The Old Cape Teapot (24 page)

“What’s wrong?”

“I gotta talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait till morning?”

“I guess so.” I lay back down but couldn’t fall asleep. It was
going to be a long night.

Present Day

CAPE COD

AROUND EIGHT O’CLOCK
the next morning, a maroon Toyota idled in the parking lot of the Hyannis bus depot. Loud rap music and a thumping, deep bass masked any outside sounds for the driver. He looked content, nodding in time to the music, his eyes
closed.

The click-clack of a metal knee brace rattled as a passenger from Boston made his way under the canopy and towards the parking area. People kept their distance from the strange looking man. His
long, open, black leather coat revealed a black T-shirt and black
jeans. He wore a black band around his head, which held in place a patch that covered his right eye. It made his long, gray, frizzy hair stick out on all sides. The older man limped over to the maroon
Toyota and banged on its window. “You Silas Maroney?”

The driver jumped almost three inches out of his seat, dropping his cigarette ashes onto his leg. He swallowed hard. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m your pick-up.” The stranger walked around to the
passenger side of the car.

Silas quickly flicked the hot ashes off his pants leg.

The unusual man maneuvered his body onto the torn bucket seat. “Your old man said to look for a crappy red Toyota and that you were a little shit.” He looked the kid up and down. “I guess he was right.”

***

The odometer ticked off miles in rapid succession as Silas drove his car along the highway to Brewster. His passenger never said a word to him during the twenty-five minutes it took to get from the bus
station to the small apartment belonging to Silas’s father. He pulled the car to the rear of the house. They both got out and climbed the back steps to the top of the landing. Peeling paint on the door
reflected the condition of the dilapidated house.

Once the door was opened, Silas threw the key on the table. “So what should I call you?”

“The General.”

“What?”

“The General. And don’t ask me any more questions.”

“No problem.” Silas backed away. “You can have the bed in the back room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

The General threw his duffel bag into the room. Under his
breath, he muttered, “Suits me just fine.”

“Uh huh,” said Silas. “I got to get to work. Be back around nine.”

“Don’t care.” The General turned on the TV and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“You need anything?”

The General said nothing. He kicked off his boots and started to massage his knee.

“Right, then.” Silas shrugged his shoulders and left, slamming the door behind him.

The General opened the window a crack, and then inspected the
small apartment. There it was…his cellmate’s prized possession. The Sylvania record console was piled high on one side with 33-RPM records. The General had become accustomed to listening to the jazz greats, courtesy of Silas’s father. He selected a Benny Goodman vinyl, blew across its surface and placed it on the turntable. With a
delicate touch of the diamond needle, the swinging sounds of a clarinet filled
the dingy apartment. The old man’s hips swayed a little as his hands moved behind the console. With his forehead touching the wall, he could just about see the gray duct tape. His lips curled into a smile as
he peeled it off the wood. The Smith and Wesson .38 revolver attached
to the back of the cabinet fit nicely into his hand. As he pulled three bullets off the sticky tape, he whispered a thank you to his old
buddy, and then settled in front of the TV to clean his new weapon.

***

Present Day

THE CALDWELL HOUSE

“So you had another bad dream?” Paul asked as he dressed.

I was still in bed, looking out the skylight at the tops of the trees. They edged their skinny barren limbs across the window opening.

“Yes, but it wasn’t terrible or anything too scary; it was more frustrating. But it also made me think about a new connection that might help me find Julian’s treasure.” I threw off the covers. “I’m going back to that old mill site,” I said with determination.

“Nancy! What did I ask you before?”

“What do you mean, ‘what did I ask you’?” I sarcastically
repeated his words. I was a little upset. I’m not a kid.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be going up there by yourself?”

“Oh? For heaven’s sake, I’ll be fine!” I ran into the bathroom to shower.

“You want me to go with you?”

He didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “No, you’ve got that client coming over today. Maybe I’ll ask Nick.”

***

During breakfast, Nick said he wouldn’t mind exploring the mill site with me. We were expecting rain in the afternoon but planned to be
home before then. On our way into Orleans, I told Nick about my nighttime revelation and he seemed very interested in my theory
about the location of the mill site. I felt encouraged that I might be right.

I parked the car at the convenience store across the street from the opening in the woods and looked for the twisted tree. Before we
ventured too deep into the scrub’s edge, I took a reading from the
compass app on my phone to guide us out if we got lost.

The morning air was cold but, with the sun shining through the trees, we warmed up quickly as we climbed a short hill to get to the path. The brown forest smelled musty with a slight hint of burning wood from a nearby fireplace.

“If I didn’t know it was late November, I would’ve thought it was almost spring,” said Nick as he took off his knitted hat.

“New England weather is fickle. They say if you want a change in weather just wait a few minutes.”

We both laughed as we waded through the damp oak leaves.

“What’s that?” Nick asked as he pointed to a deep, hollowed-out opening with stonewalls on three sides.

I recognized it as the old foundation from the last time I was up
here, with Peter’s group. It was nestled into a high embankment to
our right. “Looks like a partial foundation to a house or maybe the
entrance to a walk-in basement.”

Nick stopped at the top to get a better look down into it. “It’s pretty deep on this end.”

I continued ahead along the trail until I saw the yellow
CAUTION
tape. “Here’s where we veer off.” Nick scrambled to catch up. I was disappointed that nothing else looked familiar to me since the last time I was in the woods. I thought I was better at remembering
details.

Another yellow marker waved at us as a burst of wind kicked up. The sun had disappeared behind some fast moving dark clouds,
bringing a sudden chill to the air. I quickly pulled a hat from my
pocket
and found gloves in the other, then zeroed in on finding the old
mill’s
stone foundation. “Try kicking around in the leaves and sticks. I
know the stones are here somewhere.”

