Lady Justice and the Ghostly Treasure (11 page)

    He loosened his grip and as I fell to the floor, he grabbed his crotch and bent forward. Before I could stop her, Mary planted her size 10 right under his chin, snapping his head back.

    “That’ll teach you to mess with women!” she roared triumphantly.

    He was writhing on the floor when Ox and his new partner, Amanda, came charging in.

    “Looks like you have this under control,” he said, snapping the cuffs on poor Boris.

    After Ox carted Gorski away, we all collapsed, trying to collect ourselves from the ordeal.

    My chair was next to an end table, and I casually glanced at a stack of mail waiting to be opened.

    When I saw the name on the envelope, a chill went up my spine and goose bumps ran up and down my arms.

    “Uhhhh --- Camilla, what is your last name?”

    “Sinclair. Why do you ask?”

    “I don’t suppose you know a Henry Sinclair?”

    “I do. That’s my grandfather.”

    Mary and I exchanged glances. We were both speechless.

    I took a long breath. “Camilla, I’m going to tell you something that may seem preposterous. You meeting James was no accident.”

    “What in the world are you talking about?”

    “Mary, do you have the map?”

    She nodded and handed it to me.

    “Camilla, I’m sure you know your grandfather passed away in the old Odd Fellows home in Liberty.”

    “Yes, I knew that.”

    “What you didn’t know, was that James’ grandmother took care of Henry Sinclair during his last days. Just before he passed,” I said, handing her the paper, “he scribbled this map and gave it to her. We read in her diary she had hidden it in the wall of the old hospital. We found it just last night.”

    Her hand shook as she took the paper.

    After examining it for a moment, she said, “I know this place. I know where it is!”

    To say that this whole situation was getting weirder by the minute would be an understatement.

CHAPTER 9

    We were all shocked by this unexpected revelation.

    “Really? You know where this is?”

    “Yes and no. I’ve never actually been there, but I’ve heard my parents talking about it. They used to have a fishing cabin there. I’ve seen a few old photos. It’s somewhere south of Kansas City. I think I remember them mentioning a place called Osceola.”

    As soon as she said ‘Osceola,’ bells and whistles started going off in my brain.

    Things had been so hectic, I really hadn’t had time to examine the map. I took it from her and spread it out on the coffee table, getting a close look for the first time.

    As soon as I saw the Osage River, I knew she was on the right track.

    On three different occasions, cases had led me to St. Clair County in the heart of the Ozarks. The first one involved a fanatical religious sect whose members believed Kansas City was their Sodom and Gomorrah. They called themselves the Avenging Angels, and felt it was their duty to rain fire and brimstone on the seamier parts of Kansas City. The second involved a sting operation at Gordon’s Orchard, just south of Osceola on Highway 13, whose purpose was to expose corruption in the Food and Drug Administration. The third involved a man whose parents were murdered in St. Luke’s hospital. The killer was abducted by the son and driven to a remote cabin in a little village called Red Rock right on the banks of the Osage, where he planned to exact his revenge.

    In addition to Osceola, these cases had sent me to the little hamlets of Roscoe, Monegaw Springs, and Red Rock, all on the banks of the Osage River. In all my wanderings, I’d never run across Upps’ Lake.

    “So Camilla,” I said, trying to refocus, “could your parents give us directions?”

    “They could if they were still here,” she replied, sadly. “They both died in a car accident years ago, and there’s no one else. I’m an only child.”

    “So sorry.”

    “I’m still confused,” Camilla said. “What was the purpose of the map? What’s supposed to be hidden there?”

    I had forgotten this was all new to her. “According to James’ grandmother’s diary, your grandfather gave her the map and told her that gold coins he brought home from the war were buried there, and that she should have them for caring for him in his time of need. Marie Carpenter hid the map and died shortly thereafter. That was seventy years ago.”

    “Seventy years! We have no idea if the cabin or even the lake are still there.”

    “That may be true, but if it is, don’t you think we should look?”

    “I guess that makes sense, but where do we start?”

    If the lake was still there, I knew who could take me to it, Dan the Catfish Man. It was an accidental encounter at a gas station that brought us together. I was pumping gas and Dan was at the next pump pulling a fishing boat. I heard a ‘thump thump,’ looked into the boat and saw the biggest fish I’d ever seen outside of an aquarium. Dan explained it was a flathead catfish he’d just pulled out of the river. He handed me his card and said if I ever wanted to wet a line, give him a call. When I needed a guide for the Avenging Angels case, Dan was the man. He had lived in St. Clair County all his life and knew pretty much everything about it.

    I folded the map and put it in my pocket. “I know a guy in St. Clair County that can help us. I’ll hang onto this until I talk to him. As soon as I have some news, I’ll get back with all of you. It’s quite obvious to me that forces beyond our comprehension have led us all to this moment. I can’t begin to guess what might be awaiting us in the future, but I’m willing to forge ahead if you are.”

