The Treasure Box (The Grace Series Book 2)

by Mark Romang

  In all my visits to the secret room, I never did find the treasure box. Daddy hid it well. He must not have wanted me to find it. But who knows, maybe Jon will find it. I doubt it though. Sometimes treasure isn’t meant to be found. And sometimes what we think is treasure…isn’t really treasure at all.

  ****

  Sitting backwards in the johnboat’s bow, Annie closed shut Rose Whitcomb’s journal. She looked at Jon, manning the tiller in the stern as they tooled slowly through the swamp. Her opinion of her husband—already high—just shot up after reading the last entry. “Rose sure thought highly of you, Jon.”

  Rafter shrugged. “I needed Rose as much as she needed me. I was homeless and destitute when I first met her. Not only did I need a place to live, I needed a purpose. Rose gave me one.”

  Annie swallowed over a lump. “Rose thought of you as a son.”

  “And I thought of her like a grandma. And sometimes I even called her Grandma Rose.”

  “Did she like it when you called her that?”

  “At first I thought she did. But then I soon figured out she didn’t, so I stopped.”

  “I’m curious about all the murals. Did you just start painting them without permission?”

  Rafter shook his head. “Rose saw what I had painted onto canvases and asked me to paint the same types of scenes onto the walls. So I did.”

  Annie glanced around at their surroundings. They were deep in the Atchafalaya Basin. Giant cypress trees soared up from the muddy water all around them, and the only sound she could hear besides their small outboard motor was all the frogs croaking. There must be tens of thousands here, she thought.

  Even though she’d grown up in Louisiana and lived her whole life here—except for when she trained to become an FBI agent at Quantico—the swamps spooked her. Maybe it was all the ghostly Spanish moss hanging from the live oaks and cypress trees and flapping in the breeze like torn and dirty wedding veils, or perhaps it was the murky water stretching for as far as she could see that gave her the creeps. But most likely she thought it was the alligators hiding underwater. She hated the giant reptiles.

  Jon cut the power to the Mercury outboard motor and they floated gently in the water. Annie took in their surroundings. “Is this the spot?”

  Rafter nodded. “Do you recognize it?”

  Annie studied the trees and water for a minute. Morning sunbeams cut through the trees and glistened off the water. Again she found the silence unnerving. The Basin seemed strangely void of animal life. But then just as she thought this a beaver slapped its tail against the water. She shook her head. “It doesn’t look familiar, but it sure feels like I’ve been here before.”

  “The Boudreaux fishing shack used to be right where we’re floating,” Rafter said. He pointed toward a cypress tree standing about twenty yards away. “There is a piece of the dock jammed up against that tree.”

  Annie shuddered. Dark memories flooded back into her brain.

  “I’m sorry if bringing you here is too much.”

  “No, I’m okay, Jon. This is the perfect spot for what we’re doing.”

  “We won’t be here long,” Rafter said, and leaned over. He struggled to heft the treasure box from the bottom of the boat up into his lap. He opened the lid and looked at the sparkling gold and silver coins.

  “I wonder how much the coins are worth,” Annie said.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. And I really don’t want to know. All I know is…it must be a king’s ransom.”

  “Jon, you better do what we came here for before we change our minds.”

  Rafter nodded. He scooted the open box across his lap and tilted it. The gold doubloons and pieces of eight swirled out the box and splashed into the muddy water for nearly a half minute. Rafter finally turned the box upside down and shook it, allowing the last coin to slide out into the water.

  He placed the empty box back into the boat. “The box will make a nice souvenir. I’d like to keep it and put art supplies in it.”

  “Sure, you should do that.”

  Rafter looked at her. “Well, that’s finished.”

  “You don’t seem very upset.”

  Rafter smiled mischievously. He reached down beside his left leg and lifted up a small leather pouch. He shook the pouch. A clinking noise came from inside the pouch.

  “Jon, what is that?”

  “It’s seed money.”

  “Huh? Seed money for what?”

  “Grace’s college fund.”

  “Grace is barely a week old, and you’re already worried about paying for college?”

