TREASURE KILLS (Legends of Tsalagee Book 1)

by Phil Truman

  Grinning, he looked back and forth at the two women, but upon seeing their taut expressions his grin faded some. “What?” he asked. Like most men when he saw one or more women looking distraught as he came into a room, he figured it was his fault and immediately developed an uncertain guilt.

  “I want you to help me move this jar out into my root cellar,” Sunny said. “It weighs about a hundred pounds, and I can’t lift it.”

  “Not a problem,” Artie said. “All we got to do is secure this puppy onto this truck, and roll ’er on out there.” At that he set about the work of loading and binding down the earthen jar to the dolly with two bungee straps.

  “What’s in there?” Galynn asked.

  “It’s a Korean delicacy I made called kimchi,” Sunny said. “It’s mainly cabbage with some other things thrown in.” She went over and lifted the lid off the jar to let the other two look in.

  “Whoa,” Artie said as he quickly drew back his head and blinked his eyes. “Powerful stuff,”

  Sunny responded in her somewhat superior tone. “The recipe is over four thousand years old. It’s said to have great healing powers, both for the body and the spirit.”

  Galynn covered her nose with her open hand and blinked back tears. She took a step back. “It certainly has... a unique aroma,” she said.

  “Yes, well, it’s not a finished dish,” Sunny said. “It has to go through a fermentation process for at least a couple of weeks. That’s why I need to move it into the root cellar.” She placed the lid back on the jar.

  “Good place for it,” Artie said.

  “Let get going,” said Sunny. She walked to the back door, leading the way.

  As they headed across the back yard, Artie noticed several small and brightly painted concrete statues dotting the landscape here and there. He elbowed Galynn, and asked Sunny, “What are all these little pointy-headed guys for?”

  “Those are my gnomes. They help ward off bad energy and malicious spirits.”

  “No kidding,” Artie said. “What about fairies?”

  “Yes, probably those too,” Sunny said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But only the wicked ones.” Then she started pointing to them. “This one is Bilbo, that one is Samwise, the blue one over there by the herb garden is Peregrin, and the one back there in the flower garden by the porch is Meriadoc.”

  “They have names?” Galynn asked.

  “Of course,” said Sunny, turning to look back at Galynn. “I gave them Hobbit names, you know, from the Lord of the Rings trilogy?”

  “Oh, of course,” Galynn said. She gave a corner of the eye look over at Artie. He stared straight ahead, not daring to look at her. “But... seems like I remember another one, kind of the main one,” she said.

  “You’re talking about Frodo Baggins,” Sunny said. “Yes, Frodo was abducted... I mean, stolen last spring. I’d set him on that cross beam above the cellar door, to guard the cellar.”

  “Stolen? Humph. That’s weird,” Galynn said. She decided to take it into another direction. “Sure is a big jar. Why’d you make so much?”

  “Actually, I’d made one other batch, but it got... stolen, too, the same night Frodo disappeared. And whoever took it broke my other jar. It was about half the size of this one. But when I went back to buy another jar, all they had were these big ones, so I just decided to make a double batch. I figure, after this batch of kimchi goes through its fermentation thing, I’ll put all of it up in Mason jars.

  “Someone stole the... ah... stuff, too?” Galynn asked. She looked at Artie and he shrugged with an amused expression. “I mean...,” Galynn thought she’d better be tactful with this, “...a person would need to have sort of an acquired taste for it, wouldn’t they? You sure it just didn’t spill out when the jar was broken? Maybe it was all just vandalism.”

  “No evidence of that,” Sunny said. “As you noticed, kimchi has rather a pungent aroma. If the jar had broken and its contents spilled on the cellar floor, it would’ve been obvious. No, nothing had been spilled. In fact, that was what was so unusual. The other jar, or what was left of it, almost looked like the inside had been licked clean.”

  “Wow,” Galynn said. She pondered what Sunny had told them. “Wonder why anyone would do that?” she asked.

  “Well...” Sunny started, but she didn’t answer immediately. She let her response hang as they walked on. Finally, she continued. “I’ve got some suspicions about that.”

