Buried Treasure. Jack B. Downs

Don’t get cold feet on me now. Ten minutes to liftoff and counting. And don’t start talking to yourself, under any conditions.

      Spotting Anne standing back in the shadows two blocks from her house, he eased the car to the curb and clambered out to unlock the trunk.

      They drove in silence out of their hometown. She slid over next to him and they linked hands. James often had to retrieve his hand to shift on the quiet lanes of the Delmarva Peninsula on the back approach to Cambridge. The relentless flat land stretched as far as the eye could see, a bounty of staple crops that fed the livelihoods of these taciturn, God-fearing people, along with the other major source of income, the crab traps stacked high alongside one-story cottages.

      The sun dappled the road and strobed the interior of the car as the orange globe peaked up from the east, through thin forests of juniper pine. They drove north, toward the legendary gateway to the mainland, the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. North to head south. And the unknown.

      16 / Trips to Cambridge

      Dylan awoke to the phone ringing. In the dream that ended so abruptly, Dylan had been poised on the riverbank, tugging hard at his fishing rod. The rod was arced like a giant hook, bent nearly in two, and the line darted like a strange water bug, slicing the surface like the unwavering sword of his hero, Aramis.

      Dylan is pivoting and side-stepping, eyes locked on the churning water and his enemy, the great cat known as Ironsides, when the alarm rings, the alarm- the phone? Aramis the Musketeer blinks, twice, and the bright sun becomes soft morning, and muffled voices condense into clear words, and then sentence fragments.

      “—Of course he’s here. Where else would he—” Nana’s voice, strident, with a touch of doubt. “I can check, but you just hold on a minute. Saaaaam! Sam, can you come quickly?”

      Something about Nana’s voice propelled Dylan out of bed and to the stair railing just as his father stuck his head through the door at the foot of the stairs.

      “Is your brother up there, son?”

      Dylan turned and saw the empty bed. In fact, it was made up. The boys never made up their bed ’til after breakfast, though the rule was the beds had to be made before they left to go outside.

      “No sir. He’s not here.”

      “Was his bed...?”

      Dylan shook his head.

      Sam slammed his palm against the doorframe and closed the door soft. Dylan stared down at the dark paneled wood door. Was he supposed to stay up here? He certainly wasn’t going back to sleep now. He went to the bureau and grabbed a pair of jeans and a tee shirt.

      “What? Where—” Dylan froze at Nana’s words. It wasn’t what she was saying. It was the fear he heard. What had his brother done now? Dylan strained to hear his dad’s voice. He realized Sam must have taken the phone from Nana.

      “No, he is out already this morning.”

      Silence for a few moments.

      “I don’t know anything about that. We just found out he isn’t here. No, I was surprised he was up and gone.”

      More silence. Dylan heard the faint whistle of the bobwhites in the elm out front, chattering as they did every morning. He had a feeling this morning was going to be different.

      “Yes, I’ll do some checking. I think it’s a little early to be calling the sheriff.” Dylan felt an icy nail slowly rake down his spine, even though the August morning already promised swelter. He unbuttoned his pajama top, and shrugged it from his thin shoulders. “James would never harm your daughter. Of that I am sure. There is probably a very simple exp—”

      Dylan slowly pulled his tee shirt over his head, and eased off the pajama bottoms.

      The phone clicked into its holder, even though Sam had not said anything before he hung up.

      “Mr. Sampson’s daughter Anne was gone this morning. Do you know anything about James and her?” His father sounded as if he were working hard to sound as if nothing was wrong.

      Nana said something Dylan couldn’t hear.

      “Well, are they dating? James is only...” Sam’s voice trailed off.

      “Seventeen,” Nana sighed, louder now. “Older by two years than you were when you and Maureen were doing your night walking-tours of town.”

      Dylan stepped into his jeans and slowly pulled them up. They were his favorite pair, but they were getting harder to button. He left the tee shirt hanging out over the waistband and plucked a pair of white socks from his top drawer.

      Sam must have given Nana a look, because her next words were softer. “James has always been restless. You can’t blame yourself. Sometimes there is a roaring river right under your nose that runs deeper than you can imagine.”

      “You mean like Elmore Thompson.” Dylan froze where he sat, one sock half on. “You care to tell me what you didn’t tell the Chief?”

      Nana’s voice now, with an uncustomary wariness in tone: “Son, I’m not sure what you mean.”

      “You are my mother. I can tell when you are surprised, and when you’re not. Elmore’s death shook you. It made all of us sad. But you weren’t surprised. It’s none of my business, but you said something about what gets normal men in trouble. He never mentioned a girl to me.”

      There were another few moments of silence. Dylan fetched his Converse sneakers from under the foot of his bed and sat down quietly to pull them on.

      “Elmore came to me,” Nana finally said. “He told me he was cashing in his life insurance surrender value. After, I realized he knew suicide would forfeit the insurance. Anyway, he told me he put that money into an account he’d set up to be left to the Church.”

      “But why?” His father persisted. Dylan pulled his laces tight, straining to hear.

      “Elmore had a lady friend out Cambridge way,” Nana sighed. “It was not what you would call an um, exclusive arrangement. Cambridge, or here for that matter, doesn’t tolerate any practice on the part of ladies of the evening. But the world’s oldest profession is also one of the world’s most adaptable, apparently.”

      “Are you saying that Elmore...?”