“Doesn’t this make perfect sense?”
“Skip, it does. It would be like hiding something in plain sight. Anyone who found it wouldn’t understand its significance.”
“You’d think it would be a pretty safe bet.”
“We’re on for tonight, pard.”
“A little exploring.” Hiding in plain sight.
Kind of like the boat people down at the vacant property. I’d bet money they were smuggling something in plain sight. I wouldn’t bet our two million dollars, but I’d bet money.
“Hey, Skip,” James scrunched his shoulders, ran his fingers through his hair, and shook his head. In his best Rodney Danger-field imitation, he said, “Country clubs and cemeteries are the biggest wasters of prime real estate.”
That one was a freebie. I think we’d both memorized every line in Caddyshack.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
I carried the shovels, just in case we decided to dig tonight, and Em had the metal detector.
“Suppose we can stop in for dinner?”
“We’ll give it a try,” James said. “Once they let us in, they may as well take our money.”
We went through the gate with no trouble.
The guard said, “Oh, you’re here to see the cemetery, our historic site?”
“Yeah. History,” James said.
He handed us a pass and motioned us through.
When we arrived at the circular drive, the guy at the lodge walked out with a question mark look on his face.
Studying the truck he said, “Are you a vendor?”
Was it so hard to believe we were guests? Dressed in T-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops, I thought we fit right in.
“We’re here to have dinner and see the cemetery.” Em smiled at him and that seemed to get the job done.
“Very few people come here to see the cemetery.”
“We have family buried there and-” James trailed off.
“Well, certainly, sir.” He stood there in his crisp white shirt, white cargo shorts, white socks, and tennis shoes, holding his hand out.
“I’m sorry,” staring at the nametag on the attendant James said, “Jack, where do I park?”
“Sir, I’ll park the-” he surveyed the truck, “the vehicle.”
“No problem, I can-”
“Sir, I will valet the vehicle.”
“Let him park it, James.” It was obvious that Em had valet parked before. James and I, never.
Reluctantly, James handed the man the keys, and we got out of the truck.
“New experiences, Skip. That’s what I’m all about.”
I just shook my head.
We had a nice dinner. Better than we ever ate. I had shrimp and scallops. Em had an Asian dish I’d never heard of, and James had lobster. My best friend and girlfriend got along like brother and sister. They fought the whole time, but kept it down so we didn’t get thrown out.
Sitting out on the patio, a candle burning softly at our table, we smelled the ocean air, listened to a classical guitar, and had a glass of wine. It was what civilized people seemed to do. No Yuengling beers tonight.
Afterward we walked out to the cemetery plot. It was about the size of a postage stamp. Small, crowded, covered with sand, and a very strange addition to the beach. The statue of the angel was there, complete with a broken arm and wing done in the ’35 hurricane.
A wooden fence surrounded the burial ground but we were able to walk inside and survey the stones. Mounted on a post was a metal plaque that declared the cemetery was deeded to Richard Pinder in 1883 by President Chester Arthur. At least President Arthur did something with his short career. I knew nothing else about his presidency.
“So, what do you think, pard?”
Dusk had settled, and while several couples strolled the beach, most of the diners and outdoor folks had headed for their rooms or whatever nightlife they could find.
“Think the truck is unlocked?”
“Hard to say. I’ve never had a valet park my truck before. Em, do they, these valets, do they lock your vehicle?” He spoke with an affected British accent, mocking the valet and probably Em.
“Em?” I looked at her with what I hoped was a pleading expression.
“I know, you want me to go ask the attendant. You think because I’m a girl they won’t ask what’s going on.”
“Because you’re a very attractive girl,” I said.
“And I sometimes get tired of playing that role. Skip, James, they may ask us to leave. We’ve probably overstayed our welcome. I mean-”
“Give it a try?”
She threw her hands up. “Okay.”
She was back in three minutes with the detector.
“Truck was unlocked, and parked on the circle in front.”
“Probably because they thought we’d be short timers. They assumed we’d leave soon after arrival so they parked us close by.” That made sense to me.
“I think it’s because the truck gives them some prestige. They parked it in front to show off.” James hadn’t lost his bad phony British accent.
“That’s it.” I glanced around the property and there was no one. Rooms on higher floors looked down on the plot, but their curtains were drawn.
“I’m just going to sweep the perimeter.” The idea that had seemed so dead on, that had sounded so plausible, now seemed like a dumb idea. There were dead people under this ground, not buried treasure. And what happened if there was metal in a casket-for whatever reason-and we dug that up?
“James, I hadn’t thought about it, but what if there’s a metal casket? I don’t want to dig up dead people. Isn’t that against the law?”
“Son, if we haven’t broken some laws already-”
“Yeah, but I’m not comfortable with making a mistake like that. Let the dead rest in peace and all that.”
“Some article I saw at the library, Skip. It said that the caskets buried in Pinder Cemetery were wooden.”
“Why?”
“This story pointed out that first of all there weren’t many metal caskets made. Maybe for the superrich. And, the landowners didn’t want the metal corroding and leaching into the beach.”
“Talk about early environmentalists.” Truly amazing. Some of these caskets were from the 1800s and people were already going green.
Still, I was having second thoughts. I’m not the most religious guy, but upsetting the spirit of a dead person didn’t seem to be the kind of thing I wanted to be doing. But here we were. And I had the detector in hand.
“We’ll observe.” James stepped back.
Plugging in the earpiece, I slowly swept the detector back and forth as I walked on the outside of the cemetery. Occasionally there would be a minor increase in the hum of the machine and I could see the needle move a little on the meter, but there was nothing that got my attention. Of course, I knew absolutely nothing about the subtleties of the JW Fishers Pulse 8K metal detector. Maybe I was passing over silver earrings or gold necklaces. You couldn’t dig every time an increase in the volume occurred.
“Nothing too surprising here.”
“Sweep the cemetery, Skip.” Em was standing with James, the two of them watching my face for a reaction. Well, they couldn’t hear the fire engine siren, so they had to rely on my face.
Slowly, sweeping inside the picket fence now, over caskets and bodies that lay rotting under this gray-white sand. And there was the rise in volume, where the siren sound got louder then dropped back to normal. Not having a clue about corpses, I assumed that a rusty old belt buckle or a pair of wire-frame glasses was giving off a signal. Maybe some brass buttons on a gentlemen’s coat.
“Metal handles on some of those coffins?” I heard Em as she watched my face.
As it got darker, I worked toward the center, sweeping as my compatriots stood on the sideline.
Side to side, front to back I swept the wand. The ebb and the flow in my earpiece kept me focused and several times I thought there might be something. But there had to be a long siren in my ear. The length of a crate of gold. A small coffin of yellow metal. I swept over and over, and the darker it got the more intense I was. I wanted this more than anything. Find one coffin of gold. That’s all I asked for. One sign. Something that told me I was on the right track.