by Scott Cook
I had a small LED tactical flashlight with me, although there was still plenty of daylight left. However, once I got close to the edge of the property and the scrub brush and trees near the water’s edge, the gloom gained a bit of a foothold. I cast about for anything that looked like a clue or a tell-tale. Nothing really stood out at first. Then I did notice something. Closer to the water were a series of rocks of roughly the same size. They seemed to be laid out in a semi-circle and inside this circle, partially covered by pine needles, was a declivity that seemed to be about a foot deep. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it appeared to have been partially dug up. Strewn about here and there were seashells. Not many, but as I bent down and brushed away some of the pine needles and leaves in the twenty-foot-wide area inside the stones, I saw more. A lot more.“Curioser and curioser…” I muttered to myself, my voice sounding oddly muffled inside the hood of my foul weather parka. For some reason, that made me stop and listen to the sounds around me.
There was little to hear. Mostly the rain pattering on my plastic-covered head and hissing through the leaves and branches of the trees as it came down steadily. Now and then a crow would caw in the distance or a warbler would… warble… off over the lakes. I thought I heard the croak of a nearby bullfrog or maybe it was a distant gator. I don’t know quite why, but I felt as if I should be listening. As if there were something to hear out here away from most of civilization. There certainly was a feeling of desolation in spite of the fact that there were cars driving along Funie Steed only half a mile away and not much further a completed modern housing development.
Yet out there in that rainstorm, a sense of loneliness wrapped itself around me. Perhaps that was better than desolation. Desolation implied nothingness or sameness. This scene was anything but nothing. It was rich in the sights of wild things growing, untamed and mostly untainted natural water and the cacophony of living things singing out their song of life. And… something else? Was there something speaking to me in a voice so low and so strange that I couldn’t make it out much less be sure it was even there?
“There are more things in heaven or earth, Horatio…” I said almost too quiet for even me to hear. “Then are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
I chuckled softly as I stood upright and scanned around. First I got all creepy at the graveyard and now I was getting all supernatural at the… what? A Calusa burial site or maybe even what was left of an inland and northern shell mound or camp sight?
I jogged back to my Jeep and pulled a collapsible e-tool from the cargo area. It was a standard military-issue collapsible shovel, and I took it back and made several exploratory digs outside the almost invisible stone circle. Sure enough, I did unearth seashells at every point, right down to the water’s edge.
It’s somewhat known, especially in Southwest Florida, that before Christopher Columbus and the Spanish Conquistadors, a powerful people ruled over most of southern and Central Florida. These people were known as the Calusa. The Calusa are believed to be at least related to, if not actually a distant part of, some of the more famous South and Central American tribes. These include the Inca, Maya and the Aztecs. One reason for this determination is that the Calusa built what are commonly called shell mounds in Southwestern Florida. However, these mounds are in fact pyramids. They were sometimes simply garbage dumps but were also the site of religious observances, ceremonies, often the base for large dwellings and symbols of tribal power. While many of these ancient mounds were destroyed in the last century before people really knew what they were, several fine examples have been preserved throughout the state.
Virtually gone are the original Calusa people, having been killed by the Spanish and English in centuries of wars. They also succumbed to European diseases as did many American peoples. Additionally, when Indian tribes were being displaced during the expansion of the United States in the nineteenth century, a large number of tribes moved into Florida and became a more or less unified people known today as the Seminole. The Seminoles absorbed what remained of the Calusa, yet many modern Seminole members can trace their roots back to the Calusa people and even their rulers. There are, in fact, a few remaining Calusa Indians who consider themselves pure Calusa and who often balk at being lumped in with the rest of the Seminole nation.
I’ve never heard of Calusa shell mounds being either as far inland as I was at the time… more or less the center of the state… nor that far north. Yet it is entirely possible that I was standing on either a small Calusa pyramid site or a burial site of some kind. Since the Calusa ruled over Florida for something like fifteen hundred years or more, it wouldn’t really be out of the realm of probability. Especially when you consider that Paleo-Indians first moved into the state over twelve-thousand years before.
I stood leaning on my shovel now, once again gazing around me. It was closing in on five, and with the rain still coming down, darkness was coming on early. Again, I felt like I was supposed to hear something… or figure something out. Already, I had a handful of seemingly random bits of information that were all connected. What was nagging at me was that I didn’t yet have enough information to figure anything out… only a strange sense that I’d better start doing so and soon.
The fact that I was standing in what was in all likelihood a small Calusa midden, the common name for a shell mound… that Rick Eagle Feather was related to the civil war and 1980’s era graves that were dug up and that he was also the friend of the now dead George Nolen… and that old George had passed on and been buried under a false name… but not really… well, it all meant something, didn’t it?
Now I can’t tell you if it was actual prescience, a sixth sense born from experience or just random chance operating in my favor… but suddenly I stopped my contemplations and tried to listen even harder. Without any reason I could determine, some internal alarm had sounded and the very palpable sensation that I was not alone or perhaps that I was being watched gripped me tightly in its cold grasp.
