| |
While Maddock and Bones signed in, hastily scribbling their names, the visitor desk attendant informed them that the residents had just finished breakfast and should be in their rooms, or engaged in one of the morning activities.
Maddock led Bones down a series of tiled floor corridors, following posted signs to reach the nursing home’s rehabilitation wing. Pictures of flowers and birds lined the cream-colored walls. The antiseptic smell assaulted Maddock’s nose, but it was better than stale urine, a childhood memory that lingered from when his mother took him to visit an ailing neighbor.
Stopping at the nurses’ station that appeared to be the hub of three hallways, counting the one they’d traveled down, Maddock asked directions to Ruth Harshbinner’s room. A nursing aid pointed down a hallway. “Most everyone’s doing crafts or bingo, but Mrs. Harshbinner’s in the lounge, reading one of her romance novels.”
The lounge area was wide open and lined with windows. On one end of the room sat a walnut console piano. The other side held a matching walnut, five-paned songbird aviary. Maddock estimated it housed at least a dozen colorful finches flitting around from branch to branch. Next to the aviary, a thin, gray-haired woman with hearing aids sat in a wheelchair. She peered through a pair of round spectacles at the pages of a paperback novel. The cover suggested it was a bodice ripper.
After a few seconds the woman in the wheelchair looked up from her book and smiled at Maddock. Her eyes widened a bit after they caught sight of Bones standing behind him. Maddock wasn’t short by any means, being just under six feet, but his friend had six inches on him. Both men had retained much of their physiques from their Navy SEAL days.
The old woman said loudly, pointing to herself, “Are you here to see me?”
Maddock saw some of the family resemblance. The woman seated in the wheelchair was Pari’s Great Aunt Ruth. “We’re here to see you, Mrs. Harshbinner. Your grandniece, Pari, asked us to stop by.”
Ruth Harshbinner set aside her paperback and signaled for Maddock to wait. Her hands shook a little as she reached behind each ear and switched on her hearing aids. “Can’t concentrate worth two hoots of a horse when people come in here jabbering about nothing or turn on the soap operas.” Her eyes narrowed. “You look like the men Pari told me about.”
Maddock nodded. “She asked us to stop by.”
Ruth’s face scrunched up in thought, then nodded once to herself. “Over there by the bookshelves.” She flicked her wrist that direction to emphasize. “The birds remind me of the ones that visit my feeder outside my kitchen window, and the bookshelves are like the ones in my sitting room.”
Maddock moved behind the wheelchair and pushed it the ten or so feet next to a deep chocolate-colored armchair. He stepped back around and formally introduced himself. “I’m Dane Maddock.” He reached forward and shook Ruth Harshbinner’s hand. Despite her frail appearance, Mrs. Harshbinner’s grip was warm and firm. “And this is my friend.” He gestured to Bones.
The tall Cherokee nodded and extended his hand. “Call me Bones.”
“Bones?” Ruth asked. “I can see you have Indian heritage. Is that your first name?”
“My friends call me Bones,” he said, shaking the elderly woman’s hand. “Short for Bonebrake.”
The look on Ruth’s face told Maddock she sensed something...something that she couldn’t quite place her finger on. Dane Maddock knew: His friend hated to be called by his first name, Uriah.
“Pari told me about you two. Said commendable things. But she didn’t tell me your Christian name, young man.” The old woman squinted up at Bones through her round glasses. “Are you hiding from the law?”
“No, ma’am,” Bones said in a serious tone, maintaining eye contact. “No one in the criminal justice system has a warrant for my arrest.”
“Oh, that’s splendid.” Mrs. Harshbinner waved a hand in dismissal. “Everyone should be allowed their secrets.” She gestured to an armchair on the far side of the bookcase. “Pull that one up.”
Once they were seated, facing each other, Maddock repeated, “Pari asked us to stop by and see you.” He paused, then decided to get straight to the point. “She indicated you might have something to share. A family secret that’s been causing some problems?”
Ruth Harshbinner raised an eyebrow, then squinted at each of the men. She then looked around to see if anyone else was in the room. Satisfied there wasn’t, she said, “Pari is a good girl, a bright girl.”
Maddock and Bones nodded.
“A loyal girl,” Mrs. Harshbinner continued. A sneer curled the older woman’s upper lip. “Unlike my grandson, Gordon. Takes after his father.”