  “From what you’ve described,” Artie said. “...it sounds to me like some kind of animal was involved. Maybe a bear or a badger? Or maybe Frodo took it to share with his buddies back at the North Pole,” he said.

  “Yeah, it was an animal, all right,” Sunny said, deciding to ignore Artie. “But I don’t think it was a bear. More like the two-legged kind. See, that jar was in the cellar, where we’re going to put this one. Look at the cellar’s door.” She pointed to the grassy mound they approached, and its wooden door, which angled at about forty-five degrees from the horizontal. “To open that door, it has to be lifted. On top of that, it has a latch, so it has to be unlatched and then lifted. I suppose a bear could do that, but I doubt he’d want to be that careful. The door and the latch weren’t damaged that night.”

  “So you think a person did it?” Galynn asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “That kind of brings me back to my first question,” said Galynn. “Who would want to do that? I mean... no disrespect, Sunny, but I wouldn’t think there’d be all that much of demand on the street for... whad you call it?”

  “Kimchi.”

  “Yes, kimchi.

  “No, you’re right about that,” Sunny said. “But I do think it was vandalism of a sort. I think it was all staged as part of an elaborate prank.”

  “A prank? You think some kids— ” Galynn stopped short, putting her hand to her mouth and audibly drawing in a quick breath at her sudden realization. “You think Daddy did it, don’t you?” She said. She knew about her dad’s proclivity for playing jokes on people.

  Sunny nodded, her mouth set in a grim line.

  “But, why?” Galynn asked.

  “You mean other than just plain stupidity?” Sunny asked. Galynn smiled tightly and nodded.

  “Ever since the day we met, Gale has been trying to make me believe a creature is roaming around in these hills, something like a Sasquatch or Bigfoot. Then one night last spring he and White Oxley set up this elaborate hoax where they came out late one night, stomped around with some kind of big footprint shoes, and scared the hell out of my goats and chickens. The next morning they showed me the footprints and tried to make me believe it had been their stupid Hill Man. And I think, because I scoffed at them, a month or so later they staged another hoax where they took my kimchi and abducted Frodo.

  “Well, I never brought it up to Gale, because I knew that’s what he wanted me to do, so he could continue to play me along on that silly little game of his. Besides, it was at about that time that he betrayed my trust on another matter, and I haven’t spoken much to him since. But nothing has happened since that night.”

  As they arrived at the cellar, Sunny unlatched the door and raised it open. Artie lowered the two-wheeler down the cellar steps. “Where do you want it?” he asked.

  “Put it over in the back right corner,” Sunny answered.

  “What’re you going to do if, um...the vandals come back?” Galynn asked. She stood in the cellar’s entrance watching Artie and Sunny.

  Satisfied with their placement of the jar, Sunny patted the top of its lid, and said with a smile, “Oh, I’ll be ready for them.”

  Chapter 24

  Soc Tells a Secret

  When Hayward reached down to pet Little Wolf, the dog rolled over on its back and peed on his hand.

  “Dammit, dog!” Hayward said. He pulled his handkerchief out of a hip pocket and dried his hands. “Why does he always do that?” he asked Soc.

  “Don’t know,” Soc answered. “Why do you keep trying to pet him?�
�

  Little Wolf rolled back to a sitting position and looked up at Hayward, panting happily. Hayward could swear the dog was laughing.

  They sat on Soc’s favorite bench in Veteran’s Park, enjoying the brilliant October morning. Soc had arrived earlier to let Little Wolf do his run about, and Hayward came to join his old friend. He wanted to discuss what they needed to do now that Plan A, i.e., to get the two bikers arrested, hadn’t worked out as they intended. He’d already apprised Soc that the two of them were suspected terrorists in some parts of town, and that Bobby John had given up The Envelope without much of a fight.

  “Federal agents, huh?” Soc said.

  “That’s what they told Bobby John and Mary Ruth, but I don’t think Mary Ruth bought into it,”

  “Wouldn’t take a brilliant mind to discount the truth in that,” said Soc.

