"Yep. Norman Reese. Died one month shy of his twentieth birthday."
At first, she thought the odds of running into the one man who could help her locate Norman Reese Jr. were staggering. Then she remembered the sign said population 3977 and realized in this small southern town, the odds were probably pretty good if she talked to the elderly. People in this part of the country don't leave like they do in larger cities. Families had been here for many decades. Some, even longer.
In retrospect, this is exactly how she should have started her inquiries. This man knew more about the town than she could ever hope to find in the Butler Museum.
"That's horrible. He was so young. Is he buried in the cemetery here in town?" She knew he wasn't but it was a good leading question without tipping her interest in the man.
"Naw. His parents buried him on their old property. Had fifty acres on a bluff on the Watauga River. They buried Norm on a knoll overlooking the river and Old Butler. It was Norm's favorite fishing spot. He used to have an old tire swing hanging from an oak tree. We'd swing over the river and drop in. He was actually born under that tree." The old man went quiet again.
"It sounds like a very pretty place. Do his parents still own it?"
The old man looked at her without speaking. She felt like he was looking right through her, knowing that it was all a ruse. She had a rush of anxiety but covered it with a smile. The same smile she always gave Samantha whenever she wanted her to do something. Thinking of Sam Connors made her feel guilty. It had been two weeks and Sam still wasn't accepting her calls. She missed Sam and vowed to go back home and patch things up with her. And with any luck at all, going home a lot richer.
"Nope. They're dead."
"Are all of them are buried on the property?"
"You sure ask a lot of questions, young lady."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to sound nosy. You're such a nice man and your friend obviously meant a lot to you. I meant no disrespect." She stuffed her wallet back in her purse and turned toward the door.
"No, no. It's just that I haven't talked about Norm in such a long time. Brings back so many memories. Norm's parents died after the TVA flooded the valley, so they're in the cemetery down the street."
"TVA?" She turned around and walked back to the counter.
"Tennessee Valley Authority. You see, Watauga River used to flood a lot back in the day, and after the big flood of 1940, they decided to construct a dam and flood the entire valley. They started building it and then along came World War II, which put a big stop to that project along with all other domestic work projects, and the government's focus shifted to support the war. After the war was over though, the TVA came back in and started working on the dam. They tried to move Norm's body several times but old man Reese wouldn't let 'em. Every time they'd show up, he'd run 'em off with his shotgun. I think he might of shot one of 'em."
"So what happened to Norm's body?"
"Still in the ground on that knoll, far as I know." The old man picked up the picture, grabbed a dirty rag, wiped the rest of the dust from the top of the frame, and hung it back on the wall.
"Well if they flooded the valley, where is this knoll you're talking about?" Regan had gotten lucky. Extraordinarily lucky.
"Like everything else in Old Butler that wasn't torn down or relocated to New Butler, it's underwater. Been that way since 1948 except that one time they drained the lake to repair the dam." The old man reached below the counter and pulled out a map of Watauga Lake. He grabbed a marker and circled a small area on the map. "The old Reese place was somewhere around here. Under about sixty feet of water."
That was three hours ago and now she was sitting in the car staring at the map while Christa drove them back to Butler. She and Christa had just purchased scuba diving equipment from two different dive shops in the Tri Cities area. One in Kingsport and one in Johnson City. She had just spent over three thousand dollars to fully equip both of them with dive computers, buoyancy compensator vests, regulators, masks, fins, tanks, and dry suits. She figured three thousand dollars was a small price to pay compared to the cache she was about to extract from the grave of Norman Albert Reese, Jr.
28
"There must be some mistake," Jake said to the man behind the rental car kiosk. "I don't think my vehicle is supposed to come with a boat."
"Yes sir, Mr. Pendleton. That order is correct. I took the reservation myself. I've never had a special request quite like this one before so it isn't something I'd forget." He typed something into his computer terminal. "It says here the order was placed on your behalf by George Fontaine…and paid for by Commonwealth Consultants of Fairfax, Virginia. Does that sound right?"
"Yeah, that's right," Jake said. "I just don't understand the boat."
"There's an envelope on the front seat with instructions from Mr. Fontaine," the man said. "Maybe that will clear it up."
"I hope so." Jake thanked the man and walked across the lot to the rental, a white Chevrolet Tahoe with a nineteen foot Bass Tracker. A 90-horsepower Mercury outboard hung from the transom.
The big surprise was what he found in the back of the Tahoe — a full complement of fishing tackle, a dive bag of scuba gear, and tanks. Lying on the front passenger seat was an envelope with a note and a State of Tennessee Non-Resident fishing license. He unfolded the note. It read: 'Enjoy your fishing trip, call me when you're underway.'
Nothing more.
Jake folded the note, slipped it and the fishing license back into the envelope, tossed his backpack on the floorboard, climbed inside the Tahoe, and sat in the plush leather seat. Jake paired his Bluetooth headset to his phone then slipped it around his ear, started the SUV, and pulled away from the Tri Cities Airport.
The dash-mounted GPS screen lit up automatically displaying the distance and route to Butler. The woman's electronic voice called out, "Please drive the highlighted route." Son of a bitch thinks of everything.
Jake followed the voice's directions and pulled onto Bristol Highway, hit speed dial, and waited.
Two rings later Fontaine answered. "Been expecting your call. Hope you found everything satisfactory."
"What's the punch line?" Jake asked.
"About the scuba gear?"
"Nope. Got that figured out. Don't know that I quite understand the fishing gear unless it's to use as a ruse to get into a particular area. In case I'm stopped or something."
"A little more complicated than that, Jake. It is your cover to be there because there is a bass fishing tournament on the lake for the next two days. Keep that fishing license on you and play the part. In the bow of the boat you'll find compartments large enough to conceal the scuba gear — tanks and all."
"It's been a long time since I dove, George. I'm out of practice."
"Gee, Jake. According to your file, you were certified as a Search and Rescue diver in the Navy as well as certified to operate underwater communications equipment."
"I was, but it's been probably ten years since I strapped on a tank."
"Eleven years, five months, and twenty-one days according to your Navy records. Still, it's like riding a bike, right?"
"You hacked my Navy records? What else did you hack? Wait. Don't tell me. Do you know where I'll be diving?"
"I pulled the pre-flood land survey records from the TVA from October of 1946 when they recommenced construction on the dam. The grave of Norman Albert Reese Jr. is depicted on the survey. The family refused to let the TVA or any authorities move their son's body. Old man Reese even knew the valley was going to be flooded before he buried his son there so he had a concrete vault installed with a metal lid bolted onto it. He didn't want his son floating up after the flood. He also put a large marker in the ground at the head of the vault. That's what you'll be looking for."