Nick started to move his feet a little harder in half arcs.

A few flakes of snow began to drift through the woods so I
buttoned
my coat tighter. I kicked my feet a little higher into the air, but my disappointment of not finding anything was beginning to grow stronger.

Finally Nick called out, “I found something.”

I turned to see him standing about ten feet from the yellow tape. “What did you find?” I forged through the brown oak leaves to get near him, not caring about the wild rose brambles that wrapped themselves around my ankles. I knew I wasn’t crazy; those stones were here somewhere.

We both stooped down and began to brush away the forest litter. My gloved hands moved back and forth, trying to uncover the tops of the first three stones. Nick moved to the side of me to look for any other hard, grey surfaces. He discovered another three. I stood up and surveyed the shape that was forming. It certainly resembled part of a circular foundation, just like before.

“Check your phone,” Nick said. “See if we’re standing on or
near the Magnetic North.”

I stored my wet gloves in a pocket then activated my phone with a swipe of a fingertip. The app for the compass was a little slow to find itself. It felt like a long time, but after only about thirty seconds,
there it was. I turned a little and the arrow pointed east. My body pivoted to the left and, according to the compass, I was now heading north.

Nick came closer to see the readings. “Press the Magnetic North button.”

I was off by about thirty degrees, but I was definitely standing
close to it. I clicked back to the compass screen, turned and stepped nearer to the stones. My foot landed in front of a particularly large one. I bent over to clean it. “Did you bring the water bottle?”

“Yes, why?”

“Can I have it a second?”

“Sure.”

I unscrewed its cap and gently poured it over the gray surface. Some lines began to appear “Look! There’s a W.”

Nick bent over next to me to see for himself.

The lines were crude but resembled the directional symbol for
West. I pulled out the old map from my inside pocket and unfolded it.
We both stared at the tiny drawing of the windmill and the two
symbols beneath it: a W and the number 3.

Nick whipped out his cell and began taking pictures of the map
and stones. I traced the lines of the W with my finger. It gave me a good feeling; touching the past. My heart raced with excitement.
Suddenly the snow turned to hail and began pounding our heads and backs. Disappointed, I yelled, “We’d better get going.” I found my extra set of gloves, pulled them on, and quickly scrambled back through the woods and to the car with Nick close behind. I felt frustrated that we had to leave, but I knew for certain that I’d be back.

As we pulled into the driveway, the hail stopped and the sun came out. “What did I tell you, Nick? Our weather is so strange.”

He laughed as we got out of the van.

A jazz melody quietly drifted in the air. “Do you hear that?” I asked.

Nick stopped and cocked his head to the side to listen. “It
sounds like some jazz from the 40s.”

I glanced at the house across the street, more curious than ever about its tenants.

Present Day

CAPE COD

MARTHA WAS READY
to leave as soon as Nick and I entered the house. “Thanks for coming over today,” I said as I took off my hat
and coat. “Have a nice weekend.”

Nick went to his room in the front of the house. As I washed my hands in the kitchen, I could see Molly in the living room decorating her new giant coloring book. “Where’s Danny?”

“I don’t know,” Molly answered without even looking up.

I walked nearer to her. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

I put my hands on my hips in a stern, motherly stance. “Where’s your father?”

“I don’t know,” she said again.

Now she sounded snotty to me and I was irritated. I took off towards the gallery to find Paul.

***

As Nick rounded the corner to the guest bedroom, he noticed his door was half open. He grabbed the door handle, gave it a yank and
saw the small figure hovering over his opened suitcase on the bed.

“What are you doing, kid?”

Danny jumped and turned around. If he weren’t leaning against the edge of the bed, he would have fallen over.

“Get out of here!” Nick yelled as he grabbed Danny’s arm then pushed him out into the front parlor.

Danny started to cry. Nick let go.

The little boy ran towards the living room. “Mommy!”

Nick quickly rewrapped the dark grey semi-automatic back into the thick sweatshirt. “Shit,” he muttered and then checked to see if
anything else was disturbed.

***

I opened the door to the gallery and called out, “Is Danny out here?” then closed the door behind me to keep the cold from entering the house. As I reached for the door to Paul’s studio, I shouted again, “Is Danny out here?”

“No, I thought he was with Martha,” Paul said, rinsing off his paintbrush in a stainless steel container. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find him.” I turned and exited the same way I came without waiting for another word from Paul.

Molly was still on the floor coloring. I found Danny pouting on
the big Lazy Boy chair on the other side of the room. His eyes were red and he was sniffling. “Where were you?” I asked as I squeezed in next to him on the chair. “What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”

“Nick scared me.”

“What?”

“He yelled at me.”

“Why?” I pushed his hair back and kissed him on his head.

He whispered to me. “He has a gun.”

“What’d you say?”

Danny repeated closer to my ear, “I saw a real gun.”

“Honey, you stay right here. I’ll go talk to Nick.” I got up and started for the front parlor, then called out, “Nick? What’s going
on?” I kept walking toward Nick’s room.

He intercepted me halfway through the dining room. “Hey, Mrs. C, everything all right?’

“Danny seems upset. He said you had a gun?”

“A gun? No way.” He started to laugh. “I wouldn’t know what to do with one if you gave it to me.”

“He’s crying. Did you yell at him?”

“Well, he was in my room going through my suitcase. I really didn’t mean to yell at him. I think I may have scared him because I came from behind and called his name really loud.”

“But he said he saw a gun in your suitcase.”

“Maybe he saw my electric shaver. It’s got a black handle.”
Nick’s
phone rang. “Hold on a minute, Mrs. C.” He turned around and
walked back into the parlor.