  “Just think how much it will cost. We have to start saving now. These coins will give us a head start,” Rafter explained.

  Annie felt her lips purse together. “Rose had it right when she said, ‘Some treasure isn’t meant to be found. And some treasure isn’t really treasure at all.’”

  Rafter sighed. “And don’t forget Ned thinks the treasure is cursed.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. So why don’t you dump the rest over the side. We’ll figure something out. Grace will make it to college.”

  Rafter nodded and tossed the pouch over the side.

  “Jon, there’s something I want to ask you.”

  “Sure, Babe, ask away.”

  “When you were talking to Arcadias about his passion for treasure hunting, and then you talked about your own passion for painting, do you remember that?”

  Rafter nodded.

  “You said painting is like breathing to you. You have to do it every day, and that painting is in your DNA. It makes you come alive.”

  “Yeah, I remember saying that.”

  “And then you said there was something you love and cherish far more than painting, and that was me. Did you really mean that?”

  Rafter reached forward and took her hands. He looked into her eyes. “I’ve never felt more strongly about a statement I’ve made. The statement came from my heart and my soul. It was all true.”

  Annie smiled. Tears tumbled down her face. “If you love me more than painting, then you must really love me a lot.”

  “I haven’t done a very good job of letting you know how much you mean to me. I’ve failed to that end. I’m sorry about that, Annie. I’ll work harder on it, I promise. And as soon as Grace begins to sleep through the night I’ll drag out my Sinatra and Glen Miller CDs and we’ll dance on the gallery again.”

  Annie smiled. “What about our guests? They’ll think we’re strange.”

  “Who cares? They can join us if they want. We’ll teach them to waltz and foxtrot.”

  Annie giggled. “Okay, sounds fun.” She squeezed Jon’s hands tighter. “There is one more thing I wish to ask you. And I’m a little embarrassed about it.”

  “I’m your husband, Babe. You can ask me anything.”

  Annie gathered her thoughts for a moment. “Reading Rose’s journal has inspired me to finally stop procrastinating and write a novel. I’m thinking of a historical romance set in the 1940s. But I was wondering if I could have a small portion of your art studio for a writing nook. All I need is enough room for a comfy chair to sit in with my laptop. And we might also need a playpen for Grace to sleep in.”

  “Sure, that would be great. I always feel guilty for spending so much time in the studio apart from you. But I must warn you, if you move in I don’t think either one of us will get much done.”

  “Why is that?”

  Rafter smiled. “Because I’ll be chasing you around the studio like Lloyd Whitcomb chased his wife around the house.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  Rafter shook his head and laughed. “It doesn’t sound bad at all.” He pulled away from her hands and grabbed the tiller on the outboard motor. “Come on, let’s go back. I’m missing Grace already.”

  “I’m with you there. I need a Grace fix.”

  Rafter steered the johnboat back the way they came and opened up the motor. And as they put distance behind them, the gold doubloons sank
deeper and deeper, burrowing into the silt and disappearing from view. And the mighty and untamable Atchafalaya Basin guarded its secret well, hiding from the eyes of men a vast treasure that should never…ever be found.

  Chapter 58

  Atchafalaya Basin

  From behind a cypress tree, a pair of eyes, wild and bulging watched the johnboat grow smaller. When the little boat vanished completely from view, a man stepped away from the tree.

  Hardly recognizable as human, Arcadias Charbonneau looked like something from a Greek mythology book—half-creature, half-man. Disheveled hair, greasy and matted with dirt and blood, covered his head. Likewise, a thick and wooly beard clung to his face. Tattered clothing hung loosely on his emaciated frame and exposed his ribs and knees and great portions of mosquito-ravaged skin.

  Arcadias giggled incessantly; his tormented mind vacillated between lucidness and insanity as he sloshed toward the spot where Jon and Annie vacated.

  He focused his gaze on a specific portion of the water. Arcadias had to fight to keep his head still. Head tremors and nervous tics made it difficult to focus. Hunger also fought for his attention. He’d eaten very little in the past fifteen days: a frog, a snake and a young beaver he found dead.