Mrs. Harshbinner rubbed her palms on her slacks before pulling her pink sweater tight around her shoulders. “Are you young men good at keeping a secret?”
“Yes,” Maddock said. “We are.”
“Most definitely,” Bones agreed.
The old woman’s face ran through several emotions before settling on resignation. “Well, Mr. Maddock and...Bones, even though we haven’t known each other long enough to be friends, you appear to be honest.” She frowned, solidifying her decision. “I’ll have to trust you, and Pari’s judgment. She wouldn’t have sent you if you weren’t reliable.” She held out her hands, palms up, a gesture of giving up, of surrender. “I’m clean out of options.”
She glanced around the room conspiratorially before continuing. “I am in here, rehabbing after a little heart surgery. A bad valve needed fixing.” Her face turned sour. “But, if my son has anything to say about it, here I’ll stay.”
“Why is that?” Maddock asked. The woman was in a wheelchair, but looked strong enough to walk, if she wanted to. She didn’t appear to be mentally deficient or unstable. He was certain it had something to do with the treasure, but wanted her to get around to the topic in her own time.
“My son, Johnny,” she said. “He found some fancy new lawyer, or maybe it was the other way around. For my surgery, I gave Johnny my medical power of attorney. Never did fully trust him, but he’s the only family left in the nearest three counties.”
“If you’re recovering, and the legal authority was temporary,” Maddock said, “his lawyer will have nothing to stand on.”
“Your arrival just might be a godsend,” she said to Maddock and Bones. “Johnny now says I’m mentally unstable. His fancy lawyer is bringing in their own psychiatrist to test me.” She scowled while her hands balled into fists. “Those head doctors, it’s all their highfalutin opinion. Even this old grandma knows how opinions can be bought, even fancy ones.”
Maddock’s gaze met her teary eyes. “Why would your son do that?”
“He wants the farm.” She threw her hands up, frustration filling her voice. “Don’t know why. He never wanted to farm. Runs a print shop in town. Does jobs for most everyone in the county. Makes enough money for a vacation home in Florida.” A smirk crossed her face. “Audra, his wife, stays there over the winter, which means it’s an investment in his mental health.”
Maddock pondered, the way Mrs. Harshbinner’s emotions swung, might she be unstable? Or simply distraught over her son’s betrayal?
A stern look formed on Ruth Harshbinner’s face. She signaled Maddock and Bones closer. “Johnny doesn’t know the secret. What’s beneath the fields of our farm...” Her voice trailed off, becoming almost a whisper. “My farm, since Harvey passed.” Determination in her voice returned. “But, he suspects something. Our family has tried to keep the legend a secret, even from members of the extended family, but some things, even if unspoken, never fully die down, like tales of my father’s so-called Digging Diary.”
Ruth glanced around again, then pointed to Bones. “Reach behind those dusty encyclopedias. Pari brought it to me. Hid it there. Left a fake one Harvey wrote decades ago in the lock box on the mantle. He called it his decoy.”
Bones felt behind the red and silver 1985 edition of the Funk & Wagnalls Encyclopedia and retrieved a leather-bound book. It was the size of his hand and thick as two of his fingers. The brown leather was cracked with age. He guessed time had yellowed the pages as well. “Maddock’s got a diary like this,” he said. “Except his is pink and came with a fuzzy pen.”
A grin split Ruth’s face. “Pari told me about you two. Maddock, the serious one and the big fellow always cracking jokes.” She made eye contact with each man. “But both professional treasure hunters.” She nodded at the diary Bones held. “There’s all you need to know.”
“I assume this,” Maddock held up the diary, “is connected to the treasure Pari told us about?”
Ruth nodded. “I shouldn’t have given Pari that old cross, or whatever you call it. It was stupid of me. That’s what made Johnny curious.”
“You’d like for us to find the treasure before Johnny does?” Bones asked.
“Find it, maybe even destroy it, just keep it away from him.”
“Why destroy it?” Maddock asked.
“Harvey got to reading this journal and started poking around. He came in late one night shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, white as a bleached sheet. He said he’d found the entrance, whatever that meant, but he was going to seal it up.”
“What did he see?” Bones asked.
She swallowed hard. “It was my uncle,” she said, voice dropping to a whisper. “His ghost. After that day Harvey never went to the Hilltop Barn after sunset.