I spun around in a complete 360 but could neither see nor hear anything that my conscious mind could pinpoint as the cause. My amygdala, that ancient lizard brain that just seems to know certain things that our higher brains can’t or don’t perceive was shouting a warning and although I could find no reason for it, I knew without a doubt that I’d better heed it.
It was nearing darkness and enough gloom hung over the rain-soaked land that it would’ve been easy for someone to hide from view. Especially somebody who might be studying me through the enhanced scope of a weapon. I was armed, yet I was also more or less out in the open and exposed. As if this weren’t enough, I was standing around wearing a bright yellow jacket and pair of pants. I needed to alter the circumstances. To change the rules.
I strolled back to my Jeep and tossed the e-tool inside. I then climbed into the cargo area and closed the hatch. It was tight, even with the back seats folded down, but I managed to get out of my foulies. I didn’t want to sit behind the wheel and soak the seats after all. I clambered up front, got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Then I picked up my phone and sent Lisa a quick text before putting the Jeep in gear.
On 192 now, be there in five, she wrote back.
“Negative, meet me outside the front gate,” I talk to texted. “I think we’ve got a problem.”
I pulled outside the eight-foot curving decorative wall and parked just on the other side of it. I reached behind the passenger seat and drew out a long duffel bag from the foot well and placed it on my lap.
Inside was a new military-issue M4 A2, the one that still had the burst setting. I removed the carbine and set it on the passenger seat. Then I removed two PVS-14 night-vision monoculars and set them aside as well. These high-end units were standard military issue and were the best available. Waterproof, hi-res, long lasting and with some handy built-in features including a digital compass heads-up display and thermal option. I’d… borrowed… them from Patrick some time back.
Lisa pulled up and parked in front of me. Her
lights went out and she jumped out of her driver’s door and ran for my passenger door. I quickly removed the items I’d set on the seat as she opened the door and jumped in, already dressed in her foulies as well.
She grinned at me and leaned in for a kiss, “What’s up, baby…? Uh-oh, what’s with the tactical gear? And how come you’re parked out here instead of inside?”
I related what I’d seen, “I also got this… odd feeling of being watched. Couldn’t detect any reason why, but I figured I’d listen to my little voice. My idea is to go back to the site on foot and under the cover of darkness and see what’s what.”
“Planning on shooting somebody?” Lisa asked, waving a hand at the M4.
“Maybe,” I said. “After this morning… doesn’t seem so paranoid, does it?”
“You think this burial site or whatever is related?”
“I think so… too many close coincidences. These people, whoever they are, are looking for something. Something connected to the Calusa, I’ll wager. I’m damned if I know what… but as this site here seems like it might be a burial site or ceremonial site at least… well, it’s worth a look-see.”
“Yeah but in a way,” Lisa pointed out. “You’ve already solved Palermo’s case, right? You found out that this Proust guy is culpable in the grave disturbances. And this site isn’t even part of any case at the moment.”
I frowned, “That doesn’t really solve anything. Proust’s being paid to look the other way was already a pretty solid assumption. I want to know why the graves were robbed and if it might happen again. And honestly… even if it turns out that Palermo’s portion of the case is done… this mystery is bigger than that and I want to resolve it. I kind of feel like I have to resolve it. Remember, Sharon’s dad is tied up in this too. Rick Eagle Feather wants to meet me at midnight in the Everglades, for Christ’s sake. No, something is rotten in the state of Denmark…”
Lisa sat silently for a long moment before asking, “So what’s the plan?”
“I’m going back in with old Bessy here,” I patted the rifle. “I’ve also got my 1911. Going without the foulies, unfortunately. Bright yellow isn’t a good color for stealth. Then I’ll scope the sitch and see if my lizard brain is just being paranoid or if we’ve got more to worry about.”
“And me?”
“Two options… first, you walk straight back there as bold as brass. It’ll look like we’re still checking things out. Then I can make my way in the long way around. I don’t like that version, though. It puts you in the limelight, so to speak. Better if we split up and approach the area from either side. But that means no foulies for you, either.”
Lisa sighed, “When I said I wanted to get wet tonight, this isn’t what I had in mind.”
I chuckled, “Jesus… what have I told you and told you about crude broads?”
Lisa giggled, “That you love them. Okay, I say we go with option two.”
“Or I just go alone,” I said. “I’ve got earwigs too. We can stay in communication. You can wait here or in your car warm and dry.”
“What, like… stay back and hold the horses while you go into danger? Fudge that noise.”
I grinned, “You are just a girl.”
She flipped me off.
“Okay, Rambonita,” I said, handing her a monocular and pulling a small jewelry box from the console. I opened the box and withdrew two small devices and handed one to her. She placed the flesh-colored earbud in and adjusted it. Even from up close, the earwig was barely visible.
I turned mine on as well, “The rain has lessened some since earlier. You ready, Two?”
Lisa nodded and cleared her Glock 43, “Is there another long gun in that bag?”
“No, I only brought the one,” I said, ejecting the mag from the M4, pulling back on the charging handle and checking that there wasn’t a round in the chamber. I seated the mag back home and charged the weapon. “I hope we don’t need any weapons. I also think that if we do, that close quarters might be required. Okay… the artifact site is in the right back corner. Roughly the southwest corner. I’m going to approach from the east, you take the west side. It’s a lot shorter a route. When we both have eyes on the spot, we’ll plan our next move. Ready?”
