When Memory Fails

by L C Hayden

  “If you think we’re alone, then why did we bury The Ledger?”

  “Better safe than sorry.” Bronson stood up. “Let’s find out if we’re right or wrong.”

  “No!” Sandy’s sharp tone startled both Daniel and Bronson. “Sorry. I guess I’m just too excited. We’ve got to search for the vase before we ran out of sunlight.” She glanced at the descending sun.

  Daniel’s face remained impassive, but the eyebrows knit slightly in puzzlement. “What vase? What are you talking about?”

  Sandy ignored him and instead turned to Bronson. “Any ideas as to where to look for the vase?”

  A vivid image flashed before Bronson’s face. Although it lasted but a fraction of a second, he clearly saw the vase, a definite antique if not the real thing. The almost foot tall vase had once served as a pitcher. Men and women, dressed in blue togas, had been painted against the off-white enamel of the vase. Bronson was definitely not a connoisseur of Greek art, but this piece definitely had all the markings on an ancient Greek vase.

  He had recently seen this piece of art. But where? In one of the few remaining structures of the town? No, that didn’t sound right. Bronson snapped his eyes shut.

  Remember. You’ve got to remember.

  Nothing came to him.

  “Uncle Bronson? Are you okay?” Daniel asked.

  Bronson remained quiet for a moment, thinking. “I recently saw the vase we’re searchin’ for, but I can’t, for the life of me, remember where.”

  “Could it have been at the Hermit’s house?” Sandy asked.

  The Hermit? Who the heck was The Hermit?

  Another image flashed before Bronson. He tried to grasp it before it faded. “The Hermit?” Bronson felt, more than saw, a huge explosion, a ball of fire that consumed everything in its path. Like a greedy monster, it devoured all it came in contact with, leaving nothing behind but destruction and devastation. The Hermit, he thought.

  “Are you okay?” Daniel repeated.

  “Yeah, sure. I just need to focus on that vase. Give me a minute. Sandy, fill Daniel in on what we found out.” He walked away.

  Chapter 54

  Sandy watched Bronson walk away from them and flop down on a fallen tree that he used as a seat. “I really like your uncle, but sometimes he’s so frustrating. Like right now. What’s going on in that brain of his?”

  Daniel glanced at his uncle, wondering if he should leave him alone or go to him. “I don’t know. I’ve been told he’s a great detective, and maybe that’s how he solves his cases.” He turned his attention from Bronson to Sandy. “Now, what’s this about a vase?”

  Sandy pointed to the falls. “Let me start at the beginning. It’s just like your uncle predicted. A piece of dry land exists behind the falls. We—or I should say, he—found The Ledger buried in the middle of the island. We dug it up—”

  “How did you do that?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in on all of the details later on. But what’s important here is that once we had it in our hands, neither of us could wait an extra minute to find out what it said. We took a few minutes to read it.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “The Ledger consists of two parts.”

  Daniel cocked his head but said nothing.

  Sandy continued, “The first part—the largest part—lists all of the names of the people my family has robbed from in the past century. It lists amounts and methods used to abstract the money from them.”

  Daniel squeezed Sandy’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Sandy shrugged. “It’s all right. I figured this was the way it was going to turn out. I resigned myself to the idea, so that now that it’s real, it doesn’t really affect me at all.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Sandy nodded. “Now ask me about the other part.”

  “Okay. What else does the book tell you?”

  “It talks about a great hidden treasure.”

  Daniel’s eyes searched her face as though questioning what he had heard. “What?”

  “It seems that my mighty great-great-grandfather, Isaac Sechrest, didn’t believe in banks. So he hid most of his treasure where he knew it would be safe.”

  “And that is?”

  Sandy shrugged. “Nobody knows, but that’s where the vase comes in.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that he invested all of his money on that vase?”

  “No, not really. It’s what’s inside the vase that we’re interested in.”

  Daniel held his breath and waited for Sandy to continue.

