Too Much Stuff

Kathy motioned us into her office, the makeshift lab.

“The paper has moistened considerably. I think we can make this thing work with a minimum of effort.”

She had already removed the folded letter from the jerry-rigged humidor, and thankfully hadn’t opened it yet.

“I’ve got the strips. We can paste this thing together and I will be happy to share it with whomever you want. But,” she hesitated, “I would like the permission to print the contents in our newsletter.”

I shivered. The contents could be worth millions of dollars. Millions.

“I’m afraid that we can’t promise that, Kathy.” I didn’t want any stipulations on what we had to do.

She glanced at the damp piece of evidence. The piece of paper that could dictate our future livelihood.

“It’s historic.” As if that gave her the right.

“And, it’s private. It actually belongs to our employer’s great-grandfather and I’m afraid we can’t authorize that the contents can be made public.”

She frowned. Librarians probably think that everything that is readable should be made public.

“You’ll ask her?”

“We will,” I said. But the answer was a given.

She started unfolding the ancient piece, very slowly unwrapping it. With a damp sponge she moistened the creases, and sure enough, the paper responded. The first fold-over flattened out without any damage to the piece.

The second fold was more troublesome and even with extra moisture it cracked.

“You’ll have that,” she said, working with her hands like a surgeon.

There were more cracks and it was obvious that some of the paper would need adhesive.

Our archivist worked for forty minutes, slowly unwrapping the old message. When she was done, we had six pieces of paper. I’d tried to read some of it, but the way the letter unfolded, the writing was mostly on the underside of the paper.

When she finally turned one of the six pieces over and we studied the words, I saw James with a big grin on his face.

L dp vdih.

With the first group of letters I knew we were safe. It was all written in code.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

She’d sprung for the new battery, and James was happy.

Mrs. T. had the template and she worked on it at the desk as the three of us sipped mai tais on her balcony. Yes, we were guests at a resort. But there were certain levels of resort living and this lady was right at the top. The room was better, the view was better, the drinks, hand delivered from the bar, were better.

“Kathy was disappointed.” James was leaning out over the railing, watching two girls in bikinis sunning themselves poolside.

“First of all because she couldn’t read it and secondly because we wouldn’t let her make a copy of it.” She’d asked again if the contents could be kept at the library. I politely declined. The lady was nice and had seriously helped our cause, but-

“It was truly impressive how she melted the Japanese tissue into the paper.” Em had been fascinated with the process. There was almost no sign of the breaks in the original manuscript.

“Kids,” she called from inside.

When we stuck our heads in the door, she motioned for us to come in.

“Sit down.”

“Good news?”

“I don’t know.”

She stood up and handed Em a piece of the resort’s stationery with the translation of the coded document.

“This is from my great-grandfather, Matthew Kriegel. He was on the island when the hurricane hit. Please, read it.”

Em nodded and read out loud from the translated version.

I am safe. For the moment. As you know, I was entrusted with over 2,000 pounds of gold to be used in the purchase and upkeep of properties for the railroad. The future of the railroad at this point would appear to be in grave jeopardy. The rails themselves are twisted and uprooted everywhere you look.

At this very moment there are crews arriving by boat to search the island for bodies, of which there are many, lying on the ground, hanging in the trees, their decay causing foul odors that spread for miles. There are hordes of men coming in and looting what remains there may be of people’s homes and businesses, (although little remains at all) and there is utter chaos among the people who survived.

Medical care is slow in coming and I myself am in need of someone to help mend a broken arm.

That being said, I am still responsible for the gold that I brought with me. I trust no one, but must trust someone. Even if I were in excellent physical condition, I could not move the heavy crates. There is no one to take the gold back to the mainland so I am exploring several options.

Em looked up. “I can’t imagine how bad things were. And to be reading a firsthand account-”

James tapped his foot. “The gold, Em. He’s about to tell us what happened to the gold.”

She glowered at him and continued.

Miracle that it is, the cases are unharmed. Ten heavy wooden containers with the gold still inside, these wooden crates of riches are as sturdy as an oak. So, their being yet untouched, I can have them moved several places. Hiring a few good men, I can put them on small boats and drop them off at sea. I cannot get a boat back to Miami at this time. A good place would seem to be the rocks that are directly off the resort (which no longer stands) called The Millionaire’s Club. Corporate giants had built a spur off of our railroad to park their private railcars when they visited this fine establishment.

I shook my head. “There were the regular railroad passengers, then there were these guys who had their own railcars. I can’t imagine what that would have been like.”

Em continued reading.

The other choice I have come up with is to bury them on land, although the chance of digging very deep is fraught with danger because we are only inches above the water table.

I intend to explore both options. If I bury the gold, it will be on the property of The Millionaire’s Club. I will estimate the longitude and latitude of that location. The crates are 14? by 9? and 6 inches deep. They weigh approximately two hundred pounds each.

I pass this information to you, my darling wife, and hope we are connected in the not too distant future. However, things are in upheaval and every minute brings a new disaster or gruesome discovery.

My arm aches, and I am feverish. I fear that the rotting corpses will spread disease. There is already some talk of burning them in a mass funeral pyre. I pray that I will not succumb to an early death and be one of those whose ashes are cast to the wind.

I am burying this letter in a metal box and you alone have the location of that box. Please, pray for me, but if I do not return you will have the yellow treasure to do with what you will.

Longitude: 80° 37? 40? W Latitude: 24° 55? 30.72? E

“And that’s it.”

No one spoke for at least a minute. We were busy absorbing what we’d heard. Finally Mrs. T. broke the silence.

“Matthew Kriegel was protecting the company assets. I was a little worried that I was going to find out he’d basically stolen the gold.”

“Kind of like we’re going to do?” James had to smart off.

“We’ve gone over this before, Mr. Lessor. There is no railroad company. In fact, there really wasn’t one after