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FRANK PRACTICALLY BUMPED into Claudia as he got out of the truck and headed towards The Weekly Journal’s building. The sun was in his eyes but he knew who the woman was the minute she spoke.
“Hi Frank. What brings you to town in the middle of the day? Abigail said you were working at the sheriff’s department today on your consulting job?”
“Good morning Claudia.” He met her eyes as she paused on the sidewalk outside the newspaper’s window; clutching a white box he recognized immediately as one from The Delicious Circle bakery. “I took off early. Glinda had to tell me about one of her latest visions so I went to her place. The gang was there, Myrtle and my wife. I’ve just come into town to check something out at the newspaper. Samantha is expecting me.
“How are you and your husband doing?”
“Oh,” she spoke with an amused inflection in her voice, “we’re fine. Since Ryan finished the Willowby’s kitchen remodeling he’s restless. Again. He’s back to going on and on about taking that dream trip to Africa to hunt big game before he dies. You know how he is?”
Frank grinned. He knew. Claudia’s husband had been talking about a safari to Africa since he’d known him. Thirty years, at least. He wanted to bag a wildebeest or a Greater Kudu or some such beast. Everyone had their dream vacations. Frank wanted to go to Ireland and wander around in the small quaint villages. Abby had always dreamed of visiting England. One day perhaps they’d even go.
“And at the homestead we’ve been overrun lately with these sneaky raccoons. An entire family of them. They get into our trash cans every week and make a mess of things in the street. One, a baby, even snuck into the house through the dog door the other day and, boy, did Ryan have a wild time getting it out again. It got in the cookie jar and ate half the cookies before we realized it was in the house. It jumped in his face when he first tried to catch it. Small as it was, it sure could run and hide like a little demon. We finally cornered it, tossed it into a bag, and set it free outside where its mother was anxiously waiting for it. She tried to bite him. You should have seen my brave husband fighting that tiny critter. Ha! It nearly got the best of him, let me tell you. And he wants to go to Africa and hunt big game? Yeah, sure. That man!” She was shaking her head.
Frank couldn’t help but smile. “Raccoons can be pesky all right.” He said nothing about Ryan’s forever trip to the Dark Continent. No need to. “How come you’re not in your shop selling books?” His eyes were on the bakery box. He’d had an early breakfast but it was past two now and his stomach was growling. He thought he could actually smell the pastries Claudia had bought.
Claudia laughed and raised the box. “I suddenly had the irresistible desire for some of Kate’s famous glazed donuts so after lunch I stopped by there and purchased a dozen. Now I’m going back to the bookstore to have some with coffee. Can I interest you in joining me?”
The offer was tempting, but when Frank glanced up he saw Samantha in the window gesturing at him.
“Any other time I’d happily accept, Claudia. You know I love Kate’s donuts. But Samantha is waiting for me and you know you can’t keep a pregnant lady waiting.”
“I’ll say.” Claudia shifted the box in her arms. “She’s so close to the delivery day, we wouldn’t want to upset her in any way, now would we? Here,” Claudia opened the box and grabbing a napkin from inside wrapped it around two donuts and handed them to Frank, “one for you and one for our pregnant newspaper lady. She’s always hungry these days, especially for sweets.”
“That’s kind of you.” Frank took the donuts from her. “Thank you. This’ll tide me over until supper and I’m sure Samantha will gobble hers down.”
“You’re welcome. But the gift comes with a price. When you get the time you must stop by the bookstore and tell me all about Glinda’s new clairvoyant insight and what’s going on. If Myrtle and Abigail are involved I suspect it’s another mystery you all are on.”
“Maybe or maybe not. Glinda has lots of visions. She can’t help every spirit who appears to her. This new endeavor might never go any farther.”
“Hmm. Well, see you later then.” After a quick wave at the woman in the window, Claudia swung around and her heels tap-tapped away from him in the direction of her bookstore. As usual she was dressed in a classy outfit, black slacks and a rose silk blouse. Heels. Watching her stroll away reminded him he’d forgotten to ask about her kids. The five of them were grown and long gone from home but he’d gone to school with a couple of them and liked knowing what they were up to. Well, he’d ask next time he saw her.