  She did. “According to The Ledger, the vase has a false bottom containing a note that reveals the location of the great Isaac Sechrest treasure.”

  Daniel’s eyes widened. “So that’s the reason Aunt Bobbi is so interested in The Ledger. She must have known about the treasure.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I never know about Aunt Bobbi. But even if she didn’t, I bet you that ledger holds a great threat to her.”

  “So now, instead of The Ledger, we’re looking for a vase.” Daniel glanced toward his uncle’s direction. “I guess he’s trying to figure out where that vase is.”

  “I guess so, but I wish he’d hurry. The sun is setting.”

  Chapter 55

  Bronson cleared his mind of all concerns and focused strictly on the vase. He could see it so clearly in his mind. It sat on the end table beside a leather couch. But what lay beyond the end table? Bronson forced his vision to expand to cover the rest of the room.

  The row of large windows overlooked the forest in this arched, sunken living room, which seemed to be so unusual because…

  Because why?

  What was he not seeing, not remembering?

  Concentrate. Remember.

  The vase, so unusual, it had made him want to ask about it, or maybe he had asked—but whom had he asked?

  The answer jolted him.

  The Hermit.

  He had talked to him and—

  Visions of the explosion returned. The muscles in Bronson’s shoulder tightened. The house had been reduced to ashes even as Bronson ran to save the Hermit.

  Had he been successful in saving the Hermit?

  Bronson’s nerves tingled as the memory rushed back to him.

  He had almost reached the mansion when the explosion knocked him off his feet. Its concussive wave rolled across him, leaving him defenseless, but alive. But what of the Hermit?

  The dog—

  Dog. Honey!

  She had managed to escape. Had Ol’ Joe been as fortunate?

  A piercing pain caused Bronson to fold over so that now his head almost touched his legs. No, Ol’ Joe had not made it. He had failed.

  Still, Bronson needed to check. He had to see for himself. He straightened up and saw Daniel and Sandy both staring at him, concern written on their faces.

  “We need to go to the Hermit’s house, now.” Bronson bolted to his feet.

  Daniel and Sandy exchanged looks, but neither asked what was obviously on their minds. Both followed close behind.

  They descended at a faster rate than Bronson thought was safe, but if for some reason the Hermit was still alive…

  * * *

  “Slow down.” Sandy panted as she tried to catch up with Bronson. “Are you trying to prove that you’re much better at hiking than we are?”

  Bronson smiled and slowed down, but not much. “Sorry. I guess I wanted to take advantage of the sunlight.”

  Daniel looked at his watch. “We still have an hour. But that’s not it, really, is it? Your mind seems to be far away. What’s going on?”

  “I was thinkin’ about Honey.”

  “Who?”

  “The dog.”

  “The Hermit had a dog?” Sandy glanced around her. “Do you think she… She—”

  Bronson shook his head. “She’s okay. She came to me when I was wandering around the town tryin’ to figure out who I was.”

  Sandy stopped. “What do you mean: ‘trying to figure o
ut who I was’?”

  “You had amnesia?” Daniel came to an abrupt stop.

  Bronson wrinkled his face. He hadn’t wanted to tell them this way. “No big thing. I don’t anymore.”

  “When were you planning on telling us?” Daniel’s voice came out sounding harsh. He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?” This time, his tone was softer.

  “Yeah, sure, but I’m thinkin’ of keepin’ this to ourselves. No use to worry Carol with somethin’ so trivial.”

  “It’s not trivial. You need to be checked out,” Sandy said.

  Bronson smirked. “You’re not yet an official member of the family, and you’re already sounding like your Aunt Carol.” He winked at her, letting her know he was kidding. Sort of.

  Bronson turned, and they continued with their hike. They had almost reached the site when Bronson paused. “What we are about to do is highly illegal.”

  Sandy frowned. “You mean we’re not allowed to look for our own vase?”

  “That, we can do. But entering a Crime Scene is definitely forbidden. Chances are we are goin’ to destroy evidence that may help the police piece things together.”

