1960

The tropical storm raged on all night. Filming had stopped as the set, so carefully constructed, was blown to bits piece by piece. There was nothing anyone could do. The actors, safely ensconced in their hotel suites, soon adopted a party attitude, took over the dining room and began swap stories and compare notes on their varied lives and careers. The animals, bitterly complaining about the screaming wind, were safe in their shelters. Their handlers griped about ‘working conditions’ and quickly forgot the early days of balmy tropical breezes and warm hospitality.

Very early in the morning, just before the sun rose, a beat-up, dirty brown truck that must have looked old in 1940 slowly made its way over swollen streams that hadn’t been there the day before. Through the spattering raindrops, the dim headlights illuminated destruction. Palm fronds littered what little there was of a road; an occasional uprooted tree blocked part of the road and had to be driven around; water and sand still blowing across the road which was made of leaves, dirt, and mud. There was no beauty in that early hour as the truck bumped and bounced toward what was left of the movie set, the truck’s worn-out springs screaming in protest. The driver concentrated only on the road. Even though he was being thrown around the small cab like a rag doll, the only passenger was thoughtful as he contemplated what he might find on his wonderful set. A wet white and black dog was shivering on the floorboard at the passenger’s feet. Now and then the man would reach down to comfort the dog that gratefully licked his fingers.

Aiming for the middle of the beach, the driver pulled to a squeaking stop, the one working windshield wiper finally keeping up with the waning rain. Now that they were safely stopped, he turned his worried eyes to his passenger, not liking what little he could see outside the truck in the narrow beam of light. “You sure you want to get out, Mister? It be nasty out dere.”

As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mister wasn’t sure at all he wanted to get out. The ground floor of the treehouse was in tatters. What remained of the furnishings was strewn about everywhere he looked. He only hoped the remains of the ship were still out in the Bay. They weren’t done filming out there yet. Too dark to tell, he told himself.

Never one to shirk from what had to be done, he forced open the rusty passenger door and jumped down onto the wet sand. The dog elected to stay put, hopping up on the deserted, warm seat. Holding his fedora firmly in place against the wind, the man made a slow inspection of the set. The sun finally peeped timidly over the horizon behind the mass of retreating storm clouds that blended seamlessly with the grey, churning ocean. Face grim, he mentally calculated how long it would take to rebuild and reset. Not the cost of the repairs; the cost never entered into his mind. Just the time. Time was always the enemy. He had to leave in two days. They would have to have the repairs done by then.

He knew they would.

Now that the issue was settled in his mind, he changed the direction of his thoughts and wondered if they should film the destruction of the set first, in case he wanted to add something later.… Yeah, that was good. Maybe there could be a hurricane that hit the island.… He wandered around the ruined set and thought about angles and lighting.… Father could be holding the ropes while Ernst and Fritz tried to tie down the furniture. Mother could be huddled under the banyan tree with Frances. The dogs Turk and Duke would be running everywhere barking….

While he turned the scene over and over in his mind, he continued walking around the set. He wasn’t seeing what was actually in front of him; he was seeing the finished movie playing in the theater. Walking backward, he turned as a camera would turn to pan the set and didn’t hear his driver calling to him to watch out. Suddenly finding himself flat on his back in the mud, the movie in his head faded to black. He looked around with a chuckle as the driver rushed over to help him to his feet.

“You okay, Mister? You no hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine. A man needs to be knocked on his backside once in a while.” He gave a chuckle as the driver helped seat him on an uprooted palm trunk that had smashed their wooden walkway. “Some storm, huh, Jeremy?”

“Yes, Mister. Bad winds. Dis not look too good.”

Walt looked around, nodding his head. His glance took in the overturned props, the dangling floors of the treehouse, and finally the uprooted tree on which he was seated. Its roots were massive, creating a huge hole that would have to be filled in. He would get them to use the elephants to pull the tree off the beach. Both men looked toward the truck as the dog began furiously barking at something on the beach. Checking on the dog, it jumped from the seat as soon as Jeremy opened the door. Chasing some birds, the dog disappeared down the beach with Jeremy running after the animal. Smiling, Walt looked back at the hole he had stumbled across. It had been formed by the heavy runoff of rain being funneled from the fallen trees. The sky was lighter now and Walt could see the dull glint of something metallic reflecting the early light. From his vantage point he could tell the protruding object had been buried. Walt stood up, unconsciously brushing his legs of wet sand, and walked toward the hole. Now curious, he knelt down and started brushing away the sand and vegetation around the object.