He opened the Journal’s door and walked over to Samantha’s desk. The woman was sitting in her chair, hand on her swollen belly and a distracted look on her puffy face. She’d married her fiancé Kent the year before and was now pregnant with their first child. Kent was more than excited over the prospect of being a father but Samantha, being a working woman and lately eying the political office of town mayor, was more concerned about how she was going to handle it all.
“It won’t be long now. The baby’s arrival?” Frank sat down across from her in one of the chairs. “The end of May, right?”
“Not soon enough for me.” Samantha groaned, rubbing her stomach. “I want this baby born...yesterday. I’m so tired of being so...fat.”
“You’re not fat, you’re just going to have a baby.”
“So everyone says. But, lately, I’m not sure if it’s a baby or a kangaroo. The way it kicks me all the time. My stomach inside must be black and blue.”
“It will be over soon. In the meantime this will cheer you up. A little present from Claudia.” Frank presented her with the donut and was relieved to see her smile. She’d been way too down there for a moment.
“Yum.” She accepted the donut and the two of them ate their pastries. “Oh, so good. I was just thinking I was hungry and needed a sugary snack. A pick me up to keep going.”
The publisher finished the treat and wiped her hands. “I’ve been searching the archives and pulling out the old microfiche in the storage rooms since you called me. We have an ancient microfilm machine up in storage, too, and before you leave you can dig it out for me. There’s no way I can crawl around up there and bring it down here. It’s way in the back and as I recall it is heavy.”
“I’ll get it down before I leave,” Frank said.
“Okay.”
“So I guess you haven’t uncovered any pertinent information yet about our mysterious sailor ghost?”
“No, not yet,” Samantha replied, leaning back in her chair as she rubbed her neck. “But there’s so many boxes of microfiche and some of them, I’ve found, have their years mislabeled. Apparently some of our earlier reporters couldn’t count very well. Since you don’t know the exact years involved anyway it complicates things even more. So far I haven’t found anything concrete on your sailor and his treasure, or at least not in more recent years, other than the possibility we might find something in the microfiche files or from people I’ve asked but I’ll keep on asking.”
Frank was disappointed but tried not to show it.
“But,” Samantha’s lips smiled, “after you called and I thought about it I did recall some things I heard when I was a child about the legend of the sailor and his hidden treasure.”
“Oh, really? What is that?”
“I imagine you remember my family when we were kids? I was years behind you in school but your parents lived close to mine and everyone on my street knew each other. We were dirt poor. My father, who went from one crazy job to another trying to support us, used to make jokes about sneaking onto Evelyn’s land and searching for, as he called it, Bartholomew’s booty. My father was sure the treasure was buried somewhere on the sailor’s land, most likely in the yard or the graveyard behind the house. That’s what everyone believed. There were even nights my dad disappeared for hours and my mother would jokingly say he was out looking for Bartholomew’s treasure. He’d come home the next morning covered in grime and sweat; angry he still hadn’t found it.
“Oh, and one time I asked my mother what kind of treasure my father thought he was looking for and she said it was a chest of jewelry and and coins, thought to be worth a fortune. I wanted to know how she knew that and she said it was reported in the town’s records during her childhood that Bartholomew paid for the land and the building of his house with some of his gold and a lot of townsfolks believed he didn’t spend all he had in his lifetime. He hid the remainder somewhere on his land. Thus the legend took form and grew.”
“So,” Frank summed up, “the sailor’s name was Bartholomew and his treasure might have been jewelry and coins. That’s something we didn’t know before. I can’t wait until you start going through those microfiche.” He thought about it and added, “You know I could help you look through them?”
“Thanks. I gladly accept the help. Heaven knows I need it. I have a newspaper to get out and,” she patted her stomach again, “this baby of mine could arrive early and Kent and I still have a crib to put together as well as finishing the baby’s room. We can’t decide on what color to make it.” She shook her head but smiled while doing it.
“Good. I can start right now. I could dig out the boxes and the machine.” He stood up.
“Excellent,” she said. “Oh, and here’s another idea to help your paper search...you could check the town’s past real estate records for who originally built Evelyn’s house and find out the man’s full name. Make sure it is the same Bartholomew. And if it is, get an approximate timeline of his life.”
“That’s another good idea. In fact, I’d already thought of it and I might go ahead and do that first. Then start going through the boxes of microfiche. It could decrease the years I have to look through if I know when the man lived and when he built the house.”
“All things which would be helpful. You know, I’m pleased you’re looking into this old mystery. I’ve always been fascinated with the legend of the sailor and his buried treasure.”
