Lady Justice and the Ghostly Treasure (12 page)

    Just past Lowry City there’s another sign that says, ‘Osceola Cheese, five miles ahead.’ As soon as we passed it, I knew what was coming.

    “Ohhh, Mr. Walt,” Mary pleaded. “Can we stop for some cheese? Please!”

    Mary had made this trip with us once before and I was prepared. We’d be there at nine-thirty. That would give Mary a half hour before we were to meet Dan.

    The sign says that there are 250 cheeses and they give free samples. Mary tries each and every one.  Willie was with us the last time, and I remember him observing that with all the cheese Mary consumed, it would take a stick of dynamite to bust her loose the next day. He was probably right.

    My timing was right on the money. Mary had just paid for a big block of smoky cheddar when Dan pulled up.

    “You pilgrims ready?” he asked.

    “Ready as we’ll ever be.”

    We all piled into the car.

    “Cross the highway, get on state road B, and head west.”

    In about five miles, he said, “Turn left on 175 up ahead.”

    As soon as I turned on the gravel road, I knew I’d been here before.

    “Isn’t this the way to Red Rock?”

    “Sure is,” he replied. “Go straight and you’ll run right into Red Rock, but you’re going to turn west on 151. It will take you right to Upps’ lake.”

    “I was that close and didn’t even know it was there.”

    “Well it is, about a half mile west as the crow flies.”

    We wound around through the hills and eventually came to what was left of the resort. A few of the cabins were well maintained, but just as many were dilapidated and uninhabitable.

    We finally came to a circle drive that overlooked the lake. Most of the cabins here were in pretty good shape. It was from here I got my first glimpse of the lake and river.

    A man about my age had been sitting in a lawn chair under the shade of big oak tree, a cold Bud in his hand.

    We parked and he strolled up to greet us.

    “Stacy,” Dan said by way of introduction, “this is Walt Williams, his wife, Maggie, and their friend Mary.”

    “Pleased to meet you,” he said, sticking out a rough paw.

    “Beautiful place you have here,” I said, a bit envious.

    “Thanks. I like it. Been here goin’ on forty years. Dan called and said you were askin’ about some folks who used to own here.”

    “That’s right. The Sinclair’s. Do you remember them?”

    He rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “Yep, recon I do. They owned one of the real nice ones across the lake. Follow me. I’ll show you.

    We walked down toward the lake to get a better view.

    Just as Dan described, the lake was separated from the river by an old earthen dam. The far side of the lake was nothing but trees and brush.

    Stacy pointed across. “Their place was over yonder. Back then, there was a road across the dam --- a good road --- big enough to drive a truck across. A road went up the hill to the top of the bluff. There were several cabins over there. Every one of them had a beautiful view of the river valley. It was a damn shame when they tore ‘em down.”

    “So there’s nothing left at all?”

    “The old foundations are still there. In fact, if I remember correctly, the Sinclair place had a rock wall around the cabin. It was still standin’ the last time I was over there.”

    “So how do we get across?”

    “The dam. Same as before, but you can’t drive it no more. With all the flooding by the Corps, there’s not much left of it. Can’t even get an ATV across. If you want to get over there, you gotta hoof it.”

    “Can we take a look?”

    “Don’t see why not. The water’s low enough we can go along the edge.”

    He took us down an old gravel road that led to the spillway at the southeast corner of the lake. As we headed across the dam, I saw what he was saying. The top that had once been wide enough to drive across had washed away to a point. In a few places, it had nearly washed out altogether, and the whole thing was covered with heavy brush and vines. I was thankful the water was low. It would have been almost impossible to fight our way through the heavy vegetation.

    When we reached the far end of the dam, I turned and looked back to the other side. The sight took my breath away.

    Maggie must have seen the expression on my face. She came up beside me and whispered, “Don’t even think about it.”

    “End of the line,” Stacy said.

    “But where’s the road and the old foundation?”

    “Through there,” he said, pointing to an impenetrable wall of vegetation. “Once you hack your way through that, maybe fifty feet, you’ll see the old road. It’ll take you up the hill and the foundations are on the left side. The Sinclair place is the second one up, and like I said, it’s the one with the stone wall.”

    I turned to Dan. “What’s the chances of getting up there?”

    He looked us over. “You all don’t look like trail blazin’ kind of folks. Hackin’ a trail through there ain’t gonna be easy.”

    “Any ideas?”

    “Might have a few. I know a couple of good ole boys in town that would probably hack a trail for you for --- say --- fifty bucks. Cash, of course.”

    “Of course. Once we get up there, I’m guessing it will take a couple of days at least for us to do our work. Any ideas on that?”