  “My point exactly, which is why Bobby John did believe it. I convinced Mary Ruth to go along with us, saying I wanted to play a joke on Bobby John. She liked that idea, so I don’t think either of them will interfere until we can figure out what else to do.”

  “What makes you so sure of that?” Soc asked.

  “Bobby John won’t because he thinks he’s going to get a reward if he keeps his mouth shut, and Mary Ruth because she wants to see her boss make a fool of himself.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Soc asked.

  “Well, them two fellas are smarter than they look... at least the big one is.”

  Little Wolf continued looking up at Hayward and panting intently. When Hayward looked back at him, the dog gave him one sharp “Raff!” lunging forward about six inches.

  “Yeah, you wish, dog,” Hayward answered. “I’m smarter than I look, too.”

  “Looks ain’t ever thing,” Soc offered. Little Wolf barked again, as if agreeing with his master, and then spotted a gray squirrel on the ground fifty yards off. He sprung toward it, in a growling rush.

  Both seniors watched Little Wolf’s futile pursuit, then Hayward continued. “The thing that makes me nervous is that Nan’s page said a lot of stupid stuff about the treasure clues being in Sunny’s barn, and then you brought up that deerskin thing at Arlene’s that day. I’m just afraid them two are going to ferret out where she lives and go out there. It don’t appear they know where that is, but I figure it’s only a matter of time ’til they find out. I figure if she wanted to see ’em, she would’ve done it by now.”

  “Makes sense,” Soc said.

  “I’m convinced them two’re dangerous, so we need to come up with some way to keep them from going out to Sunny’s before this thing gets out of hand,” Hayward said. “It’s already spinning off in a direction I don’t like.”

  “You got any ideas?” Soc asked.

  “Nope,” Hayward answered. “You?”

  Both men sat quietly watching Little Wolf. The dog gave up on the treed squirrel, picking up the scent of something else that intrigued him. He darted around in an erratic pattern, his nose pointed to the ground, chasing the trail.

  “There might be something I could do,” Soc said at last.

  “What’s that?”

  “I could give them boys the answers to the clues in the Ed Reed letter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I know what the clues mean.”

  Hayward looked astounded at his old friend. “You mean you know where the Belle Starr Treasure is?”

  “I mean I know the meaning of the clues in the letter, and where they could lead them.”

  “What?! How long have you known this?”

  “Most my life, I reckon; since I was a small boy.”

  Hayward scratched the back of his head, and gave out a wheezing chuckle. “Well, I’ll be go to hell,” he said. “Now Buck showed us that Ed Reed letter almost fifty years ago, and you mean to say you’ve known what it meant all along?”

  Soc nodded and looked out where Little Wolf had disappeared into the woods. He whistled, and the dog re-appeared heading back toward them at a trot.

  “Well, why didn’t you tell me this before now?” Hayward asked.

  “You ain’t never asked,” Soc replied.

  “Oh, tarnation, Soc,” Hayward said, clearly exasperated. “We’ve been friends for over seventy-five years, and we’re talking about one of the most famous legends in these parts. So I’m asking you now. How is it you know the meaning of the Ed Reed letter?

  Soc looked at his old friend without saying a word, his face deadpan, his black eyes fathomless. Finally, he spoke. “My grandfather, Ezra Ninekiller, and Ned Starr were second cousins, although my grandfather was quite a few years older than Ned. When my father was a boy of about ten, his ma died—my grandmother. Grandfather Ezra went sort of crazy with grief, so he sent his children to live with his dead wife’s family, and he went off in the woods to live alone. He became a hermit, rarely leaving his small farm.

  “Several times, when I was a boy, my father would go out to visit my Grandfather Ezra, and he’d take me with him. The old man was strange, a little spooky and wild-like, but he seemed to take to me. Although I never entirely got rid of my fear of him, it got to where I liked going to see him. He taught me to speak Tsalagi, the Cherokee language. He would tell me wonderful and frightful stories about the old days. One of the stories he told me was about a creature in the woods The People called Hill Man Who Screams at Night. He said, he knew the creature personally. Judging by the way Grandfather looked and lived, I didn’t have any reason to doubt him.”

