Our Fathers (Conner Beach Crime Series)

by John Chabot

  Among nods of approval, Alex said, "All right, then how about that next term, 'gets cross with'? Maybe it's not meant in the ordinary sense—'gets angry with'—but literally. Crosses with. You know—intersects."

  "Bitching!" said Ben. He received a severe glance from his sister, which he ignored. "That makes sense. Where the dunes intersect . . . something. What's the rest?"

  Kelly read again, " . . . the ancient supporters of something not quite ripe."

  "Okay, so what's not quite ripe?"

  "Something green," put in Diane. She was getting into the spirit, despite herself.

  "That's good," said Ben. "So what's green?"

  "Seaweed?"

  "Money?"

  "Kermit."

  "Very funny," said Ben. "Something green that intersects the dunes."

  Without anyone seeming to lead, they went out onto the beachside porch. Behind them, the sun was almost down, just lighting the tops of the dunes and giving a reddish tint to the froth of the breakers. They looked both ways along the beach.

  "There's a house down there with a green roof."

  "It's back from the dunes—doesn't intersect."

  "What else?"

  They looked. Nothing else. Just beach from there to the piers.

  "Maybe we're not looking for something green," said Kelly. "Maybe 'not quite' is the same as 'confused'. You know, the word we need is almost 'ripe', but 'not quite'. An anagram of ripe. Does that do anything?"

  Silence, and then a mighty "Yes!" from Ben. "Of course! It's pier. Where the dunes intersect the pier. It's gotta' be."

  "Which pier?" asked Christy.

  "Who cares? We'll search them both. It's probably under one of the piers where it goes over the dunes. Terry and Kelly and I can take one, and you guys can take the other. We better get going. It's going to be dark pretty quick."

  "I don't think that's it," said Diane.

  Ben glared. "Why? You still looking for something green?"

  She glared back. She was better at it. "No, it's just that it doesn't say 'where the dunes intersect the pier'. There's more to it."

  "That's right," agreed Terry. "It says the supporters of the pier."

  "So? What supports the piers? Those big telephone pole legs they stand on. Come to think of it, they're the ones that really intersect the dunes—the piers go over them. It's probably buried at the base of one of the poles."

  It made sense. They could see it. Everyone seemed to be looking at everyone else, waiting for an objection. It was Kelly who finally said, "I hate to nitpick, but I think we've forgotten one word. Ancient. It says 'the ancient supporters'. When we bought this place a few years ago, someone told me the piers had been almost destroyed in the last hurricane. I think he said all the supports had been replaced."

  "Oh, come on!" from Ben.

  "That's right," added Christy. "They're practically new."

  Terry was watching the shoreline. His mind was in idle, not concentrating on the problem directly. He thought that Ben was probably right about the piers. At the same time, the word 'ancient' bothered him vaguely, as it had Kelly. Nothing else in the clue had been gratuitous. Why would it say ancient if the piers were new? Of course, Matt may not have known they were new. Still . . . As he let his mind wander around the question, he saw the surge of water run up the beach, reach its peak, and then start back. At one place, the water rippled and humped as it flowed over something low and uneven. At the same time, there came to the front of his mind the term 'ancient supporters'. He recalled the first day he had walked along this beach. And then he thought of the light on the beach the night before, and these things came together.

  "Damn!" He said it with feeling. "Damn, damn, damn!" He tried to pinpoint the place where he had seen the light, and saw that it was roughly opposite where the water swirled and eddied. "Damn it to hell!"

  Without waiting for the others, he ran down the stairs and out to the beach. There he turned right, and strode up the beach another forty feet, glancing back and forth from the water to the low hills of sand. He stopped, took a step up on the first low dune, looking into the little valley beyond. He gave one last "damn!" and turned around.

  The others were in a rough half circle around him, regarding him with a variety of expressions. Christy wished he would stop saying that one word over and over. Diane was thinking there were places for the hopelessly insane, and Alex had the feeling that something had just gone badly wrong. Kelly looked sympathetic. She moved to his side, as if to protect him from the mob.