“All righty,” Frank concluded. “I’m going to city hall to look up some real estate records.”
“And I’m going to whip up one last article for our weekly newspaper before I hit publish.” She was smiling mischievously. “In the article I’ll be asking if anyone remembers anything about this mysterious sailor and his lost treasure. Some of the older townies might recollect something. You know I enjoy helping a fellow writer get the research he needs for his books.”
“Now that’s another good idea, using the newspaper to ask if anyone remembers anything about the man and his gold. Thanks. It’ll be interesting to see what shakes loose. I’ll be back later to check out those microfiche.” Frank lifted up from the chair and with a courteous goodbye wave of his hand headed for the door.
“Oh,” Samantha tossed in as he was at the exit, “I just had another idea. You could stop by the bookstore on your way to the courthouse and see if Claudia has any books on the sailor’s legend. Maybe a local inhabitant of the time or soon after wrote something about the treasure. Or there might be a collection of urban town folklore which might mention it.”
“I’ll do that.” Frank was out the door and striding down the sidewalk. First stop Tattered Corners.
“Oh, coming after more donuts, huh?” Claudia teased when she looked up and saw him. “They’re on the table over there. Help yourself.” She had a stack of books in her arms and was sliding them into spaces on the shelves.
“Not here for the donuts, but to see if you might have a book about something I’ve become interested in,” he paused for a moment, “which might help me in writing my new novel.”
Claudia faced him. “And what book would that be?”
Frank explained about Bartholomew and his undiscovered buried treasure, using a half truth. No need to start the treasure fever bubbling up and over again. Claudia was as bad as Myrtle when it came to spreading gossip. “I thought I might use it as part of a plot device in my new book. Fiction based on real life happenings or truths often make the best fiction. Samantha thought you might have a book here on it since he lived here in town once.”
He got more than he expected when she answered. “Oh, that old wives’ tale about Bartholomew Masterson’s long lost treasure being buried somewhere on his land; probably in an old cemetery somewhere near his house beneath a grave or something?”
Bingo. “So his name was Bartholomew Masterson? Really?”
“Really.” Claudia grinned and put the books down on a nearby cart. “No one these days would probably remember where he lived around here, but there were whisperings about him, a recluse who seemed to have secrets, and some mysterious treasure. So he caught someone’s fancy enough to have something written about him.”
Really?” Frank couldn’t believe his luck. A book would make his research a lot easier.
“Oh, it’s not a best-seller published by a big publisher. I think it was self-published in the day long before that became fashionable; with a vanity press. It’s not even a book only about him.” She was on the move now, her fingers brushing along a column of book spines at the bottom of a shelf. “If I recall correctly, it was a homegrown collection of curious town stories written by an older woman who’d lived here all her life and wanted future generations to never forget them. I remember reading it as a young girl and when I opened this bookstore thirty years ago someone anonymously donated a box of them, since it was about Spookie. Most of them have sold over the years to people who live here and care about our town. I thought we had a copy or two left, or I thought we did.” Claudia had walked over to another aisle and had continued looking.
“Who was the woman who self-published the book? Do you remember?”
“Not off hand, I can’t recall it. She was before my time. But I’ll recognize the book when I see it. Someone told me the author was a member of the town’s early historical society. You know those members were and are still trying to preserve town stories and legends.”
Frank waited, watching as Claudia rifled through more books.
“Yes, here it is,” the bookseller announced. “I knew it was here somewhere.” She yanked out a worn looking but thin book and gave it to him.
“Can I just borrow it for a while?” he asked as he cradled it in his hand. “I’ll return it when I get done reading it. Won’t take long, it is a short book.”
“It is. Take your time. If it’s been on that shelf all these years I don’t think anyone is standing in line to buy it. And if it can help you with your new book, then welcome to it for as long as you need it. I love helping authors.”
Frank was examining the book. “Hmm, says here the Odd and Unusual Stories of Spookie was published by a Lily Merriweather. I’ve never heard of her.” Frank opened the book and took note of the publication date. 1943. He skimmed through the short table of contents. Bartholomew Masterson’s Buried Treasure. Page 49. Good. “Thank you, Claudia. I guess I better get going. I still have things to do and places to go.”
“Okay, Frank. I hope that little book gives you what you’re looking for.”
“It might.”