It was a small, ugly chest made of flat-sided, unadorned silver metal that was slightly corroded. It measured about eighteen inches wide and ten inches deep and about ten inches tall. An ancient lock dangled from the holes, broken open either by time or the elements; sturdy metal handles were still firmly attached to each side. The chest was heavy, but not so much so that he couldn’t lift it. Walt, however, drug the box across the sand, leaving deep tracks. Sitting on the ground, his back against the fallen tree, he rested a moment with the chest straddled between his outstretched legs. Curious, he wiggled the old lock off the metal hinged latch, looked it over for a moment before setting it on the sand. With the sun casting new rays of light through broken clouds and across the ocean, the beams illuminated the man as he slowly opened the lid. It creaked on the rusty hinges and stuck half-way. Pushing harder to get the lid to open all the way, Walt broke one hinge. The other hinge held as the lid fell against the back of the box.

The small chest seemed to be filled with just wet sand and shell fragments. Scooping out some the sand and the remains of some poor sea creature, his fingers brushed against some hard, smooth objects. Clearing out more of the sand, he picked up one of the rounded pieces, holding it up to the sunlight for inspection. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Holy Moly.”

Quickly glancing around to see where the driver was, he spotted Jeremy halfway down the beach still yelling for the dog. Walt hurriedly cleared the rest of the sand out of the chest.

When Jeremy finally came back to the ruined treehouse, the dog bounding happily at his feet, he found Mister Walt carrying a couple pieces from the set back to the truck. “Can I help you wid dat, Mister?”

Walt had found a wooden box in which he had placed the old chest and then piled some miscellaneous objects over the top of it. “Yes, Jeremy. Help me get these props into the truck.” With Jeremy’s help, the box was set on Walt’s side of the cab.

“Are dees props broken too? Can I help you fix?” Jeremy cast a curious eye at the box as he got behind the wheel.

The dog bounded up over Walt’s lap, leaving sandy paw prints on his wet trousers. “No, no, Jeremy. I need to take these back to the hotel to be fixed.”

“Right away, Mister. You wanting me to put little mutt in da back?”

In a very good mood, Walt rubbed the dog between the ears. “No, he’s fine. Aren’t ya, boy?”

Two days later Jeremy loaded a small, newly-made wooden crate marked “Props” onto Walt’s private plane. Giving the dog a fond, final pat good-bye, Walt turned to Jeremy. Shaking hands with him, Walt thanked him for his excellent driving and pressed something into his hand. As the engines of the plane roared to life, Walt told Jeremy to look him up if he ever got to California. With a final wave, Walt disappeared into the plane, already thinking about his next move.

2002

As the threesome walked slowly and silently back to the hotel, each thought about the carving on the headstone. It had to be the clue. It just had to, didn’t it?

A light rain started to fall as they entered the lobby. A few couples were out in the pool overlooking the ocean. A group that had been playing croquet came running, laughing, into the lobby from the open French doors. Someone was complaining at the front desk.

Going to their suite for privacy, Adam and Beth sat close together on the sofa. Lance pulled up a chair and looked somewhat pensive. “What do you think about the clue?”

Adam slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. Why would his friends spell it that way? It should be ‘X marks the spot,’ not m a r c,” he spelled.

“Maybe it refers to the coin.” Beth gave a slight shrug. “Now that we have both sides we know the design in the middle is an X made out of crossed bones.”

“Mooma indicated they didn’t understand it either. She said it was what he tried to tell them.”

“I still don’t get it.” Deep in thought, Adam frowned as he took up Beth’s hand without even realizing it, his thumb rubbing the back of her fingers.

Lance stared at their caressed hands, then abruptly went to the window to look unseeing out over the ocean. “Rain stopped,” he finally muttered. “Should we try talking to Mooma again? See if there’s anything else she can tell us?”

In agreement, they walked back to the lobby to wait for the taxi. “Sun’s out!” Eyes closed, Beth tilted her face up to the warming rays.

“Yes, thank you, Captain, we hadn’t noticed,” Adam kidded her.

