Sins and Needles (27 page)

Jan said, “Betsy, come with me up to the house, okay?”

“All right,” Betsy replied as she clumsily clambered out of the boat. “Do you know who lives here?” she asked, looking up at the house.

“No, do you?”

“No.”

“Maybe it's a nice couple with a strong teenage boy who will help us dig,” said Jan.

“Well, let's go see.” Betsy waved Jan on ahead then followed up to the house. The screened porch didn't seem to have a door, so they went around to the side—which didn't have a door, either. The entrance was around back. No doorbell, so Jan knocked on the edge of the screen door.

After a short wait, an old man's voice called, “Who's there?”

Jan lifted her voice to reply, “Jan Henderson and her friend, Betsy Devonshire!”

After a minute or two, a wiry old man with wispy gray hair and suspicious gray eyes came out to peer at them through the screen. “What'd'ya want?” he asked brusquely.

“We'd like to talk to you about digging up something on your property—if your property runs along that way.” Jan pointed to the east. “Past your fence.”

“What are you, one o' them plant collectors? After a fern or somethin'?”

“No, sir. We found an old map and it says something is buried along the shore a little way up from here.”

He began to laugh, just a few “heh, heh, hehs” at first, then more violently, until he had to lean on the doorjamb for support. Jan would have tried to interrupt, but Betsy touched her subtly on her waist, and they both waited until he quit.

“Who sold you the map?” he asked, wiping his eyes.

“Nobody. We found it sewn inside an old pillow.”

Suddenly his eyes were keen. “Can I see it?”

“All right,” said Jan.

“But only if you come out here,” amended Betsy, backing away and touching Jan on the arm to get her to follow.

“Sure.” He came out, a little old man in worn work pants and white T-shirt. Ancient moccasins encased his sockless feet. “My name is Randy Utterberg,” he said, putting out a gnarled hand. “I've lived here for seventy-eight years. My granddad built this place, and my dad added the front porch. I was born on the island, and I plan to die here. Which one of you has the map?”

“I do,” said Jan. “We're not sure who stitched it.” She went into a front pocket and pulled it out. She had run the edge of the map through her sewing machine to stop the raveling but had not cut off any of the loose threads.

“Stitched?” He took the map from her. “Well, I'll be dipped, it
is
sewn, like embroidery!” He laid it over an outstretched hand and slid it this way and that, studying it. “Yep, it's a map, all right,” he said almost immediately, then went into a trouser pocket to pull out a shiny red metal tube about an inch in diameter and seven inches long. “Open that, one of you,” he ordered.

Betsy recognized it and pulled it apart into two unequal lengths. Inside was a pair of small reading glasses. She unfolded the temples and handed them to him. He put them on and resumed looking at the map.

“Look for a small red heart on the north side of the Big Island,” directed Jan, and he did.

“Sure enough,” he said touching it. Then he walked out and around to the side of his cabin, looking up along the shore. “Somewhere between the big old tree and my fence line, I guess,” he murmured, looking at the map, then the shoreline, then the map again.

His eye was caught by the shimmer of sunlight on Jason's boat, and he scowled. “Get away from there!” he shouted, gesturing at the boat. “Private dock!”

“No, they're with us,” said Jan.

“Oh.” He waved as if to erase the gesture and shouted, “Never mind!”

Jason, with Godwin beside him, waved back.

“They're our muscle,” explained Betsy. “Going to dig the hole, with your permission.”

“What do you expect to find?” Randy asked.

“We have no idea,” said Betsy.

“The problem is,” said Jan, “it's on your property, so legally, it's probably yours. On the other hand—” She reached out and expertly snatched the map away. “The exact location is known only by the owner of the map.”

He looked at Jan a considering moment and then said, “I'll split it with you, sixty-forty.”

“If we get the sixty, done,” said Jan.

“If you'll do the digging, agreed.”

“I'll go get the muscle,” said Betsy, and she hurried down to the boat. “He says we can dig. Bring the spades.”

Randy had an old pickax in a shed in back of the house, which he brought along as they started up the trail. “The map says this is a road,” said Jan, looking around.

“Used to be,” agreed Randy.

“What happened to it?” asked Betsy.

“Winters, ice, wind,” he replied.

“I don't understand,” said Jason, trying to smack a mosquito around the spade he was carrying. Godwin produced the spray bottle of Off! and began dampening Jason's bare skin, of which there was a considerable amount.

