with almost anyone still employed. That's what Buck had hoped for when he called Richmond Oil. Finding someone he knew as well as Brice was an unexpected bonus.
“Shreveport must be a little confining for the Las Vegas flash.”
“No way,” Brice said. “We have a race track, the lottery and casino gambling. Hey, not to mention that Sally and me are hooked on Cajun cooking.”
“Glad to hear it. What else is new?”
“Nothing much. What's up with you? You didn't call to talk about old times.”
“Your company operates a well, the Emma Fitzgerald #1. I was wondering if you have a title opinion on it.”
“If we operate it, we have a title opinion. Want me to put a copy in the mail to you?”
“Why don't you just bring it with you?” Buck told him about the impending barbecue. “The island can't be more than forty miles from Shreveport. The lodge here is huge. You and Sally pack a bag and stay the weekend. It'll be like old times.”
“You got a deal, Buck,” Brice said. “But on one condition.”
“And what might that be?”
“That you don't get drunk and tell Sally what happened at the bachelor party.”
Buck quickly agreed. After giving him directions to the loading dock in Deception, he joined Tiger on the couch and grabbed a much needed nap. It was after five when he awoke and went to the kitchen. Pearl was alone, drinking coffee.
“Don't worry about fixing dinner for me,” he said. “I'm going to Deception for the rest of the afternoon.”
“It's storming outside. Lightning will strike you for sure.”
“I'll be fine. It's starting to slack off.”
“Hard headed, just like Miss Emma,” Pearl mumbled as Buck headed out the door.
Buck found the boat where he'd left it, tethered to the dock, rocking and rolling in white-capping water. The motor cranked on the first pull. Though the storm had passed over the island, a steady drizzle continued to fall. Wind had abated and he—except for being wet and uncomfortable—had no trouble reaching Deception. Foul weather had caused an early shut-down of construction at the development. A twelve-foot fence surrounded the site and he had little trouble finding a loose board, squeezing in between the cracks.
Even though summer darkness comes late in east Texas, black storm clouds cloaked the work site, providing all the cover he needed. Rain had transformed the location into a muddy mess and he quickly sank up to the ankles of his new boots. Bulldozers and draglines lay deserted. Fresh from moving earth and preparing the foundation, their engines still steamed in the rain. Unsure where to begin, he started with the first hole he came to.
Muddy water filled the depression, a ditch trenched by a nearby backhoe that was now mired up to its axle in mud. Deciding it wasn't what he was looking for he avoided the waist-deep water and began looking instead for a hole that someone had dug with a shovel. He quickly found what he was looking for.
He recognized the anomalous hole in the ground because it resembled those he'd seen on the backside of Fitzgerald Island. Persistent rain had washed away most of the dirt piled beside the hole. Pottery shards remained. When he picked one up, he realized it wasn't a shard. What he held in his hand as rain poured down the back of his neck was a cup-sized clay pot. A voice behind him almost caused him to tumble into the hole.
“Well lookie here, Hump. I believe we caught ourselves a mud dauber.”
Before Buck could react, Deacon John gave him a push, propelling him forward into the shallow hole. As he splashed into muddy water, he somehow managed to hold on to the little pot.
“I knew that boy was a pig,” Humpback said. “Now he's found himself a new slop hole to wallow around in.”
Thunder clapped down by the lake, joined by an increased downpour of rain. It washed some of the mud from Buck's hair and beaded down his face. As he wiped the grit from his eyes, he realized Humpback and Deacon John weren't alone. Humpback held a leash and was restraining an angry-looking pit bull terrier. Deacon John cradled an equally mean-looking shotgun in his arms.
“What are you doing here, cowpoke?” he said.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Deacon John replied to Buck's remark by kicking mud in his face. The pit bull growled and strained against the leash. Buck realized Humpback was staring at the pot in his hand.
“What's that you’re holding?”
“Come down here and I'll show you.”
Deacon John pointed the shotgun at Buck's face. “Hand it over. Now.”
Buck handed him the pot. “What is it?” Humpback asked.
“Nothing but a damn pot,” he said, tossing it back into the hole beside Buck.
Deacon John and Humpback both laughed when Buck said, “Now help me out of here.”
“We gotta go now, but we'll leave Cyclone to help you outa the hole.”
They unleashed the pit bull and started away through the storm. Buck called after them. “I could drown in here.”
“We'll send the Sheriff for you, tomorrow maybe.”
As Humpback's laughter died away in the storm, Buck sensed what a fix he was in. Muddy water was gushing into the hole and had already risen to his chest. Several things kept him from crawling out. His elbows sank into soggy earth when he tried to leverage himself over the bank, suction threatening to suck off his boots. And then there was the pit bull, growling at him from the edge of the hole.
The pit bull was angry but unable to get at Buck anymore than Buck was able to get out of the hole. As water rose to his chin, his boots stuck ever deeper in the mud. Branches and debris began sweeping past him in the swirling water. When a large chunk of foam insulation floated past, he grabbed it and held on.
Deception sat on a slight rise overlooking the lake, ground sloping toward it like a natural bowl. The construction site was located on the slope of the bowl. Rain had continued all day. Now, runoff coming from the rise above the lake flowed like a river, all grass and vegetation that once controlled it long since stripped away by construction. After swallowing a second lungful of water, he leveraged himself against a two-by-four and pulled with all his strength.
All his strength was just enough. As his feet popped loose from the new boots, the wildly surging water carried him over the board and out of the hole. It wasn't over. Upon seeing Buck float free of the muddy pit, the guard dog made a charge, lunging through the mud and leaping on his back. The current carried them toward the lake as they struggled. An even greater flow of water surged over the rise.
The pit bull had locked his fangs into the remnants of Buck's torn western shirt and refused to let go. It didn't matter. The rush of water swept them down the hill, toward the lake. Construction workers had even provided a gap in the gate to accommodate such an occurrence. They hit the lake in a tumult of debris and swirling water. Both were swept immediately to the muddy bottom. Buck surfaced quickly but not the stunned pit bull. Diving beneath the whitecaps, he grabbed the sputtering dog's collar and yanked him to the surface. Against the powerful swirl he struggled to shore, dragging the hapless dog behind him.
Cyclone had swallowed lots of water and sprawled on the grass, trying to cough it up from his lungs without a lot of luck. Realizing the dog’s dilemma, Buck picked him up by the hindquarters and pounded his back until a half quart of liquid issued from the beast's mouth. When it did, the once angry dog wagged his tail and licked Buck's hand in gratitude.
“It's okay. Guess you don't like swimming in that lake any more than I do.”
Joining him on the grass, Buck allowed the rain to assault his face and head. There he remained until Cyclone nudged him with his nose. He followed the dog to the shelter of a massive oak where they waited until the storm passed, Cyclone thinking doggy thoughts as Buck wondered why Humpback and Deacon John hadn't just killed him. Maybe they thought, or at least hoped, he’d drown.