“I saw him too, my uncle’s ghost. Twice, holding a glowing lantern. And that’s why Johnny thinks he can prove me mentally troubled.” She stared at them. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No, Ma’am. Bones and I have seen enough of the world to know that everything can’t be fully explained.”
“Mrs. Harshbinner,” Bones began, “are you saying the treasure is hidden under your barn?”
“Read the journal,” she said. “Open the book, young man.”
Maddock gently lifted the cover. Scrawled on the first page was a small, meticulous script whose coloration and structure suggested use of a dip pen, a precursor to the fountain pen. That helped confirm the diary’s age.
“Open to the middle,” she said.
He looked up from reading the first page and did as Mrs. Harshbinner directed. The left-hand page he opened to contained more of the meticulous script. The right, a small map, what looked like a branching cave, with small arrows and notations. That wasn’t what caught Bones’ attention. A square, slightly larger than an inch square had been cut into the pages, forming a hollowed area within the closed journal. The action had removed a portion of each page’s words. The loss of content was more than made up by what was cradled within the carved-out portion. There rested a crystal, a type that Maddock recognized.
He lifted it out to show his friend.
Maddock recognized it immediately. He’d seen its like before, light blue, square, and faceted with perfect clarity, the type they’d found that powered the ancient Atlantis machines.
Bones handed it to Maddock. It lacked the internal spark of light, which meant its energy had been discharged.
Mrs. Harshbinner asked, “You recognize what it is?”
“We’ve seen this type of crystal before,” Maddock replied. “They’re extremely rare.”
“My father took it to university professors in New York City, and even reputable jewelers. Not one could identify it. Despite their pleas and offers of money, my father wouldn’t give it up. Even though those were more honest times than today, my father and uncle traveled under false names and quietly returned home, to the farm. They found that cross of Pari’s too. It had a crystal in it like that one. They kept on digging until my uncle disappeared. It’s in the—”
She stopped in mid-sentence and looked toward the entrance. A scowl crossed her face.
Maddock pocketed the crystal and Bones closed the journal.
A lanky man with wind-strewn brown hair stood in the entryway. Dark circles lined his bulbous eyes, and his prominent Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. Maddock thought, if anyone were to ever play Ichabod Crane, it was this guy, with his tan overcoat and russet bowtie.
The man’s gaze moved from Ruth to Maddock and Bones, followed by a smile creasing his face, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Mother,” he said, striding forward. “The nurses’ station wasn’t sure where you’d wandered off too.”
“Not like I was going anywhere, Johnny. Every door’s alarmed, keeping me here, just like you want.”
He stopped next to his mother’s wheelchair, and looked down at her. “That’s not true.” Then his attention returned to Maddock and Bones. “Who are these gentlemen? Their names on the visitor log were illegible.”
Before Maddock or Bones had a chance to respond, Mrs. Harshbinner said, “Friends of the church.”
“Oh,” Johnny said. “I don’t recall seeing you around town. What church do you attend?”
Bones said, “You might call us missionaries to the world.”
Maddock nodded once, affirming his friend’s statement.
Johnny’s eyes moved down to the journal Bones held at his side in his left hand. “You gentlemen aren’t soliciting donations from my mother?” His voice sounded distracted, his interest focused on the cracked leather book.
Bones lifted the book and slapped his right hand atop it. “John, three-sixteen, bro. Just sharing the Word.”
Johnny was a couple inches taller than Maddock, which still left him at least three shorter than Bones. He squinted, staring up into the taller man’s face. He pulled a business card from his coat’s pocket and held it out for Bones. “If you have any intention of acquiring a donation for your travels from my mother, you’ll be hearing from our lawyer.”
“Your lawyer ain’t my lawyer,” Ruth said.
“Give the card to my lackey.” Bones tipped his head toward Maddock. “He takes care of any paperwork.”
Maddock reached for the card with his left hand and extended his right to shake. “I’m Maddock.” He mishandled the card and watched it flutter to the floor before bending over to pick it up. The distraction gave Bones time to slip the journal into his leather jacket’s inner pocket.
Bones said, “We’ll be on our way, Mrs. Harshbinner. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Walk with God,” Ruth Harshbinner said, reaching out and taking a hold of Bones’ hands.