  Terry didn't know where to start, so he said nothing. He felt numb.

  Alex said, "Come on. What?"

  "I know where the intersection is, if it makes any difference. It's not at either of those piers."

  "Where, then?"

  "Right here."

  "No way," said Ben, but without much assurance.

  "Yes, it is. There used to be a pier here. A long time ago."

  "How do you know?"

  Diane said, "I remember something about that. I never saw it, but my father told me there was a pier somewhere around here. That was before those other two were built. It was wiped out in the 'fifty-four hurricane. But how do you know it was here?"

  Terry shrugged and nodded toward the surf. "The ancient supporters. I saw them the first day I was out here. I almost tripped over one of them. They're just stumps now. They barely clear the sand. At low tide you can see three of them. The point is, they're the ancient supporters of a pier, and they form a line that intersects the dunes right here."

  As he spoke, the water drew back for another attack on the beach, and they could see two of the remnants.

  "So what are we standing here for?" asked Ben.

  "Wait," said Alex. He spoke to Ben, but he was looking at Terry. "What's wrong?"

  Terry looked around at all of them. The sun was down now. They were all in shadow. What a shame, he thought. So much for quests in a modern world.

  "I don't think there's anything left to find." Before they could break in, he said, "Remember, somebody stole the clue from me yesterday before you got here."

  Alex closed his eyes and shook his head, seeing what was coming. "And figured it out before we did, right?"

  "I think so. My arm was hurting last night, so I got up to get some aspirin. Somebody was out here with a flashlight. I came out to see what was going on, but whoever it was took off. I'm afraid I was too late. You can see where the sand's been dug up."

  They looked. There was a shallow trench with little piles of sand on either side.

  "So now what?" asked Diane, but no one could find an answer.

  Ben climbed over the dune, and stood in the fresh depression. He looked back at the water, closing first one eye and then the other. Finally he said, "Well, if that's supposed to be an intersection, I sure don't see it."

  Christy eyed him sourly. "What are you on about now?"

  "Those stumps. They don't line up. Not from here."

  Kelly touched Terry's arm. "What time was your middle of the night skulker here?"

  "Around 3:00."

  "Was there any light out here?"

  "Just from the hotel up there, but . . ." He stopped, trying not to hope.

  Alex moved to line up the stumps himself. "It would be pretty tough to do this alone, in the dark."

  Christy spoke to her brother again, this time without the sarcasm. "Where do they line up?"

  Ben was already moving, taking two giant steps to his right and then another smaller one. "About here."

  He dropped to the sand, and started digging, pushing sand in heaps to one side. Someone said, "Careful, we don't know what we're looking for."

  "Hey, there's something," yelled Ben. He brushed loose sand away and they could see a corner. He dug more carefully now, and found another corner about six inches from the first. Alex was now on the other side, and they soon had it loose. Ben held up a cigar box, sand still dropping from its surfaces. Two wide rubber bands held it shut.


  Ben beamed as he held it. "Well, it's something."

  "What's in it?" from Diane.

  "You do the honors," said Terry. "You found it."

  Still kneeling in the sand, Ben pulled off the rubber bands and raised the lid. His face fell as he looked into the dark box, then brightened as he saw something in one corner.

  "What is it?"

  "Just what he said it would be," answered Ben. He held it up in the last light, and they all saw the jagged stem and the round handle of a key.

  "A key to what?"

  Back in the house, they sat around the coffee table. In the center was the box, most of the sand knocked off, and beside it the key. It looked like a house key. On the round handle were three digits, stamped into the metal. 349.

  "Key to a safe deposit box?" suggested Diane.

  "Yeah, could be," said Ben. The thought of what could be in a safe deposit box appealed to him.

  Alex sat back on the sofa and said, "I don't think so. They're usually very thin, flat keys. And you'd better hope it's not. If it is, the hunt stops right here."

  "Why?" asked Ben. "We've got the key."