  “But we already know who did it,” Daniel said. “And how. And why.”

  “Precisely. That’s why I’m allowin’ this. But regardless of what good intentions you have, you don’t know what you’re doing. It’d be best if I go in by myself and check things out.”

  “That’s fine with me. I wasn’t looking forward to rumbling through all of that—” Sandy threw her arms out as if surrendering. “—stuff.”

  Daniel frowned. “I’ll stay with Sandy.”

  Bronson nodded his approval. “Keep your eyes peeled for any movement around you. We aren’t really sure that Bobbi and crew have left the area.” Bronson tapped his temple as a salute to them. He walked away.

  Chapter 56

  The smell of burning debris attacked Bronson’s lungs even before he reached the ruins. If he closed his eyes long enough, he could still see Ol’ Joe standing, tall and proud, at the entrance of his castle. Honey, as quiet as ever, sat next to him. The memory almost made him smile but the stabbing wound in his heart made the image evaporate into the thick air that surrounded him.

  He knew that from behind him, Daniel and Sandy watched him descend into the ruins. He couldn’t let them know he was here searching for the Hermit instead of the vase, which was probably long gone. The explosion had eradicated all traces of whatever secrets it had harvested. He took a deep breath and continued.

  Five minutes later, he stood in the place where he assumed the living room had once been. He tried to orient himself. If his thinking was correct, then the kitchen would have been almost directly in front of him. Ol’ Joe should have been there brewing him a cup of coffee.

  A cup of coffee.

  All of this for a lousy cup of coffee. Why had he asked The Hermit to make him a cup? But Bronson had no way of knowing that a bomb was due to go off. Still, the guilt ate at him like a giant worm nibbling away at his insides.

  He took small steps, avoiding any objects on his way. The less he disturbed the better. He had traveled no more than a couple of feet when he saw the charred body. He looked away, the image forever planted on his mind.

  He was about to head out when he remembered the reason Daniel and Sandy thought he had come to this valley of death. He was here. He might as well check on the vase. He turned and faced the trees. Once they stood tall and grand, now they were nothing more than stubs. These were the same trees he had seen through the floor to ceiling windows. In front of this non-existing window had stood the vase.

  Bronson worked his way toward the area and stood still, studying his surroundings. The explosion had come from his left and the vase had been located very close to where he stood. If he was correct, the vase should have flown off toward his right.

  Hopefully, he’d be able to spot it without having to move anything around. The less damage he did, the happier the police would be with him.

  Not that they would be happy at all. They would be, in fact, furious. They might even throw him in the slammer for destroying possible evidence or for interfering with an ongoing investigation. Or both.

  He was already in trouble. He might as well search for the vase. He headed for the area where he assumed the vase would have landed. Without touching anything, he looked around him.

  Nothing. Bummer.

  He advanced a few more feet, his head moving from side to side as he scanned the surrounding area.

  Still nothing.

  He inched his way to his left and searched again.

  Again, nothing.

  He searched to his right.

  Same results.

  Chances were that the vase hadn’t survived the blast. Still he searched, hoping against hope that he could locate even a tiny fragment—anything that would give Sandy an ounce of hope.

  He searched again, and the upper part of a Greek woman wearing a sky-blue toga yelled at him. Around it laid the debris of what had once been a great piece of historical art. He gathered all of the pieces he could find and stuffed them in his pants pocket.

  Any paper concealed inside the vase or even on a secret compartment of the vase had disappeared in the explosion. Only chards remained. All hints leading to the hidden Lazzarone treasure had been destroyed and would now become part of the family legend. But at least Sandy would have parts of the vase to tell future generations about its existence.

  A familiar noise grabbed his attention. He cocked his head and jumped to his feet.

  The sound of an approaching vehicle catapulted him to action. He ran toward Daniel and Sandy, waving his arms, and pointing to the dirt road.

  They stood rigid, looking down at him. Then Daniel turned to Sandy and told her something, but by then it was too late.

  The man behind them chambered a round and pointed the rifle at them.