Frank left the bookstore and was almost at the truck when he decided to take a quick detour. The taste of Kate’s donut was still in his mouth and suddenly he had to have another one and a cup of coffee. He glanced over at The Delicious Circle. It’d only take a minute or two and then he’d be off to city hall.
Walking into the donut shop he spied his friend Kate behind the glass counter putting in another tray of freshly made donuts.
“Hi Frank,” she greeted him, straightening up. “How are things going?” Her green eyes met his. She’d cut her dark hair shorter than normal, but it and she looked good, happy. Abby had mentioned to him the other day Kate now had a boyfriend named Norman who worked at the local flour mill and they were getting serious.
“Things are fine, Kate. I just thought I’d run in here and get some of your delicious donuts to take home.”
“Ah, trying to get points with Abigail, huh?”
“Not really. I have plenty of points with my lovely wife. I’m the perfect husband. Just ask her. Truth is, I wanted some for myself, though she and Nick will appreciate me bringing pastries home. They always do. So please give me six glazed, three chocolate covered custard filled and three of those crème horns.” Crème horns were Abigail’s favorite. Nick, as most teenagers, liked donuts of any kind. “Oh, and can I also have a cup of coffee to go?” Frank settled down on one of the counter’s bar stools and propped his elbows on the counter.
“Sure thing.”
“How’s your new boyfriend, Norman right, doing?”
Kate laughed. “Oh, so everyone knows about Norman, huh?”
“Small town.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Yeah, small town, big eyes and ears everywhere. Oh, Norman is fine. We’ve been dating over a month now and I really, really like him. He’s a good, solid man and those are hard to find these days and especially in my advanced age group.” She smiled. “He works hard, he’s kind and he helps care for his ill mother. I’m lucky to know him.” She put the paper to-go-cup of coffee in front of him and the box of donuts beside it.
Laying the tome he’d been holding on the counter, Frank paid her.
Kate reached out and tapped the book. “Ah, the Odd and Unusual Stories of Spookie. I haven’t seen that strange little book since I was a kid. I thought they’d long ago disappeared. You know the author was my great-grandmother?”
“You’re kidding?” Frank was taken aback. What a small world it was.
“Nope. My mother used to talk about her nutty, eccentric grandmother Lily all the time. The woman was obsessed with Spookie, its people and history, and the strange stories about it. Lily maintained Spookie was built on haunted Indian land and that’s why so many weird things happened to it and its people. She believed the fog hid the dead Indian spirits and they were always watching us, the living.”
Frank thought, wait until I tell Myrtle that story. “Well, I haven’t heard that particular detail before, but it might explain some things. This town does have its share of weird occurrences–and a lot of eerie fog. And Myrtle is always claiming to see the ghosts in the woods as she puts it. Perhaps they are Indian spirits.” Frank took a sip of his coffee which Kate had prepared exactly the way he liked it with a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk. “What else did your mother say about her grandmother Lily?”
“Only that she was a woman ahead of her time. Odd, yes, but with a truly compassionate and generous heart. She loved our town. Read that book you have there and you’ll know a lot more about her.” As she answered him Kate’s gaze had traveled to something outside the windows. Frank’s gaze followed hers.
Someone was coming into the shop. A man. Frank knew most everyone in town, but not the man who came in and shuffled up to the counter, limping with the help of a cane. He looked like a bum dressed as he was in frayed clothing which hung on his skeletal frame. His long wrinkled pants with holes in them were too big and his worn suit coat was dusty. His face was gaunt and he sported a white beard beneath thin lips, a beaked nose and bushy ivory eyebrows. His eyes, though, when they rose to look at Frank, were a mesmerizing blue, but they were tinged with sorrow and regret. Hanging from his slumped shoulder there was a leather bag which looked as used as the man himself. The bag, lumpy and fat, looked full. “Howdy do, my name is Silas,” the man said and tipped the black fedora, also dusty and wearing its years, in Frank’s direction.
“Hello,” Frank replied. “Mine is Frank. Nice to meet you.”
“Kate,” Kate supplied.
The elderly man zeroed in on her. “Well, Kate, I’d like a cup of that coffee like the young man here has. It smells really good.” His voice was soft, cultured and as his eyes were also strangely hypnotic and intelligent. Frank had the impression he was an educated man. “If you’d be so kind.” He plunked down on the stool beside Frank and began to rummage around in his pocket. He brought out a small pile of dirty coins. Mostly pennies and nickels. Frank spotted a dime or two. “As much coffee as this can buy, my sweet lady.”