She grinned and seated the NVG monocular on her head, “Hoo-rah!”
From the exciting adventures of lil’ Lisa, America’s cutest action hero
Lisa’s Journal Entry 2
It was a dark and stormy night… ha!
Isn’t it amazing what love will make you do? I mean, I’ve got an MBA from UCF and could probably be the CEO of some big corporate conglomerate right now. But is that what I’m working toward?
Nooooo….
I’ve got to meet a crazy private detective and go off into the night on crazy adventures! I could be home right now snuggled up on the couch, sipping hot tea or hot chocolate or even a delicious Irish coffee and watching TV. Like a normal person. But is that what I’m doing on a wet and cold winter night?
Noooooo…
I’m running around in the rain and mud without a raincoat, ruining my sneakers, getting soaked to the bone and probably catching pneumonia! All because my boyfriend is a P.I. and I had to become one too!
Just cuz’ Scott jumps off a bridge, Lisa, are you gonna jump off a bridge, Lisa?
Apparently so! And why? Why? Because he’s so goddamned sexy, funny and wonderful that I’d follow him anywhere. Just because when he looks at me a certain way I still get butterflies in my stomach. Just because when his hands glide gently over my skin waves of shivery pleasure wash over my body.
Men! Nothin’ but trouble!
Lol. Okay, the truth is that I wouldn’t have it any other way. I chose this, meaning this life as well as this particular mission. Being with Scott just makes me like… I don’t know… I guess makes me feel more alive than I ever have. Whether we’re talking and laughing, making love or chasing bad guys, there’s this feeling of palpable living, if that makes any sense. It’s as if Scott exists on a higher level of life, one that’s full and rich and never boring… and I guess I’m just addicted.
Course that means that here I was, jogging across muddy ground toward a line of trees at the site of what one day will be people’s homes. That was kind of funny to me. A year or two from now, folks would be sitting on their porches or whatever, looking out at the woods or maybe if they paid extra, the lakes behind and thinking how nice and peaceful it was after a hard day at the cracker factory or whatever. Never knowing that they were living at the site where a couple of crazy gun-toting private eyes had once been racing across the land to meet a platoon of rampaging blood-thirsty crooks.
“Sitrep?” Came Scott’s voice in my ear. It was so clear even over the rain that I jumped.
“Jesus… scared out of my wits, Captain, sir!”
He laughed, “How close are you to the site?”
“About halfway I think… you?”
“Same.”
“Really? You had like three times as far to go taking the western side of the property.”
“Yeah… I just went straight down the street.”
“What?” I grumbled. “While I’m up to my sweater hogans in mud, you’re trotting down a nice, paved street easy as kiss my hand? Well kiss my ass, Jarvis!”
He laughed so hard I was afraid somebody would actually hear him. I was having trouble not guffawing myself. I am a funny chica, after all.
“Jesus Christ… I really oughtta feel bad about what I’ve done to you… I don’t… but I should,” Scott replied. “It’s so dark, nobody is gonna see me, at least not yet. When I get close, I’m going to angle more west and come in from the tree line. This way, we’ll both get in position at the same time, more or less. It’s important to choose your position carefully.”
“You say that like you’ve only got to choose one,” I joked.
“Well, when you’ve only got two minutes…”
I snickered, “Okay, I think I see your site. It’s sort of b
ehind a small clump of trees, right? Maybe a hundred yards from the street?”
“Roger that,” Scott was all business now. “Is there sufficient cover to work in closer?”
“Affirmative… the edge of the property has pretty good tree cover. I can maybe get two-thirds of the way.”
A pause, “Okay, good. I’m almost to the southern edge of the tree line and the water. I think I can work in closer, too. Find the best position and get ready.”
“Are you coming on to me?”
“Of course.”
The rain had subsided a little, but it was still drizzling pretty good, and I was already mostly soaked by the time I was able to get within maybe fifty yards of the spot Scott told me about. Even with the night vision I couldn’t really see much. He said there were some rocks that looked like they’d been placed in a circle, but I couldn’t see them. He’d described the scenery enough that I thought it was the right place though.
“In position,” I whispered.
“Me too… don’t see anything or anybody.”
“Good thing we came out here in the rain without rain gear then… at night… in the winter…”
“You broads are all the same,” Scott said with a chuckle. “Try to take you out for a nice evening… show you a little adventure and it’s bitch, bitch, bitch…”
“Sorry, I should really lower my standards… again.”
“Zing…” Scott muttered.
We waited. We waited for maybe ten or fifteen minutes. Then a half hour. I was just about to suggest that we were wasting my time when Scott spoke into my ear again.
“Listen… you smell that?” He snickered.
“What?” I asked incredulously.
Suddenly he sounded serious, “I think we’ve got company. Movement to the south, southeast.”
I looked around with my monocular. The cloudy night was making it hard even for the night vision to do much good. I could see the burial area or whatever it was, cast in a gray-green hazy gloom, but not much beyond that.