Lance said nothing.

“You be back.” Mooma was even more colorful as she warmly smiled at them. A lime green scarf wound around her head and she wore a golden yellow billowy blouse and a full, royal blue skirt. “What you t’ink of my Jemybie’s grave?”

“You were right.” Next to Mooma, Beth felt plain in her white cotton tank top and tan shorts. “It’s a wonderful spot. Thank you for sharing it with us. It…it meant a lot to me.” She started to tear up again.

Lance got right to the point. “We were wondering about the inscription—why it was spelled that way. It’s very unusual.”

“You like cool drink? No? Okay den.” She settled back in her chair. “Yea, we t’ink so, too. But after he be wavin’ dat paper ‘round our faces so long…,” she trailed off with a shrug.

“What paper?” Lance leaned forward on her counter. He seemed intent on getting the whole story, more focused than his usual laid-back attitude.

“You not turnin’ quenk, are you.” After giving him a sly grin, she chuckled at the blank look on his face. “Oh, I sorry, you not know our talk. I mean bol’face, yes?”

Still not sure what she meant, not knowing she just called him rude and pushy, Lance felt he had better apologize. He tried his charming smile, but Mooma still just grinned at him. “Could you please tell us about the paper and the markings?”

“That better! That show you broughtupsy! You too pretty not to ha’ manners.”

Adam got a big kick out of Mooma putting Lance in his place. He thought Lance was acting strangely, too, but broughtupsy was a descriptive word he would have to remember.

“Is there anything else you could tell us?” Adam’s tone was much more pleasant than Lance’s had been.

Mooma thought back. They could see the memories still bothered her. Would anyone care so deeply about me forty years from now, Adam wondered to himself.

“I t’ink it was dat awful day we find Jemybie. It seem proper ‘n all it take place on dat beach. Too much happen to him der. Dat paper? I never seen what written on it. It was clutch tight in his hand, no good no more ‘cause of da ocean water. It was what he did to beach dat scare us.”

“The beach? What did he do?” Caught up in the story again, Beth clasped her hands in front of her.

“You know all dem rocks ‘round his grave? We no dig dem up. We found dem all on de beach. My friend had put dem der. Musta taken him long time. We figure it be important to Jemybie. Musta be’n or he not do it like dat. We copy it just so for his grave.”

Adam’s mouth dropped open. “You mean he spelled out ‘X. Marc the spot’ in rocks on the beach? That was his message?”

Mooma nodded sadly. “It musta been from The Mister somehow. Dat was all he talk ‘bout. Musta been on dat paper. De fancy hotel, they get all upset. Can’t be havin’ da guests see my poor friend on der pretty beach. Dey woulda wrecked it for sure. So we took de rocks and made it pretty ‘round his grave. Nobody spoil it now.”

That was the end of the story for Mooma. She had nothing left to tell him about Jeremy B. or the mysterious paper that could have been torn out of the diary. It was gone. The other half of the medallion had been buried with Jeremy. It was now beyond their reach as well.

Before they left Mooma’s shop, Beth bought a book about Tobago and its history and asked Mooma to sign it for her. Mooma just chuckled at the silly things some people ask for as she signed it with a flourish.

When they were at the door, Mooma had one more thing to say to them: “Remember not put fowl to watch de corn.” The cryptic words were directed at Lance causing him to stop at the door with a confused look on his face. “You will figure it out.” Mooma nodded as Lance turned and exited her shop. She watched the three through the front window as they crossed the street to hail a cab. “Only hope it not too late when you do,” she muttered as they disappeared from her view.

On Saturday, the friends met at Adam’s apartment. They had agreed to some alone time to think over their trip and sort it out in their minds.

When she arrived, Beth walked slowly through Adam’s apartment complex, looking at the white birch trees and the purple-blossomed agapanthus. They were poor substitutes for the beauty in which they had been immersed while on Tobago. Even back in her own condo, she found herself going to her living room window to gaze out over the brilliant blue-green ocean. Only it wasn’t there. The carefully mowed grass that met her eyes was a big disappointment.

Adam opened his door to find her sighing. “What’s wrong?”

“I miss paradise.”

