After a few minutes of fruitless hunting he was about to give up the search. But then Annie looked inside a chest of drawers and found the screwdriver lying next to a neatly folded American flag. She grinned as she handed it to him. “I prayed that God would help me find it. So would you count that as an answered prayer?”
Rafter took the flat-bladed screwdriver. “I sure would. Sometimes you just have to take things on faith and say, ‘that was a “God thing” that just happened there.’” Rafter headed back to the chimney, determined to create an escape hole. This was their best chance at leaving the house. He had to make it work. And he needed to do it quickly.
Rafter dropped to his knees and started chipping at the crumbling mortar. “Remind me to fix these bricks when this is all over. We’ll asphyxiate our guests if I forget.”
Annie came over and observed him work. “You need a hammer to help you with the chipping,” she said.
“A hammer would definitely help. Do you know where one is?”
“Not off the top of my head. But I’ll go snoop around for one. Maybe you left a hammer up here too.”
“You’re funny. Before you go can you give the Victor Talking Machine a few cranks? I don’t want the Charbonneaus to hear me chipping and become suspicious.”
Annie headed for the phonograph. “One, very old love song coming up, Jon.”
Chapter 14
As twilight settled over the plantation house and grounds, Damien Charbonneau turned off his metal detector. He’d just finished scanning the entire yard, a sizeable feat. Over the past two hours he’d dug up a few interesting objects for sure: an old brooch, some buttons from a civil war military uniform, and a pair of black-powder bullets.
But what he wanted to find most eluded him and dejection took a firm hold on his resolve. Finding the treasure looked more and more like a fantasy that would never come true.
Damien stood wearily near the carriage house. I suppose I should take a look in there, he thought, eyeing the structure.
He leaned the metal detector against the carriage house and next to the door. “Why did I let Arcadias talk me into this stunt?” he grumbled aloud.
He knew the answer to his question. It just hurt his pride to confess the answer. It all came down to making a sizable chunk of money. He’d poured concrete for two decades now, barely making ends meet. And his body couldn’t hack the physical strain any longer. So after Arcadias showed him the small iron box with all the gold coins in it, as well as the note pinpointing where to find a much larger stash, he jumped at the chance.
Arcadias had practically guaranteed him a two-million-dollar share in the treasure. The thought of that much money and the realization he would never again have to pour concrete, influenced his rationale.
As he often did on a daily basis, Damien thought of his late father. Joe Charbonneau was likely turning over in his grave. He’d raised his two boys to work hard and abide by the law, not break it. Yet a prison cell likely awaited them both.
Damien shook his head. Joe had never shown much affection to his sons, but he did seem to favor Arcadias, who had always been the smart one. Joe worked three jobs to put Arcadias through college. Even as a child, Arcadias preferred reading over playing outside with other kids. And when he did put down his books to play with other kids he always insisted on playing pirates. It almost seemed like it was Arcadias’s fate to one day hunt for pirate treasure.
His mood sour, Damien tried the door. It swung open and he entered the carriage house. Someone had left a light on, and it only took a second for him to realize he’d stepped into an art studio. Marvelous paintings adorned the walls. Other paintings in various stages of completion sat on easels. And all the paintings depicted a religious scene from the Bible.
Damien gazed at the paintings, transfixed by their astounding beauty. He wasn’t much of an art lover, but even he could see these works belonged in a museum or gallery. But the more he gawked at the paintings the more unsettled he became. The spiritual nature of the paintings convicted him, made him feel guilty for what he intended to do, and guilty for what he’d already done.
Damien felt anger rise up within him. He snarled and lashed out at the painting nearest him, knocking it from its easel. The canvas depicted a vengeful Joab stabbing Abner. The painting clattered to the floor. Damien stepped on the canvas, grinding his heel through it, destroying it.
His fisted hands shaking, he moved toward a large freestanding cabinet. He yanked open the cabinet and perused the art supplies. He didn’t know for sure what he was looking for, perhaps another iron chest like Arcadias found on the beach. But to his dismay, there were only paintbrushes, varnish cans, palettes, and paint tubes in the cabinet. Damien slammed shut the cabinet.
And that’s when he heard it; a thunderous bark from somewhere in the carriage house, followed by nails clicking noisily on the floor. And then the dog came into his view.
Damien swallowed hard. The dog looked like a St. Bernard, only pure black. The word Newfoundland entered Damien’s mind. The dog skidded to a halt about eight feet away. The giant canine sniffed at the destroyed canvas and then looked up at Damien and barked several times.
Damien calmly pulled out his Taurus side arm from his windbreaker. He pulled the slide back. The black beast bared its fangs and growled. The ominous rumble made the hair on Damien’s neck stand up. And then the dog took two rapid steps and sprang into the air, lunging for him.
Damien leveled the Taurus and pulled the trigger. And the dog yelped in pain.
Chapter 15
Prostrate in the moist dirt, and covered with mud and cobwebs, Arcadias wriggled forward another six inches. He operated in the crawlspace under the house, searching the ground with his handheld scanners. It was painstaking work, but a necessary chore. Finding history often requires patience, as well as a willingness to get dirty.
Arcadias knew the treasure could very well be hiding in the ground under the plantation house. Rutherford Whitcomb likely built the house not knowing Lafitte’s treasure cache hid somewhere on the grounds.
Although this is what Arcadias hoped for, a nagging thought tormented him. What if Rutherford accidently discovered the treasure and then spent it all? Arcadias banished the thought. It’s here. I can feel it, he told himself.
Arcadias heard a rustling sound and froze. He determined which direction the sound came from and turned his head. He flinched when his headlamp cast 344 lumens onto an opossum, and not just one opossum, but several—an opossum family.
Arcadias shuddered at the sight of their glowing eyes, the sounds of their scaly tails sliding across the mud a few feet away. Hideous creatures, he thought. Arcadias picked up a mud clod and flung it toward the opossums. “Get! Get away! Shoo!”
The parent opossum reared up on its hind legs and hissed at him, but then turned and skittered off toward the other end of the crawlspace, babies in tow.
Relieved, Arcadias continued to scan the earth. And as he scanned, he mulled over his escape plan.
He still had roughly ten-thousand in cash left over from the gold he’d liquidated from the iron chest he’d found on Grand Isle beach. Once he discovered the big stash, he would divvy it up with his brother and their girlfriends. He would then quickly alter his appearance by shaving his head. And then he would work his way alone down to Mexico using his cash and a false identity he’d cobbled together over the past three days. He had in mind Costa Rica as his final destination.