    Nods all around.

    “Good! Then that settles it. We’re going treasure hunting.”

    Once back home, I figured I’d better tell my wife what was going on.

    In the five years we’d been married, I’d been involved in some very bizarre cases, but none quite like this one.

    I got home before Maggie and decided the best way to break the news was over a tasty meal and a bottle of fine wine, so I got out all the ingredients for tuna casserole, my signature dish, and put a bottle of Arbor Mist in the fridge to chill.

    The minute she walked in the door, she knew something was up.

    “Hmmm, tuna casserole! And I’ll bet you have a bottle of Arbor Mist ready too. Okay, Walt, what’s up?”

    Maggie is very perceptive that way.

    Over dinner, I started at the beginning and told her the whole story.

    When I was finished, she gave me ‘the look.’ You guys know what I mean. Every woman has it down pat. It can have several subtle meanings, but usually it says, “Really? What a moron! You expect me to believe that!”

    She took a sip of wine. “Okay, ghosts, a diary, Mary’s long-lost sister, and a map. I don’t suppose this is a prelude to you telling me you’re going treasure hunting?”

    I grimaced. “Yeah, something like that.”

    I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the one I got. At first, she just giggled. I figured it was probably the Arbor Mist taking hold. Then she burst into a fit of laughter.

    When she finally gained her composure. “You and ‘poop on the shoe’ Mary, traipsing around the Ozark hills looking for buried treasure. This is over the top, even for you.”

    “So, any chance you’d like to go with us?” I asked timidly.

    “I wouldn’t miss this for all the tea in China.”

    I wasn’t sure exactly how much tea that actually was, but I assumed her answer was ‘yes.’

    Early next morning I called Dan the Catfish Man.

    “Good morning. It’s a great day for fishing! How can I help you?”

    “Hi Dan. Walt Williams here.”

    “My old buddy from the big city. Good to hear your voice. You finally ready to hunt some of those big cats? They’re bitin’ real good on cut shad.”

    “No, not quite ready for that yet, but I am looking for a good guide. Would you happen to know one?”

    “Just might,” he replied. “Whatca lookin’ for this time?”

    “Have you ever heard of a place called Upps’ Lake?”

    “Sure have.”

    “Is it still there?”

    “Right where it’s been for the past eighty years or so.”

    “What do you know about it?”

    “Well, let’s see. Back in the forties, fifties and sixties, it was a private resort owned by the Upps family. There is a lake, pretty good size, maybe forty acres, right on the Osage. The only thing separating the lake from the river is a long dam on the south side. Cottages and cabins surrounded the lake. Really good fishing. Bass and crappie in the lake, catfish in the river.”

    “You said in the forties, fifties and sixties. Is the resort still there?”

    “Yes and no. In the early seventies, the Corps of Engineers started building Truman Dam. The Osage River is actually part of Truman Lake. The engineers knew that when the dam was built, there would be times that the river level would rise dramatically. They calculated that the river could periodically rise over the dam and flood many of the cabins along the shore of the lake. Long story short, once they figured how high the river could rise, the Corps had to buy out all the property in the flood zone. That included every property across the dam on the west side of the lake and at least half the cabins on the east side. Once that happened, the lake was no longer private. It became Corps of Engineers property.”

    “So what happened to all of the cabins in the flood zone?”

    “All gone. Some were moved, some were torn down.”

    “So what’s there now?”

    “There’s maybe a dozen cabins still habitable there. All of them are privately owned by individuals. They’re mostly city folk like you who use the cabins on weekends. There’s only one full time resident at the lake now.”

    Looking at the map, I had a bad feeling. It looked like the Sinclair’s cabin was on the far side of the lake, the part that was no longer there.

    “I don’t suppose you would know the Sinclair family. They used to own a cabin at the resort.”

    “Can’t say as I do, but I’ll bet ole Stacy would.”

    “And who is Stacy?”

    “Stacy Phelps. He’s the one full time resident I was telling you about. He’s been there over forty years. If anyone knows them, it would be him.”

    “Any chance you could take us out there and introduce us to Mr. Phelps?”

    “Sure thing. When do you want to go?”

    “How about tomorrow morning? We could meet you at Osceola Cheese at ten.”

    “Works with me.”

    Time for a road trip.

    I told Maggie and she made arrangements to be away from the real estate office for a day. I knew if Mary found out we’d gone without her, she’d have a cow, so I called and told her we’d pick her up at seven-thirty the next morning.

    It’s a two hour drive from Kansas City to Osceola. Once out of the city, it’s a pleasant trip through the country side. We pass through Harrisonville, Clinton, and finally at the little town of Lowry City, there is a sign that says, ‘Where the Ozarks meet the plains.’ It’s just seven more miles to Osceola, but in that distance, fields of hay and corn turn into the rolling oak-clad Ozark hills.