  He’d fled into the Atchafalaya Basin unequipped for survival. He didn’t even have a knife on him. So unable to remove the beaver’s hide to get to life-sustaining meat, he had to wait until gas from the decomposing process split open the beaver’s stomach.

  Arcadias stopped walking in the shallow water. He swiveled his head and took in his surroundings. Yes, this is the spot. This is where they dumped it.

  Arcadias giggled. He scrunched his eyes shut and fought against the maniacal laughter spewing out his mouth. A few seconds later the laughter stopped. And then he opened his eyes and took in a deep breath and descended beneath the surface.

  He could hardly see anything down below; the turbid water hid every object. So he felt along the muddy bottom with his hands, grasping and clawing desperately for the treasure he’d been chasing for over twenty years.

  Arcadias was about to resurface for air when he felt the coins. He wrapped both hands around a coin and surfaced. A great exhale fled his mouth. He sputtered and coughed. And then he looked at the shiny gold doubloons clutched in his palms and started laughing. He laughed until he cried.

  One by one, different emotions ran through his head, finally settling on rage. Lorelei, you said I would never find Lafitte’s gold. Dr. Granberg, you said Lafitte’s gold was nothing more than a myth. Ned Hoxley, you said the Whitcombs spent it all. Well, guess what? You were all wrong! And I was right.

  Arcadias lifted his palms skyward in triumph. He looked into the heavens. “You took everything from me. You warred against me. But I still found the gold. And I did it without your help. I don’t need you. And I don’t want you,” Arcadias bellowed in his most defiant voice.

  The instant the last word left his mouth Arcadias felt something collide into his legs. Following the collision he felt a stabbing pain in his right thigh. And then he was pulled under. One of his hands brushed against something scaly and bumpy. He instantly knew what was happening to him. He tried to fight back, but it was hopeless. He was no match for the alligator trying to eat him alive.

  Arcadias held his breath while he thrashed beneath the surface with his prehistoric-like foe. But then he couldn’t hold his breath any longer and he instinctively inhaled. The swamp water poured into his lungs, filling them completely.

  He drowned in short order. The stirred up water settled down after a minute. And the swamp grew quiet and peaceful once again, like nothing ever happened.

  Chapter 59

  One week later

  “You really outdid yourself on the Bertocchi, Jon. It’s perfect,” Cameron Ross said as he viewed the restored piece leaning against a wall.

  “I’m glad you find it satisfactory, Cam,” Rafter said. He sat as still as he could on a sofa in the parlor. Grace lay on her stomach on his shoulder and chest and slept peacefully. Rosie lay near his feet.

  “The owner will be so pleased. He’s planning to have it auctioned at Sotheby’s.” Ross walked over to Rafter. He held out an envelope. “So here is your big payday, minus my small fee.”

  “Just set it on the sofa, Cam.”

  Ross set the envelope down by Rafter’s leg. “I want to see this Bible that saved your life, Jon. Is it close by? Just tell me where it is. I don’t want you to have to get up and wake Grace.”

  “It’s over on the end table by the parlor chair.”

  Attired in his customary corduroy sport jacket, bowtie, and Harry Potter glasses, Ross walked over and picked up the Bible. “This is amazing! The bullets penetrated the front cover and no more. You are so lucky, Jon.”

  “I don’t suppose I could get you to admit it was a miracle.”

  “Maybe there really is something to this God you worship. But aren’t you glad I wouldn’t accept the Bible when you wanted to give it to me?”

  “No, I wished you would’ve kept it. God would’ve used some other kind of miracle to keep me alive.”

  “I admit I felt guilty for not taking it. But it’s unreadable now. So I guess I will remain without the Good Book, as I have since childhood.”

  “You’re not getting off that easy, Cam. I have several Bibles. I can part with one. Take the black, leather-bound one in the bookcase to your right. It’s an ESV study Bible. It explains each verse and will give you historical context. You’ll like it, I promise.”

