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.”