  "It takes more than that. You not only have to have the key, but you have to sign every time you use it. The signature has to match the one they have on record. Only the person who pays for the box can open the box. It takes a court order for anyone else to get into it."

  "Oh, great! So what is it, then?"

  Alex looked over at Terry. "What about it, Master of the Hunt? Should we tell them?"

  "I'm not so sure. We can't do everything for them."

  "That's a laugh!" said Kelly. "Christy got you started. And you two never would have found anything if it weren't for Ben. You were both ready to quit."

  "I know!" said Christy, who had been ignoring them all, staring at the key. "It's to a Post Office box."

  "How do you know?" asked Ben.

  She looked toward Terry and Alex. "Isn't it?"

  Kelly answered, "Of course it is."

  "But which Post Office?" put in Diane.

  "There can't be that many to check," said Terry. "We'll start with Connor Beach, then Wilford. It probably couldn't be any farther than Wilmington."

  "So let's do it," said Ben.

  "It's too late," said Terry. "The Post Office is closed." Alex and Kelly gave him dubious looks, and Kelly started to say something, but he went on. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Can we all meet here in the morning?"

  "Sure," answered Ben.

  "Not me," said Diane. "I have a class."

  Ben looked disbelieving. "On Saturday?"

  "Welcome to the world of big people. Yes, on Saturday. It's a live model class. And no, I'm not going to skip it." She hesitated, then added, "Of course, you can go on without me if you want."

  "No," said Terry. "Against the rules. When can you be here?"

  "11:00, 11:30, I guess."

  "Okay, 11:30 then."

  They got up to go. Alex said, "Be sure you put that key somewhere safe. Remember what happened last night."

  "Don't worry, I will. And speaking of that, I have a request. Last night, somebody came in here and got away with the clue. Whoever it was solved the clue and almost got the key. We have competition, folks. Somebody who knew I had that paper."

  Diane asked, "Do you mean someone in the family? I don't believe it." She was beginning to get the closed, defensive look Chervenic had seen.

  "I don't know who it was. All I'm asking is that you don't tell anyone about the key. Not yet. Let's just keep it to ourselves—at least until we've had a chance to use it."

  He got shrugs and nods of agreement, then went on. "I talked to Lieutenant Chervenic about this, and he agrees. In fact, he seemed to have been expecting it. Someone is trying to get there before we do and he, or she, or they aren't too picky about how it gets done. I got a chair on the side of my head and, if I read Chervenic right, he thinks it's the same person who killed Matt."

  Still no one said anything, so he went on. "He seems to think there's no real danger as long as we stay in a group. Maybe so, maybe not. I just wanted to let you know how it stands, and let you make up your own minds. Do we stop until the killer is caught, or do we go on? It's up to you."

  He looked around, waiting for answers.

  "We can't stop now," said Ben.

  "Well," said Christy, "if we stay together."

  Diane looked to Alex. "What do you think?"

  He shook his head. "Sorry, it's not my call. Whatever you want to do, I'll go with."

  "All right," she said. "I don't think there's any connection, anyway. Whatever we're after is at the Post Office. We'll go tomorrow and get it, that's all."

  Terry looked at Kelly, and found her smiling back at him. "You know better than to ask me. Whither thou goest and all that."

  I wish, he thought.

  Most of the flame was gone, but the coals glowed a yellowish-orange in the darkness, pulsing and moving like things alive. Terry felt the breeze damp and cold on his back and the intense heat of the burning charcoal on his face. He picked up the steaks and laid them on the hot grill, producing a brief, satisfying sizzle. They were dark, meaty chunks against the fiery brightness. As the fatty juices began to drip, the tangy smell of roasting meat came up to him, setting off the salivary glands and gastric juices. The smell was making him even hungrier than he already was. Like Pavlov's dog, he thought.

  Kelly came out onto the porch with a sweater around her shoulders, a goblet of red wine in each hand. "Oh Lord, those smell good. How soon?"

  "I just put them on. Maybe ten minutes."