Seated at Adam’s computer, Lance was busy researching the coin now that they knew what it looked like. At her greeting of, “Hey, Heartthrob,” he just gave a distracted smile. His playful retorts and spontaneous hugs seemed to be a thing of the past. She silently wondered if it had to do with Adam or with Lance’s visit to his family in Boston. She missed the old Lance.

Glancing around the room, Beth was glad to see Adam had gotten rid of his disgusting model of Fantasyland. Most of the clutter had been cleared away as well. The notes that pertained to Walt and his life had been filed and replaced by books on pirates, legends, lost treasures, and sunken ships. She picked up an E-Ticket Magazine that featured Walt’s Pirates of the Caribbean ride. “You find any connections with the coin?”

Adam blew out a frustrated breath. “Well, the skull and crossbones design is so widely used in regards to pirates its hard to separate fact from fiction. Lance found some similar coins, but they don’t match exactly. Plus, they were found in a different part of the world. Look at this one, for example.” He picked up a thick library book and opening to a marked page. “See the X? Similar when turned sideways, but looking at it full on, it’s a cross, not bones. Same here and here.” He flipped a few more pages. “And this has a skull but not the bones beneath it.”

“So what we have could be pretty rare,” Beth concluded.

“But half a coin isn’t as valuable as a whole one.” Lance didn’t even look up as he made his point. “Did Walt give Jeremy B. half of the only one he found somewhere or did Walt already have it with him? Where did he find it? And, most importantly, was there more? We need to find it.”

Adam studied his friend. Lance seemed a lot more determined than he had been at any other time since their quest began. Determined…or desperate? He didn’t want to ask in front of Beth—even though she could probably get more out of Lance than he could.

“Then,” Lance continued, unmindful of the scrutiny, “We also have the clue X. Marc the Spot, also widely used in pirate lore. Fact or fiction?”

“Well, not spelled that way, but certainly very similar.” Beth had a question that had been bothering her. “Do you think Jeremy B. was too out of his head at the end? Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing.”

Lance disagreed. “It was too deliberate. I think he knew exactly what he was doing. Think about it. He had three or four years of people not believing him. One last try? I think he would have gotten it right.”

Beth gave a non-committal, “Hmmm,” her attention on the 1999 fall issue of the E-Ticket Magazine. “This is fascinating. How come I never saw these magazines before?” Not really expecting an answer, she found the ‘Wings over Disneyland’ page in the middle of the magazine. It was an aerial shot of the entire Park as it looked in 1964. Not being able to resist, she tried to tease Lance. “Hey, Lance! Look at this. It’s a big Pirate Ship in Fantasyland next to Storybook Land,” as she held the pages up for him to see.

“Yeah, it sure is. Hey, isn’t that a Keel Boat on the River there?”

Well, that didn’t work out the way she had wanted it. With an unlady-like sniff, she dropped the open magazine onto her lap. As she continued to study the picture, she noticed something. “Adam, this shows they had already dug out the foundation for the Pirate’s ride and were building in there.”

He sat beside her and examined the orange-tinted photo. It was very different from the sharp digital images they were used to. “Wow, look, it shows Nature’s Wonderland and Ol’ Unfaithful geyser. Look at all the empty land outside the Park. You could see the Monorail barn from the freeway.”

“Never got to see the inside of that.”

“Sorry, sweetie.” Adam could recognize the disappointment in her voice.

“Is there anything actually helpful to us?” Lance broke in. “I’m coming up empty here.”

Beth quickly flipped through the rest of the magazine. “It’s mostly about Marc Davis and his sketches for the Pirate ride. In 1961 or 1962 Walt mentioned he wanted to do a Pirate ride. He first wanted to do it as a walk-through but they decided people would stay in one place too long and stop the flow of traffic. Hey, look at this picture of the Auctioneer with Marc and Alice Davis. Look at the nose and cheekbones. The Auctioneer looks like Marc. That’s funny. Back here, the magazine shows the Wicked Wench ship in the fight scene. Here’s your cross, Adam, from those coins you showed me.” Beth held the magazine up for Adam to see. “Right there on the sails.”

“Look at the Captain’s Quarters in this picture. I read somewhere that map the skeleton is holding was the same one used in the movie Treasure Island. Wasn’t that 1950? That’s why it looks so old,” Adam pointed out, “because the prop is old!”