“The shoreline of the Island is always changing,” explained Randy, coming to a halt and looking around. “The ice builds up along the shore and the wind pushes it, and the land retreats. Other times, it rains a lot, and the land washes down, maybe builds a beach. Then the ice comes along and pushes it up and builds dry land. Something's always happening to the shoreline. There used to be a one-lane dirt road along here when I was a boy, but it got squashed over a couple of hard winters, and now it's just this path.”

“Interesting,” said Betsy, looking around. “Godwin, stop it.” The young man had finished spraying Jason and had begun on her.

“If the shoreline's changed so much, how are we going to figure out where to dig?” asked Jan.

“Well, let's see what kind of a mapmaker embroidered this map,” said Randy.

They spread the map on the path and stooped to look at it. “Well, I'm guessing that old dead tree down there is the big tree on the map,” said Jason, looking at the real tree and the stitched tree.

“Very likely,” agreed Randy. “That was the tallest tree on the Island for as long as anyone can remember. It died about four years ago, and someone's going to have to take it down pretty soon, or it'll fall in a storm and do some real damage.”

“Is there a house down there?” asked Betsy.

“Yes, on the other side of it, used as a vacation place by the owners a couple weeks every summer. The tree's on their property.” Randy studied the map. “Here's my place,” he said, pointing to the dock. “The treasure is closer to my place than the big tree—which is good, because my property ends about forty feet from where we are right now.” The old tree was about sixty yards from them.

“Yes, but how do we figure out the exact place to dig?” asked Jan.

“Well, we probably won't get it right the first hole we dig,” said Randy. “See, here's what's probably supposed to be a row of four bushes, but the swamp ate them years ago.”

Godwin stood up, alarmed. “
Ate
them?” He looked over the side of the raised path, into a welter of tall marsh grass, black water, and shiny mud. “What lives in there, anyway?”

Randy looked up at him, amused. “Nothing bigger than a snapping turtle. What I meant was, the swamp shifts location, just like the shoreline does. It's about as close to the trail as I've ever seen it, though it's always been close. Problem is, it was a ways back when the treasure was buried. I think it's probably under water now.”

Jan groaned. “That means we'll never be able to find it!”

“N
OW
, now, don't get yourself all in a lather,” said Randy. “Come on back to the house. I've got some things back there that may be helpful.”

Betsy stood and looked around. “Are you sure you can't tell from this map where it is?”

“Yes, I'm sure. Come on, all of you.”

Randy's house was small, shabby, and cluttered, but not dirty. There were a lot of bookshelves and cabinets, and they all were packed with books, photo albums, and scrapbooks. “I'm an historian,” he said. “I know just about everything there is to know about Lake Minnetonka and absolutely everything about the Big Island.” He had them sit down in his living room while he went around murmuring to himself, pulling out scrapbooks and albums and putting them back.

Jason said, “How about we eat our lunch now? Because if he finds what he's looking for, there's no holding us back to go digging.”

The others agreed, and so he and Godwin went back to the boat to bring the basket of food and Betsy's thermal pack of drinks. In the basket were sandwiches, a jar of dill pickles, and individual plastic bags containing carrot sticks, cauliflower, and broccoli pieces. Jason, a gobbler, was finished with his lunch when Randy found what he wanted, which was an old map. He brought it to his kitchen table and unfolded it. “Here's the Big Island in 1933,” he announced, and Jason, soft drink can in hand, went to look at it.

Randy continued his search. A few minutes later, he crowed, “
Aha
!” and brought another map to the table. “Big Island in 1960,” he explained, and, a few minutes later, “Big Island in 1950.” He opened a door and went into another room, probably his bedroom, since the rest of the house was pretty much open. He came back out with yet another map. “This is the latest map of this part of the lake. Who's got the embroidered map?”

“I do,” said Jason, who had taken it from Jan. He spread it on the table, and the others gathered around.

“I hope your maps are all to the same scale,” said Godwin.

“If it's close, we're good,” said Randy.

Using the older maps, Randy and Jason came quickly to agree on where the treasure probably was located. They marked it on the 1960 map with a soft pencil, then taped the map to a sunny window. Then they put the newer map over the old one, aligning such features as they could find on both maps—and finding the scale was not identical, but close. “There,” said Randy, tracing the circle on the old map onto the new one. “She's right inside that circle or I'm a kangaroo.”

So it was back up the trail again, Randy in the lead with the modern map folded small, looking for landmarks only he could see. Finally, not far from where they'd stopped before, he paused and scraped a mark in the trail with his heel, walked half a dozen yards up the trail and made another scrape, then gestured to the landward side of the trail marked off with the scrapes. “Somewhere in here,” he said.