   “I guess you all could stay at a motel, but the closest one is in Clinton. The other option, if you’re up to it, is to camp on site. I’ve got all the gear you’d need, tents, sleeping bags, trail food, the whole enchilada.”

    “Ooooh,” Mary said, “A campout. I’m for that!”

    Maggie rolled her eyes.

    It had been years since the last time I spent the night in the woods as a Boy Scout. The word ‘campout,’ brought back a flood of memories --- mostly good.

    Mary was enthusiastic and Maggie was, at least, non-committal, so I made an executive decision.

    “Campout it is!”

    Maggie rolled her eyes again.

    We were going to have an adventure in the woods!

CHAPTER 10

   
Dan said he’d need a head count for supplies, so I gathered all the interested parties in our apartment.

    Maggie and Mary had already committed. I figured James should be invited since it was his grandmother who hid the map, and Camilla, of course, since the place where we were going used to belong to her family. Kevin had been instrumental in helping us locate the map in the Odd Fellows home, so naturally he was invited as well.

    After I shared what we had learned on our field trip, and what was being planned, everyone was enthusiastically on board.

    Not wanting to leave anyone out, I asked Kevin, “Do you think Veronica would like to come?”

    I had serious doubts. His wife, a vivacious blonde half his age, didn’t seem like the outdoorsy type to me. His answer confirmed my suspicions.

    “I’ll ask, just to be nice, but I already know the answer. Veronica’s a city girl through and through. I can’t get her off of the concrete and asphalt. One Sunday, I took her to Loose Park for a picnic. She wouldn’t step into the grass. Said that ‘things’ were probably living there.”

    After seeing the gnarly vegetation we’d be going through, her staying home was undoubtedly the best choice.

    So it was settled. There would be six of us. I called Dan and told him we’d need two tents. Kevin, James and I would sleep in one. Mary, Maggie and Camilla would occupy the other.

    He said he’d need a day to get all the gear together, so we arranged to meet in two days. He suggested we meet at the Bus Stop Café on the square in Osceola, so everyone could get one last hearty meal before we hit the woods.

    His last words were not comforting. “Oh yeah, remember to bring lots of bug spray.”

    Kevin had the largest vehicle, an SUV, so he volunteered to drive. He picked up Camilla first, then Maggie and me, and we headed to the hotel for Mary and James.

    Each of us had packed a small suitcase with a couple of changes of clothing and personal items. We only planned to be away two days. When we pulled up to the hotel, Mary had three large trunks stacked up on the curb.

    “What’s all this?” I asked.

    “Just stuff I might need,” she replied, indignantly.

    “Remember, we have to carry everything from the spillway, across the dam, and through the woods to our campsite. We all have our own stuff. Can you carry all these or were you going to hire porters?”

    She thought for a moment. “Well, damn. Maybe I can leave some behind.”

    “Shake down,” I said. “Maggie, how about you and Camilla helping Mary decide what to take?”

    Twenty minutes later, we were ready to go.

    As Mary climbed into the back seat, I heard her mumble, “I shoulda took my moisturizer. What if I get dry skin?”

    Knowing what was ahead of us, dry skin was the least of Mary’s worries.

    Thankfully, our two hour trip was uneventful. When we passed Osceola Cheese, I figured Mary would beg us to stop again, but she informed us she’d eaten so much cheese on her last visit, she’d gotten all bound up.

    Way too much information.

    Osceola is a quiet little country town with a population somewhere close to 900. Being the county seat of St. Clair County, a stately courthouse stands in the middle of the town square surrounded by buildings dating back to the turn of the century.

    In one of those buildings is the Bus Stop Café. In stark contrast to the national food chains like McDonalds and Burger King, the Bus Stop is a mom and pop establishment where somebody’s grandma is back in the kitchen cooking real food just like your grandma used to do.

    On most days, it is the gathering place for a cross section of Osceola’s population.

    I had eaten there on one of my previous trips. In one corner, local farmers were discussing their cattle or crops. In another corner, fishermen were bragging about their latest catch, and up in the front window, the local bank president was discussing weighty matters with the judge and prosecuting attorney.

    Since smoking was not prohibited, a grey-blue haze permeated the entire café.

    Like most small town eateries, there is a daily special. On my previous visit, I had two pieces of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and a gravy to die for, green beans and a roll, all for $5.99.

    Dan met us at the door and as the seven of us trooped inside, every head in the place turned to stare at the newcomers in town.

    At first, I was disappointed that the special was meat loaf instead of chicken, but in the end, it was just as good.

    Billy Ray and Lenny watched with interest as Dan led the six strangers into the café.