“Does it have an X on it? Ooh, look at the Treasure Cave. See any of your coins in there, Lance?” She chuckled and finished looking through pages of pictures from the familiar ride. “I never get tired of this ride. I was going to work there after the Keel Boats ended.” At Adam’s pat on her hand, she quickly added, “No, I’m okay now. Things happen to all of us that aren’t what we expect. We just have to go on whether we like it or not.” She looked over at Lance to see if he got her point, but he was either engrossed in what he was doing or simply ignoring her. She figured it was probably the latter.

She was surprised when Lance challenged her. “Do you really believe that?”

Thinking about her reaction to her job loss and her blow-up at Adam, she answered truthfully, “No. But I should.”

Still not looking up from what he was doing, Lance’s voice was terse and to the point. “Then finish your sermon when you actually believe it.”

Adam was staring at the two pieces of the coin—the real half-piece from Walt and the cheap piece from Tobago—looking at the structure of the skull. It was more detailed than most of the comic skulls used on pirate costumes. The captain’s hat on the Auctioneer, for example, had the skull and crossbones, but the skull was flat with empty eye sockets and a vague outline of teeth. The same design was repeated in other sketches from the famous animator. The coin, on the other hand, had depth to it, as though it was grinning at them, ready to talk. “Ye come seeking adventure and salty old pirates, eh?” Adam began reciting the spiel from the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction.

“Adam? You all right? You look a million miles away.” Beth was staring intently at him.

“Huh? No, just thinking. Not a million miles. More like ten actually.”

“Do you think we should go back to Disneyland?”

Lance was watching them now. “What are you thinking, Adam?” he demanded.

Adam was frowning, lost in thought. “I don’t know. A hunch? I don’t know. It…” He started to speak and then paused before directing a question to them. “Do you agree Walt was really interested in Pirates when all of this,” indicating the coin and the research material, “was taking place?”

“Yes, it was well known he was.” Lance was short with him. “What’s your point? There were a lot of things going on at the same time, but Pirates was really big. He was involved in every aspect of it, like everything else. He didn’t live to see the opening of the ride, but he was sure working on it as if he could see it finished, at least in his mind.”

Not liking Lance’s attitude, but agreeing with what he said, Beth nodded, waiting to see where Adam was headed.

“Then there might be something in the ride we’re missing. Some link to the next clue. It has to be the coin or the X.”

“The coin led us to Jeremy B. I don’t think that has any bearing anymore.” Lance waved at the computer screen, dismissing it. “In all my research, I couldn’t find another coin like it. I think we need to go forward with the written clue. Walt never did the same thing twice. He always went forward, not backward.”

That was the most they had gotten out of Lance in days. Beth looked to Adam for direction. He shrugged. “Well, let’s try both the X and the skull and crossbones. Let’s see where they’re located in the ride and go from there. Agreed?”

They piled into Adam’s Silverado and headed to Disneyland once more.

They first studied the cartoon-style paintings of famous pirates just inside the entrance of Pirates of the Caribbean, but nothing stood out. The first sighting of the skull and crossbones within the ride was the talking skull above the first waterfall. The skull told them “it be too late to alter course, mateys” and to “keep a weather eye out.” The rest was lost as they plunged down the fifty-two-foot drop, leveling out for a few moments within dark caverns. In another moment, their boat was splashing down the smaller thirty-seven-foot drop. The first two skeletons had nothing on their hats, except for a curious seagull on one of them. In the next scene, the redheaded pirate girl in the painting that hung in the remains of a bar had a vague skull and crossbones painted onto her plumed hat. In the Captain’s Quarters, the skeletal remains of the occupant in the opulent bed was only wearing a bandana, but the gold-trimmed, red velvet headboard had a large detailed skull and bones. No skull and bones were seen in the fight scene or dunking the mayor scene. The auctioneer and the pooped pirate by the barrel had the white flat version of the design on their hats. And they found it also on the drunken pirate on the bridge and in the final shoot-out before riding up the last waterfall and disembarking at Lafitte’s Landing.

As they walked out the exit and headed for the entry queue again, Adam wanted to know their thoughts.

Beth brought out the lack of any X that she could see. “Do either of you know what that map on the Captain’s bed looks like? You mentioned it was used in a movie, Adam. Were there any pictures of it?”

