Rick fished a cigarette out of his pocket, rolling it in his fingers.“I know what you mean.”
“Thought you’d stopped.”
“How’d you know?”
“Your eyes follow every lit cigarette.”
“You’re very observant, Harry.” Rick appreciated that in a person. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“I didn’t think you’d answer my phone call today after the blowup at the funeral.” She led him to the back room. “I’m impressed.”
She shut the door behind them and brought out the two graveyard postcards. She handed him the magnifying glass and placed the legitimate French postcard on the table. He closed one eye and studied the cards, holding the unlit cigarette in his left hand.
“Uh-huh” was all he said.
“See the slight variation in the inks?”
“Yes.”
“And the misalignment, very small, of the ‘A’ in ‘Asheville.’ ”
“Yes.” Rick twirled the magnifying glass. He handed the glass back to Harry. “Who else knows about this?”
“Susan Tucker. Rob knows I borrowed a postcard but he doesn’t know why.”
“Keep it to yourself. You and Susan.”
“I will.”
“Now, tell me what your cat and dog were doing in Maude’s shop.”
“I don’t know.”
“You were snooping in there, Harry. Don’t lie to me.”
“I wasn’t. Somehow they got locked in there. I woke up in the morning. I couldn’t find them. I drove around. I called around and just like I told you, Mrs. Hogendobber heard Tucker barking. She found them.”
“I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.” He dropped his bulk into a chair. “Gimme a Co-Cola, will you?” He lit up the cigarette as she brought him a soda from the little refrigerator. A long drag brought a smile to his lips. “It’s a filthy habit but damn, it feels good. Next I’ll try your mail bin.” He inhaled. “I’m not really sorry I started up again. It’s this or straight whiskey with a case like this, and with the whiskey I wouldn’t be on the case long.”
“What do you think—about the postcards, I mean.”
“I think we’ve got someone so smart that he or she is laughing at us. I think we’ve got a fox that will lay a false trail.”
Goose bumps dotted Harry’s skin. “Scares me.”
“Scares me too. If I only knew what the son of a bitch was after.”
“Do you follow your hunches?”
“I do, but I do my homework first.” Rick crossed his right leg over his left knee. “Okay, what’s your hunch? You’re itching to tell me.”
“The old tunnels Claudius Crozet dug have something to do with this.”
At the sound of the name Crozet, Rick sat up straight.“Why do you say that?”
“Because there was a letter from Crozet, a Xerox on Kelly’s desk. Can you ride, Rick?”
“A little.”
“Let’s ride out to the closest tunnel, the Greenwood.”
“In this heat, with the deer flies? No, ma’am. We’re going in the squad car and we can walk up the rest of the way.” He slapped her on the back. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but come on.”
“You two stay here and be good now.”
“No! No!” erupted the chorus of discontent.
Harry started to plead with Rick but he cut her off.“No way, Harry. They stay here.”
Jungle vegetation couldn’t have been much thicker than what Rick and Harry waded through.
“We should have taken horses,” Harry grumbled.
“I haven’t got two hours. This is quicker and you just be glad I’m including you.”
“Including me? You wouldn’t know about it if I hadn’t told you. Hey, did you find Berryman?”
Rick slashed at pokeweed.“Yes. Was it that obvious after the funeral?”
“Where else would you go?”
“I found him at work. Selling a bronze stock trailer to the Beegles.”
“Fireworks?”
“No, he was tired. Guess the excitement wore him out. He’s got an alibi for the night Maude was killed. Home with his wife.”
“She could lie for him.”
“Do you honestly think, in your wildest dreams, Mary Minor Haristeen, that Linda Berryman would lie for Bob?”
“No.” Harry stopped to catch her breath. The steamy heat sucked it right out of her.
Up ahead the outline of the tunnel loomed, covered and fantastic-looking with kudzu, honeysuckle, and a wealth of weeds unknown even to Harry. The old track, an offshoot of the newer line, ran up to the mouth of the tunnel.
“I’ve been keeping an eye out for broken grasses and tracks”—Rick wiped sweat off his forehead—“but with thick foliage like this, unless it’s very recent, I don’t have much hope. It’s easier coming up the tracks but it takes twice as long.”
As they reached the tunnel Harry cast her eyes upward. The chiseled remembrance of the men who built the tunnel, clear-cut and deep, was half covered by honeysuckle. The C. CROZET, CHIEF ENGINEER was visible. The rest was obscured except for A.D. 1852.
Harry pointed upward.
Kudzu grows about three feet a day, obscuring everything in its path.
“Treasure?” Harry said.
“The C and O searched the place top to bottom before they closed this off. And look at this rock. Nobody’s getting through this stuff to hunt for treasure.”
The mouth of the tunnel had been filled with debris, rock, and then sealed with concrete. The right side of the mouth was totally choked by vines.
Harry, crestfallen, reached out and touched the rock, warm from the sun. She withdrew her hand.
“There are three more tunnels to go.”
“Brooksville is sealed off and Little Rock is still in use. I don’t know if they shut off the Blue Ridge but it’s so long and far away—”
“You’re up on your tunnels.” Harry smiled. She wasn’t the only one sitting up at night reading.
“And so are you. Come on. There’s nothing here.”
As they trudged back Rick promised to send out a deputy to investigate the Brooksville, Little Rock, and Blue Ridge tunnels. They were outside his jurisdiction but he’d work that out with his counterparts in the other counties.
“What about calling the C and O?” Harry suggested.
“I did that. They got me the reports of closing the tunnels in 1944. Couldn’t have been more helpful.”
“And … ?”
“Just a dry recounting of shutting them up. There’s no treasure, Harry. I don’t know what the Crozet connection is. It’s a dead end, kid.”
He drove her back to the post office, where Tucker had chewed the corner of the door and Mrs. Murphy, with great violence, had thrown her Kitty Litter all over the floor.
23
Curving, sensuous, gilded pieces of Louis XV furniture dazzled Harry each time she entered Josiah’s house. Gifted with a good eye and imagination, Josiah painted the walls stark white, which made the beautiful desks, bomb? chests, and chairs stand out vividly. The floors, dark walnut, polished to perfection, reflected the glories of the furniture. The King Kong of pastel floral arrangementscommanded the center of the coffee table. The flowers and the French pieces provided the only color in the room.
Josiah provided color of a different sort, valiantly sitting in a wing chair playing host to his callers, who had come as custom dictated. On a satinwood table next to the chair was a round cerise bowl that contained old marbles. Every now and then Josiah would reach into the bowl and run them through his fingers like worry beads. Another bowl contained old type bits; yet another contained doorknobs with mercury centers.
Susan rushed up to Harry to spill the rotten news about Danny’s using his father’s credit card to get money from the twenty-four-hour banking window. Ned had grounded him for the rest of the summer. Harry commiserated as Mrs. Hogendobber arrived with her famous potato salad. Mim, sleek in linen pants and a two-hundred-dollar T-shirt, glided over to assist Mrs. Hogendobber in carrying the heavy bowl. Hayden was just leaving as Fair came in. Little Marilyn served drinks out of a massive sterling-silver bowl. Little Marilyn was spending a lot of time next to the liquor at these gatherings. Each time Harry looked her way, Little Marilyn found somethingfascinating to hold her attention. She wasn’t going to acknowledge Harry with even a grimace, much less a smile.