    “Whadda you ‘spose ole Dan’s doin’ with a bunch of city slickers?” Billy Ray asked.

    “They shore don’t look like fishermen,” Lenny replied. “Can’t picture any of ‘em out baitin’ up a trot line. Let’s move closer. Mebbe we can pick up somethin’.”

    They moved their coffee cups to another table and lit up a couple of Camels.

    “Did I hear one of them say Upps’ Resort?” Billy Ray whispered.

    “Yeah, ya did. Why would they be interested in that ole place. Ain’t nothin’ there any more ‘cept a bunch of raggedy-ass cabins and old Stacy.”

    “Shhh!” Billy Ray whispered. “I thought I heard the old guy say somethin’ ‘bout a map and some treasure.”

    They listened intently.

    “Sure enough,” Lenny whispered. “Sounds like they’s plannin’ to camp out there in the woods and hunt for somethin’.”

     Billy Ray inhaled and blew a huge puff of smoke into the air.

    The old woman in the group coughed, turned and glared. “Do you mind? I’m trying to breathe over here.”

    “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Billy Ray replied, crushing out his Camel. “I’m all done.”

    “I’ll twist your panties, asshole,” she retorted, and started to get up from her chair, but the old guy put his hand on her arm.

    “It’s okay, Mary. Remember the old saying, ‘When in Rome.’”

    “Okay,” she replied, taking her seat, “but that’s just plain rude.”

    Billy Ray grabbed Lenny’s arm. “Let’s get the hell outta here. Too many city slickers for me.”

    “Good riddance,” the old woman muttered as they walked out into the street.

    As soon as they were outside, Lenny said, “I say we keep an eye on them. All that talk about a map and treasure. Who knows what they might be up to?”

    “I’m with you,” Billy Ray replied. “It’s not like we got somethin’ better to do.”

    We had just polished off huge slices of pie, when a couple of locals at the next table got on Mary’s bad side by blowing smoke in her face. Left unchecked, Mary would have opened a can of whoop-ass on one of them, but I restrained her just in time. After an exchange of obscenities, they left.

    “Better head out to the lake before we irritate any more of the local population,” I suggested.

    We paid our tab, piled into the SUV, and followed Dan to Upps’ Resort.

    Stacy was waiting for us in the circle drive.

    Dan rolled down his window and I heard Stacy say, “Your guys just finished cutting the trail. They’re waitin’ for you down at the spillway.”

    Just as Stacy predicted, two burly men were sitting on the spillway soaking their feet in the cool water and sipping a couple of Buds. They waved when we pulled up.

    “This here is Jake and Melvin,” Dan said by way of introduction. “They’re gonna help us carry our equipment to the campsite.”

    We nodded and shook hands all around.

    “Before we go,” Melvin said, flicking a multi-legged creature off his arm, “you all outta lather up with bug spray if you brung it. Little buggers are bitin’ like crazy today.”

    We didn’t need a second invitation. Within minutes the aroma of Deep Woods Off filled the spillway.

    Feeling sufficiently protected from the denizens of the insect world, we picked up our gear and followed Dan across the dam.

    About halfway across, I heard Mary yelp, “Holy crap!”

    I looked back and spotted a water snake that had slithered off the dam into the lake, right between Mary’s legs.

    Seeing it leisurely swimming away, Mary relaxed. “Whew, scared the tar outta me. I’m okay now, but I might have wet myself a little.”

     Again, too much information.

    When we reached the other side, I spotted the trail Jake and Melvin had cut through the brush. We’d have never made it through on our own. The vines and vegetation on either side were so thick you couldn’t take three steps off the trail.

    Safely through, the vegetation thinned enough I could barely see the old road winding up the hillside. As we climbed farther up, the dense brush gave way to stately oaks, some so big it would take two people, arms stretched wide, to circle their girth.

    Squirrels chattered, obviously upset at the strange creatures invading their woodland home.

    Suddenly Dan stopped short, raised his hand and pointed. A hundred yards away, a doe and her fawn paused briefly before darting into the cover of the trees.

    Not used to hiking, especially loaded down with gear, we were all puffing and panting. We had just passed a small clearing when to our right, we heard a sound like a muffled explosion. We nearly jumped out of our skin, and for the next few seconds, the air was filled with the sound of beating wings, then it was quiet.

    “Covey of quail,” Dan said. “I’ll have to remember that come huntin’ season.”

    Fifty yards farther, Dan stopped and pointed. “There she is. The old Sinclair homestead.”

    Off to the left was the stone wall Stacy had mentioned. It was about two feet tall, and still intact as far as I could see.