“Too bad we can’t just go up and take a look at it. That would be fun.” Adam gave a grin as he remembered his jump from the train. “We could look it up when we get back to my place, I guess. Lance, what do you think about the skull and crossbones?”

“Only that most of them look generic. Beth mentioned the Captain’s Quarters which had the most elaborate skull.”

“Well, that’s two votes for the Captain’s Quarters. Lance, you’re taller than me. Maybe you can get a glimpse of the treasure map before we leave that scene.”

Lance just nodded as they wound through the queue, silent with his own thoughts again. He didn’t even acknowledge the two female cast members who were trying to say hi to him as they boarded their boat.

“Please remain seated!” was loudly broadcast as they floated into the treasure cache.

“You get that a lot, don’t you, Stick?” Beth laughed, gently poking Lance in the ribs. Her smile faded as he continued in his oppressive mood. She frowned at Adam, who just shrugged and shook his head.

Trying to say something to Lance as they went through the tunnel leading to the ship and fort fight scene, he shushed her, listening to the ominous voice within the darkness. Annoyed at Lance, she looked around the dark tunnel—which she knew was called the transition tunnel because it connected the two buildings that housed the attraction.

When they emerged into the cannon fire, Lance apologized by explaining he had been listening to the warnings back in the cave. He knew most of it, but he wanted to hear the rest. “It said that we had seen the cursed treasure and know where it be hidden. The other voice, closely following, had said an evil curse will strike the greedy beholders of this bewitched treasure.”

“Well, we did just leave the buried loot room,” pointed out Adam.

Lance was distracted. “I know,” he snapped curtly. He then looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s just the words struck me this time, that’s all.” Lance paused, and then added defensively, “You did ask for our thoughts.”

“Did you see anything on the treasure map before you got caught standing up?”

Lance shook his head. “The edges are folded up too much and it’s too far away.” Disappointed, he ignored Adam’s muttered, ‘need glasses?’ “We’ll have to see what we can find online.”

They rode around two more times. The result was the same: They weren’t sure. Their attention was drawn mostly to the Captain’s Quarters and, thanks to Lance, the warnings in the misty dark tunnel. The threesome decided to focus their research on those two places. Once those leads were exhausted, they would try again to find something else.

“Listen to this.” Lance was again at Adam’s computer and he started to read from a website he had found. “While Robert Louis Stevenson popularized the pirate treasure map—and its ‘X marks the spot’—in his 1883 book Treasure Island, he wasn’t the first. Author James Fenimore Cooper’s 1849 book The Sea Lions tells about a sailor who left behind ‘two old, dirty and ragged charts.’ Anyway, that must be where Walt got the idea for the map he used in his movie and put into the Pirate ride.”

“Did you find any picture of the map?” Adam looked up from the book he was about ready to discard.

“No. They show the map from the book Treasure Island, but not from the movie. I’ll keep trying, but I don’t know where else to look.”

Beth was staring at the picture of the Captain’s Quarters in Adam’s E-Ticket Magazine again. She thought she had seen it before, not just on the ride. But where? Her postcard collection? One of her books? “Adam, I think I need to go home. I have something that could help. I’m just not sure what or where. I may be gone a while.” When Adam said that would be great, Beth looked over at Lance, wondering what might be eating at him. “Hey, Lance,” she called over to him. “Do you want to come with me?”

She was disappointed by his brief, “No.” She might have been able to talk to him about whatever was bothering him. Instead, she left alone.

Beth went to the second bedroom in her condo. It wasn’t set up for guests but was more like a library. Being an avid reader she shelved all her favorite books there. Some Disney collectibles from both her time working in the Park and earlier trips were showcased in a tall oak and glass cabinet. What she was looking for were her various Disney books—the souvenir hardbacks commemorating different eras, Imagineering books on concept and design, children’s coloring books and comics, and the 1965 set of The Wonderful Worlds of Walt Disney.

She first pulled out her 1995 copy of The Nickel Tour instead of going through her hundred individual postcards. This in-depth and detailed book had nearly every postcard ever printed about Disneyland. More importantly to Beth, they were in chronological order and indexed in the back. It was a lot better than her vague system of filing them by different lands in folders. However, this book had only two interior shots from the Pirate ride—the Auction scene and the Jail Scene. There was also a set of twelve postcards depicting the drawings of Marc Davis, but they didn’t help.