  Chapter 57

  Bronson grabbed the desert eagle from his waistband, aimed, and fired close to the ground where the stranger stood. The sound of the blast spread like a giant wave until it reached its final destination.

  Bronson dropped to the ground, hoping the debris and the dense smoke hid him. He didn’t waste a second’s time waiting to see if he was safe. Instead, like a combat soldier, he wiggled his way toward the trio.

  The stranger shifted his aim from the youths before him to where the source of the gunshot had come. A second later, he sank to one knee, and then dropped down to the ground, his rifle aimed toward Bronson’s direction.

  Daniel and Sandy exchanged a look that told each other to take advantage of the distraction. Both inched their way backward, one step at a time. When they reached the area where thick trees covered most of the space, they dashed behind the tree trunks and squatted down.

  “This is between you and me,” Bronson yelled out, hoping the wind current carried his voice to the stranger. “Who are you?”

  A moment of silence made Bronson think he was too far away to be heard. He advanced some more, hoping to reach the man and disarm him before he could do any damage. Bronson scanned the area. Just as he suspected, the fastest route would be a direct path. That would also be the most foolish one to follow. What he needed to do—

  “You tell me first who you are, and why you have done this.”

  So, he had heard. “I’m Detective Bronson, retired, Dallas Police Department. Your turn. Who are you?”

  A small pause followed. “If you’re the police, why did you do this? Where’s The Hermit?”

  “I didn’t blow up the place, and I’ll explain everythin’, face-to-face, but you’ve got to put your rifle down first.”

  “You fired at me.”

  “I fired at the ground. If I wanted to hit you, I would have.” When the stranger didn’t respond, Bronson continued, “You must be Ol’ Joe’s friend, the one who comes at least once a week to bring him provisions. He told me about you.”

  “Where’s The Hermit?” He kept the rifle a
imed toward Bronson’s direction.

  “Not good enough. You answer my questions first.”

  Bronson cocked his head, waiting for an answer. When none came, he stood and bent down, keeping as close to the ground as possible. He dashed behind some bushes and waited for his breath to return.

  He used the time to access his situation. With luck, he could creep forward far enough so that he could sneak up behind the stranger and disarm him. But to accomplish that, he would have to leave his safety zone and run unprotected for several yards.

  Bronson considered his options when he heard Daniel say, “He’s telling the truth. You probably heard of Detective Harry Bronson. He’s a super sleuth. Retired or not, he’s still the best.”

  Bronson mentally thanked his nephew for the distraction as he ran and positioned himself several feet behind the stranger. He took a deep breath and remained half-hidden behind a tree. “Drop it.” He pointed the gun at the stranger.

  Wide-eyed, the man dropped the rifle as he rolled over to stare at Bronson.

  Bronson dashed toward him and kicked the rifle out of range. “Start talkin.”

  The stranger sat up and rubbed his face. “You’re right. I’m the one who comes to check on Ol’ Joe at least once a week. My name is Miguel Chavez, but I’m better known as Deputy Chavez.”

  “You got a badge?”

  Miguel nodded. “In my pants pocket.”

  “Using only two fingers of your left hand, retrieve it.”

  He did and showed it to Bronson.

  Bronson lowered his gun.

  Miguel pointed to the area filled with ashes that had once housed The Hermit’s palatial mansion. “What happened? Where’s Ol’ Joe? And Honey?”

  “The dog is around somewhere. She’s fine. Unfortunately, Ol’ Joe…” Bronson allowed his voice to trail off.

  Miguel covered his eyes and lowered his head.

  “I’m sorry.” He signaled Daniel and Sandy to join them. “We’re sorry.”

  “How did it happen? Faulty gas line?”

  “It’s never that simple. You are lookin’ at murder.”

  A startled gasp escaped Miguel’s lips. “Wh-what? Who would want to kill such a sweet old man?” He stared at Bronson’s face, and his eyes widened. He glanced around, searching the area for his discarded rifle. “You do this?”