“Here” was a swamp; there was no solid land anywhere.

“Oh, lord,” sighed Jason, because he was the one wearing shorts. He went up to the first scrape on the path and stepped gingerly into the muck. He immediately began to sink and fell backward to grab onto the bank of the trail. This slowed his sinking, which stopped altogether about halfway up his thighs. The look on his face as he looked down at himself was a curious mixture of disgust and relief.

Jan had rushed to stand beside him on the trail, holding out a spade handle for him to grab onto if the sinking didn't stop. Her grin of relief was replaced by a cruel giggle when it did.

“Just walk along that edge at first,” counseled Randy. “See if you can feel anything with your feet.”

With extreme care, Jason began to walk along the mucky way. Green blades of grass sliced his thighs and lower arms, making him grimace. Facing the low bank of the trail, he held his hands at the ready to grab on should he step into a hole. Jan matched him step for step, ready to hold out the end of the spade to assist him.

On the fourth step, he went down far enough to wet the legs of his shorts, but the next step brought him up again—in fact, higher than he'd been at the start. “I'm standing on a flat rock,” he said, thrashing one foot around to measure its limits. “Ouch!” he said, finding one. “It's got a point on that side!” He felt around some more and found the other side about a step and a half in the other direction. “Fatter on this side than the other,” he reported. He stepped off the rock into thigh-deep mud, wincing as the marsh grass sliced thinly into his tender flesh. At the far end, Godwin and Randy helped him up onto solid land again.

“Whoosh!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, but all that's in there is that rock! Mr. Utterberg, can I go back to your place and sluice off? These cuts sting!” His exposed skin was covered with tiny red lines, some of which oozed blood.

“You sure you don't want to go out from the trail a bit and walk that line again?”

“I'm sure.”

“Well, I've got a hose all hooked up on the east side of the house.”

“Thanks.” Jason walked off wide-legged, and Randy looked around at the trio remaining. “All right, who's next?”

“What, you want another one of us to go in there?” asked Godwin.

“Well, how else are you going to find the treasure if you don't go in there and look for it?”

“Drain the swamp?” offered Betsy hopefully.

Jan laughed, Godwin snickered, but Randy said, “What's the matter, don't you want to get rich?”

“Maybe we're already rich enough,” said Jan.

“Who's got the thinnest shoes?” asked Randy. “You can feel around with your feet.”

They all looked at their feet. Godwin smiled at his army boots, Jan smiled at her sports shoes, Randy held out one foot shod with an older, scabbier match for Godwin's boots, and Betsy sighed as she looked down at her thin tennies.

But at least the jeans and long-sleeve shirt would protect her from the cut-grass.

She allowed Jan and Godwin to each take a hand and lower her gingerly into the swamp. It came all the way up her legs. She sidestepped, pausing at every step away from the bank to feel around with one foot. The marsh quickly deepened the farther she went. After one step brought the level of muck to her waist, she elected not to go farther from the trail, and when her next step parallel to it brought the muddy water up to her bosom, she came close in again. “I'm sorry, but I don't want to sink out of sight.”

A few side steps later, and she found the flat rock Jason had stepped up on. “You know, it's odd there being this one rock right here,” she said. “The bottom all around here is just mush. What's it doing here? And what is it resting on?” She turned in a little circle, probing with one foot, then the other, finding the outline of the rock, by trying to reach under it with the toes of one foot. She could detect nothing underneath, so what was it standing on? It seemed to be coming out from the solid earth under the trail. She outlined it again with her foot. It swelled from a point out to a rounded top, and there seemed to be an indentation in the top.

It was as if a light went on. “I think this rock is shaped like a heart!” she shouted and raised both arms. “Lift me out!”

As they did, Jason came running up the trail, trailing water from the waist down. “What, what? Did you find it?” he called.

“No—well, maybe,” said Betsy. “That rock you stood on, pointed on one side. It's rounded on the other.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it's heart-shaped.”

He stared at her. “Well, whadaya know! I didn't think of that—you could be right!”

“It's less than two feet down,” said Godwin. “Come on, try to lift it up. I bet the treasure is under it.”

“Hold on, hold on!” said Randy. “First, let's mark the spot.”