  She handed him a glass, and they clinked before taking a sip. The wine was dark and velvety, the sort that doesn't come in screw top bottles. "You got the good stuff, I see."

  "I thought those steaks deserved good wine. Don't overcook them."

  "Not a chance. I'm starved."

  "Aren't you always? Is that why you told those kids the Post Office is closed?"

  He took another sip before answering. "It is closed. At five-thirty, I think."

  "If you want to mail packages or buy stamps, yes? The lobby is open a lot later." She peered at him in the darkness and went on, as if explaining to a small child. "That's so people with Post Office boxes can pick up their mail after hours."

  "Is that right?"

  She gave him a look. "Yes, and you damn well know it."

  "Well, yes, I guess so," he admitted. "It's just that I had an early lunch—a peanut butter sandwich. And I could just see us piling into cars, running around looking for the right Post Office, then finding another set of instructions that would have to be worked out. Then I thought of these steaks and the wine and having dinner with a beautiful woman. Whatever's in that box won't go away before tomorrow."

  "You were hungry."

  "It's better this way. I don't think too well when I'm hungry. Besides, I haven't seen you for a week and I wanted you to myself."

  "You'd better turn those steaks."

  "Right."

  He lifted them with a long-handled fork, and laid the uncooked side to the heat. Kelly leaned against the porch rail, cradling the goblet in her palm, watching him. "Boy," she said, "some Quest Master you are. Everything stops as soon as you get hungry and horny."

  He grinned back at her. "Yeah," he said, "first things first."

  CHAPTER 22

  Most of the front wall of the Post Office lobby was lined with rows of little metal doors, each one with a key slot and a number. Except for the number, the door marked 349 looked like all the others. Terry slipped the key into the slot. It turned easily. Inside the little cave was a package wrapped in brown paper. It was no more than three inches square, and maybe an inch deep. It was addressed to Matt, but below the address was written, "Attention: Members of the Hunt."

  "That's it, then," said Alex.

  "Open it," put in Ben.

  Terry took off the paper, and found a white pasteboard box. He lifted the lid, revealing a square of soft cotton ga
uze. Beneath it, resting on another piece of gauze, was a compass, its needle swinging about, trying to settle on North. There was a silence as they peered at it, wondering what it was supposed to mean.

  "That's it?" asked Diane.

  "I've got a better one than that at home," said Ben.

  Alex asked, "Anything else in there?"

  Terry lifted the bottom layer of gauze. A piece of paper lay folded in the bottom. He unfolded it, took a quick look and said, "Well, we're not through yet."

  Kelly said, "Oh, for God's sake, read it."

  He shrugged. "It says, 'Go to my sister's house. Stand in the middle of the street, directly in front of the house. Using the compass, walk fourteen degrees West of South for roughly seventy-five paces.'"

  Christy said, "That seems plain enough. No hidden meaning or anything." She sounded a little disappointed.

  Terry said to her, "You'll like this next part. 'Stop when you are standing directly between the high and mighty wizard and the lowly colonists.' You had to say it, didn't you?"

  "Now, that's more like it," said Christy.

  "Oh Lord, we're back to the weirdness again," said Diane.

  "Well, let's do it," said Ben. "We can figure out that last part when we get there. We just step off seventy-five paces and see what we're standing between."

  "There's more," said Terry. "After that it says, 'Turn ninety degrees to your left. Go straight ahead another thirty paces. Congratulations! You're there. Remember my note.'"

  "Okay," said Ben. "He says to go to his sister's house. That's our place, unless he has another sister somewhere. At least we can do that part, and maybe find the wizard and the colonists."

  Alex left first, with Diane beside him, the two Campbells in the back seat. Terry and Kelly followed closely in the Miata.

  Behind them, Mickie kept several cars between them and her blue Honda. "Not too close," said Harry. "Let's just find out where they're going."

  Mickie shot him a glance. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on here. What are they looking for? And why do we care?"

  "Letters," said Harry.

  "They're looking for letters?"