  Soc reached down and picked a stick off the ground. Little Wolf danced excitedly, his eyes on the stick. When Soc threw it, the dog chased after it at top speed. Soc continued.

  “Grandfather Ezra told me he’d met up with the creature many times in the woods, and that, while they hadn’t exactly become friends, they did seem to have a silent understanding—if Grandfather left the Hill Man alone; the creature would leave him alone. My grandfather said he felt the two of them were sort of kinsmen in spirit, the way they both chose to live alone in the woods. And he told me he knew the whereabouts of one of the creature’s dwellings. One day, the old man showed it to me.

  “The place is a cave located high on a cliff above the Illinois River. Large rocks obscure the cave entrance, and to reach it you have to follow a narrow and treacherous path that winds down along the cliff face. Looking up from the banks of the river, the cave entrance and the pathway ledge leading to it seem invisible. You have to know where the path starts at the top of the cliff to get down to the cave. Even then, it’s difficult to find. So the Old People left a marker.”

  Little Wolf returned with the stick, and laid it at the feet of the two men. Hayward was starting to see the direction of Soc’s narrative. Little Wolf waited for another stick toss. Hayward picked up the stick and threw it. He asked Soc, “If that’s where the Hill Man lived, why would anyone want to go to the trouble of getting there? Seems to me they’d be content with staying away, or not knowing about it in the first place.”

  “Yes, that does seem logical,” Soc responded. “But my people have always considered the Hill Man as sacred, a spirit force, a demon. The marker was put in place to warn the people away, not to lead them to it. Better that they knew exactly where the demon dwelled, than to stumble upon it accidentally. At the time Grandfather Ezra showed me this place, he told me it was a secret among our clans, knowing this location; and that it should never be revealed once it was known, except to others in the clans. I expect there’re only a handful of us still living who know this. Now you know it.”

  “If this is such a deep, dark secret among your people, why’re you telling me? Ain’t you betraying that confidence?”

  Soc sighed and looked out to where Little Wolf scampered. “I’ve known you so long it’s hard to consider you as anything but Cherokee,” he said.

  “So Ned Starr knew where that cave was?”

  “Yep,” Soc said.

  “And Ed?”

  “I don’t think Ed was
told its location. Even though they were good friends, Ned would never tell Ed where the cave was. The clans held that as a sacred trust, and Ed wasn’t a Cherokee. I think Ed just found it by chance. He put his treasure map in the cave, ignorant of its tenant, then wrote up all those elaborate clues for Ned in that letter. Ned didn’t need but that one clue—the cave marked with the animal picture. Then he knew the exact location of the map. I think once he knew that, he didn’t want to go there for the reasons I’ve already talked about. My people have a healthy respect for spirits and demons.”

  “Ah. So the marker was a depiction of the Hill Man? What do they call it... like them other old Indian cave markings, one of them... petroglyphs, that’s it.

  “You guessed it. It was created generations ago, so even a hundred years ago it was pretty weather-worn and faded; even more so today. Hard to see, unless you know where to look for it.”

  “What about the other clues in the letter,” Hayward asked.

  “The initials in the letter were the first letters of English spellings for Cherokee words—W.S for Wehali Stewayi, which translates to Eagle Branch. S.T. is for Sonela Tihi; that translates to Ninekiller, meaning ‘Old Ezra Ninekiller.’ The hills are on my grandfather’s old land. With that knowledge, and knowing about the Hill Man marker, you could go right to that cave.”

  Hayward gave the stick one more toss for Little Wolf, but halfway to where it landed the dog became distracted by another smell on the ground, and zigzagged off in pursuit.

  Hayward sat watching the dog, his arms folded across his chest. “So the long and short of this is you want to give Butch and Sundance the pieces of the puzzle, and let them go get the long lost treasure map?”

  “No, I’m going to let them know how to get to where the clues lead. Those boys won’t get the map.”