So Betsy took the two spades and climbed back onto the rock. Standing on it, she pushed them into the muck, flanking the rock about eighteen inches away on either side. The blades went down, then the handles, until only the last fourteen inches or so were still in sight. Betsy pushed down a couple more inches and let go. The spades stood firm. Then Jason, swearing under his breath, climbed back in, and Betsy stepped off the stone and took two steps sideways.

Jason slammed the pickax into the water, causing the others on the trail to back off hastily. It took three tries before the point went deep into the solid ground of the bank under the stone. He began to lever it up. It resisted and resisted, and then suddenly broke free. Betsy grabbed at it, wetting herself to the chin. Jason yanked the pickax free and threw it up on the bank, then grabbed the stone from his side. The two of them lifted it until Godwin and Randy could grab on and drag it onto the trail.

About two and a half feet long, it was dark, wet, muddy and trailing silt and dead grass. And yes, sort of heart-shaped; one of the rounded lobes was nearly missing. “I think I did that,” said Jason, pointing to the missing lobe. “I think the other part is stuck down there. It felt like it broke free.”

“I think you may be right,” said Randy, stooping to finger the shattered edge. “This looks fresh broke.”

“Betsy, feel around,” said Jan. “Is there something under where it was?”

Betsy padded around where the rock had been and said, “Not right under it. Wait, wait. There may be something way down there. It feels like there's something solid…it could be just another rock.” She danced a slow jig over the place. “It's pretty far down, I think.”

Jason pulled one of the spades out and stuck it down again as Betsy moved out of the way. Jason bent sideways, feeding the handle down almost to the end. It went smoothly, then stopped. “I think she's right,” he said. “I think there's something down there. Doesn't feel like a rock—feels like wood.”

“Oh? Oh?” cried Jan, excited beyond words.

“A
treasure chest
!” said Godwin, peering into the black water as if it were possible to get a glimpse of it down there.

“Yeah, but there's no way to dig a hole in this stuff,” said Betsy, looking around.

“There's more than one way to skin a cat,” said Randy. “I'll be back as fast as I can.” He set off down the trail toward his cabin.

“Get us out,” said Jason after a minute. “I'm starting to think about leeches.”

“Ack! Ack!” cried Betsy, holding up both arms. “Out, out!” So they hauled her out first. She didn't go all the way back to the house, but rushed down the other side of the trail and into the lake, going out as far as the top of her shoulders and sloshing around. Then she came in to shallow water, sat down, unbuttoned her cuffs and inspected her arms as far up as she could pull the sleeves. She found nothing until she hauled at the legs of her jeans to inspect her lower legs.

There was a big splash as Jason joined her in the water. “Find any?” he asked her, moving his arms and legs briskly to clean off the mud.

“Y-yes,” she quavered, pulling at a black thing on one calf. “No, wait, it's just a leaf.”

But Jason found two, and grabbed a handful of sand to rub them off.

“They're not dangerous!” called Jan from the trail. “They even have medical uses.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Jason. “Then how about you go in there and gather a few to take to Hugs?”

For some reason, Jan didn't take his suggestion.

It was nearly ten minutes before Randy came back, carrying two rakes—not the leaf kind, the garden kind, with heavy teeth. “Had to go borrow one,” he explained.

“You expect us to
rake
the mud away?” said Godwin.

“No, son. We'll use the rakes to lift whatever's under there out. One on each side of it.”

Betsy was adamant—she was not going back in. “It's not my treasure,” she said, “and I'm not going back in there with those leeches.”

“I'll dig,” said Godwin, “but I won't wade in that.”

“Well,” sighed Jan, “It's my turn, I guess.”

“I know how to do this, so I'll help you,” said Randy.

So with eloquent faces, they stepped gingerly into the muck. Under Randy's guidance, they both pushed the rakes down, handles first, to locate and size the object Jason had felt. It appeared to be rectangular, about three feet long and two feet wide. It was at an angle to the trail.

“Now, turn your rake over and carefully go down the edges of the thing, on the long side, until you can slip the tines under it.”

That struggle went on for fifteen minutes until both were satisfied they had all the tines under the object.

“Now ready? Lift up, as straight up as you can,” ordered Randy.

The first thing that happened was both rakes came loose and had to be reset. It took less time this try, and the lifting began again. Jan's rake came loose several times, but at last the object broke the surface.

It was a wooden box, smaller than their first estimates—a little over two feet long and eighteen inches wide. And, by its heft, not empty. The lid was flat, nailed shut. It was very slimy, and their hands kept slipping when they tried to lift it. At last, Jason took one of the rakes and helped get it up on the trail.