Her Imagineering book contained mostly the new ideas that went into Florida and Epcot. She couldn’t find any interior views of the ride. Thumbing through the souvenir books, she then quickly tossed aside the comics and story books. A small yellow book was almost added to the growing pile until she glanced at the title and cover photo. It was a 1997 pictorial souvenir book called Where in Disneyland Attractions? She let out a whoop when the cover showed in luxurious detail a close-up of the Captain’s Quarters and its skeleton owner looking over the map Lance was trying desperately to find.

And, there on the upper right corner of the map just above the bony fingers, was a big red X.

Breaking a few driving laws, Beth hurried back to the apartment, the book stashed in her purse. She was met at the door by a very animated Adam.

They both said, “I found it” at the same time.

“Found what?” Adam was first.

“Stop that!” as they both laughed.

Beth held her book up to his face. He barely looked at it. “We are so stupid!” He slammed the door behind her and walked over to his desk. “Show her, Lance,” as Adam held Beth in front of him by her shoulders.

“It’s actually listen,” Lance pointed out. He had a website devoted to the Pirate ride pulled up and clicked a ‘Play’ button in the middle of the screen.

Amazed, she listened to the entire soundtrack from the dark tunnel that had captivated Lance’s attention. Then he scrolled back two pages and played the track from the talking skull over the first waterfall. Before she could say anything, he held up a finger for her to wait. He started to read from the ride description. “It says, ‘the talking skull (voiced by Disney legend X Atencio) cautions the riders to heed his warnings. Atencio not only provided that voice, but he also wrote the entire show’s script and the song “Yo Ho, A Pirate’s Life for Me”.’ It also says he voiced part of that warning in the dark tunnel—the second part called the Friendly Warning.”

“Do you see?” Adam eagerly asked. “That has to be the X on the clue. The period after the letter shows it’s an initial. Xavier Atencio’s name was usually just portrayed by an X. And, the name we have been throwing about so carelessly is also the rest of the clue.”

At her blank look, he continued. “X. Marc the spot. Marc, not Mark, or marks. Just Marc. As in Marc Davis, one of the Nine Old Men, one of the premier animators and designers! He basically designed the look for the whole ride. Look through that magazine. Almost every sketch of his was turned into a scene in the ride.”

“Oh my word. We saw it in the Captain’s Quarters over and over without really seeing it!. Oh…oh, wait a minute. Lance? Those words in the cave? You said you kept going back to them. ‘You’ve seen the cursed treasure. You know where it be hidden.’ Xavier wrote them, right? The treasure is right next to the Captain’s room. Is that too weird?”

“What are you saying? That the treasure room is THE treasure room?” Lance began to think over the possibilities.

Adam paced around the room. “Brilliant!” Excited, he rubbed his hands together. “Absolutely brilliant! He hid it all in plain sight!”

Beth shook her head. “Wait a minute. We need to back up. It can’t be. That treasure is just painted gold. It’s…it’s like a huge sculpture, like bubble wrap with coins pressed in plastic, not an actual pile of stuff. Sure, some of the outer pieces are individual things, but they aren’t real.”

Adam pulled out the well-worn copy of the E-Ticket Magazine. He bypassed the page showing the pile of treasure and turned to the middle aerial shot, pointing to the same thing Beth had shown him earlier. “They had already excavated the area and were building parts of the ride. You worked there. Tell me, Beth, what’s under Disneyland?”

When she realized what Adam was implying, her breathing became very shallow. “In that section there are underground tunnels leading through the different rides in New Orleans Square. Pirates, Mansion, the back road that maintenance uses behind the ride buildings.” She paused. “It isn’t as elaborate as the Magic Kingdom in Florida where they built entire streets under the park so everything could move from one part of the Park to the other. But in New Orleans Square, there are corridors with dozens of doors that open into different sections of each ride.”

“What else?”

“Employee break areas, an employee restaurant, storage.” She stopped her counting, her eyes bright. “Storage!”

“Give the girl a cigar. Do you think Walt had access to that area?”

Beth smiled. “He designed it. He knew every inch of his Park.”

Adam looked at both of them and took a deep breath. “I think we need to take a closer look at that map on the bed. I want to know exactly what that bony finger is pointing at.”