Frank had to admit Kate was civil, even kind when she requested, “Is that all? Just coffee? Nothing else?”
The old man’s eyes were caressing the trays of fancy pastries under the glass. “That will be all.”
Frank couldn’t help himself. “Kate, give the man a couple of any donuts he wants and I’ll cover it.”
“No, no I can’t accept that,” the man in the fedora protested to Frank, but half-heartedly. His eyes were devouring the cherry Danish. His tongue licked his dry lips. “But thank you anyway, young man. It was a kind thought.”
“I insist,” Frank stated firmly. “Kate, give him what he wants.”
The elder remained silent, but his eyes lowered as if he were either ashamed or grateful.
Kate’s smile was immediate. “What do you fancy?” she queried the old man.
An arthritic finger pointed to a cherry Danish and a glazed donut. When the old man smiled it changed his face and made him look a decade younger. It was easy to see he was hungry.
Kate took the chosen pastries out and along with a napkin, she placed them before the customer. She poured a large cup of coffee, placed the sugar container and a milk pitcher in front of the old man and then swiped up the pile of coins, depositing them into a cracked cup on a ledge behind her. “Coffee refills are free,” she told him.
“You are both too kind. Thank you. I guess I’m a little low on funds at the moment. Next time I see you, Frank, I will pay you back.” A casual lift of frail shoulders.
“You don’t have to,” Frank said. “We’ve all been there. Take it easy, Silas.”
“I will...Frank.”
Frank laid a ten dollar bill on the counter. As the old man gobbled down the first donut Frank leaned over and whispered near Kate’s ear. “Send a few more donuts and another coffee along in a bag with him when he leaves. On me.”
Kate tilted her head enough for him to know she understood and murmured, “Was going to do that anyway.”
Frank snatched up his box of donuts and his cup and went out the door. He had business at the city hall and then a return visit to the newspaper. And he couldn’t be late for supper with Abby and Nick. At least now he had clues to follow up and direct him on his search. The legend of Bartholomew’s lost treasure had gotten under his skin and he knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d learned more. It wasn’t just the old mystery Glinda had presented to him which intrigued him, it was the whole treasure thing. He already had plots and possibilities swirling around in his head for his new mystery book to incorporate it. He’d been searching for a plot device for his new book for a long time and he knew buried treasure was it. Not to mention, since he’d been a child he’d loved the tales of pirates and buried treasure, Black Beard and Captain Hook. He’d once dreamed of going out to sea himself to look for sunken ships and what treasure they might have carried. Instead he’d grown up and had become a cop.
In the city hall’s records department, to his surprise but not shock, he confirmed it was Bartholomew Masterson who’d built Evelyn’s house in the year nineteen thirty-eight; earlier than he’d thought. So when he returned to the Journal he knew he needed to look in the microfiche boxes for the late nineteen thirties and early nineteen forties to perhaps discover any articles about the reclusive Masterson and his legendary treasure.
But after two hours of digging through dusty microfiche boxes stacked willy-nilly with no regard to dates he realized it would be more of a job than he’d expected. “I’m cutting out for the day, Samantha,” he updated her as he came out of the storage room. His hands were filthy and he was covered in dust. He’d need a shower before supper. “If it’s okay with you I’ll come back tomorrow and keep rummaging.”
“Good timing. I was just coming to look for you. Sure, come back anytime. No luck, huh?” Samantha looked as if she were getting ready to leave as well. She had her jacket on and her purse in her hands.
“No luck. There’s too many boxes. And your microfiche machine doesn’t want to cooperate. It keeps dying on me.”
“It’s really old, what do you expect? I’m surprised it still works at all. I open the doors tomorrow at nine.”
“I’ll resume the search tomorrow morning...sometime.” He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and tapped in a number. “Right now I need to order a pizza and cheesy bread from Marietta’s, pick it up, and get home. Abby gets cranky if supper is too late.”
“That she does.”
He put in his order and hung up.
“You and Kent need to come out for a visit soon. We haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I know. Possibly this weekend we’ll drop by.”
“Give us a call first to be sure we’re home.”
“I will. Take it easy Frank.”
“I will.”
Samantha led him out the door and the two went different ways.