  Ross pulled the Bible from the bookcase. “Okay, I’ll take it back home with me. I can’t promise I’ll read it, but I won’t decline your offer this time.”

  “Hey, that’s all I can ask for. You’re taking a step in the right direction, Cam.”

  Ross flipped through the Bible for a moment, and then tucked it under his arm. “So tell me, friend, how do you like parenting?”

  Rafter smiled. “It’s exhausting, but I love it. I can already tell it will be the hardest challenge I’ve ever faced, though.”

  Ross shook his head. “You’re going to be a phenomenal dad. You’ll do just fine. And your little princess there is a lucky girl.” Ross sat down on the sofa next to Rafter “Um, Jon, I have a business proposition for you to consider. I think I already know your answer, but I’ll run it by you anyway.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “There is a gallery I know of that wishes to have some of its works restored. And I think you are the artist to do it.”

  “Is this gallery close by?”

  Ross looked up at the ceiling. A pained look spread across his face “Not really. The gallery is in…um…it’s in Florence.”

  “Florence, Italy?”

  Ross smiled and nodded. “They have a Claude Lorrain painting in need of restoration. They’ll pay you 200, 000 US dollars to fix it, and will also pay your room and board for the summer. They want the painting restored on site. And they want the painting restored by fall. They have a Lorrain exhibit in October and want to show the painting then.”

  “Are you kidding me? How in the world did they find out about me?”

  “The curator was in Boston to give a presentation at the Museum of Fine Arts. I convinced her to come take a look at my gallery. She saw some of your works there. I have to say she is quite enamored with your paintings, Jon. One thing led to another, and eventually she made the offer. So what do you say? Annie could use a vacation after what just happened here. Florence is magnificent—the birthplace of the Renaissance. Don’t tell me you haven’t dreamt of going there.”

  Rafter sighed. “I would love to visit Florence, Cam. But I can’t accept the offer. My place is here. We have a newborn. I can’t pack up Annie and Grace and move them to Florence. Grace will need checkups. We already have a pediatrician for her picked out. It would just be a little too crazy to attempt right now. But anything you can bring here to my studio I will work on.”

  Ross patted him on the shoulder. “I kn
ew you would turn it down. And I admire you for putting your family first. I’m disappointed, but I’ll get over it, years from now.” Ross suddenly pointed to a painting over the fireplace. “I just noticed it, Jon. That’s the painting you made for Annie but never gave to her. The one you had covered up in the studio.”

  “Yeah, as you can tell I altered it a bit.”

  Ross nodded. “Now that you painted yourself into it the value has gone down. It was the next Mona Lisa, but not anymore.”

  “That’s okay. It’s not for sale. It’s a gift to Annie.”

  “I was just teasing, Jon. So what does Annie think of it?”

  “She loves it. Every time she walks through the parlor she stops and looks at it.”

  Ross admired the painting depicting the Rafter family for several moments. He then shot Rafter a sly look. “But what happens if your family expands? You’ll have to start all over on another canvas.”

  “That would be a nice problem to have. But I’m not going to worry about it now.”

  Grace suddenly let out a cry. Rafter pulled his daughter away from his shoulder and looked at her. Grace’s beautiful pink face contorted into an ugly scowl. And then she started crying insistently.

  “What’s wrong with her, Jon? You want me to go get Annie? She’s talking to some women out on the gallery.”

  “No, I think it’s just a gas bubble. She can’t be hungry. I just gave her a bottle. I’ll try burping her.” Rafter sat Grace up in his lap. He gently held her chin with one hand and started patting her back with his other hand. A half minute later Grace let out a large belch. Spit-up poured out her mouth. “Can you hand me that burp rag, Cam?”

  Ross looked around frantically for the rag. “I don’t see it, Jon.”

  “Never mind, Rosie is handling it.”

  Ross turned around and watched the big Newfoundland lap away the spit-up from Grace’s mouth. “That’s disgusting, Jon. You really should get rid of that dog. Maybe I’ll tell Annie about this. Maybe she’ll force you to get rid of it.”