He was worried about the temporary truck and backhoe loader on his pristine beach, but dead people were right beneath the surface. I was just hoping that we didn’t unearth any of them.
We hung out by the pool, Em in her white shorts and blue halter top, James and I in cutoffs and sandals.
“I still don’t see how we’re going to load ten crates.”
“If those crates are really there,” I added.
“Dude, you found one.”
“Maybe.”
“Ten crates, about two hundred pounds each,” Em said.
James just smiled, taking a swallow of his beer. “Hey, this Sanko chick has got us this far. Ingenious, I say. Really.”
“High-end sand sculpting. I saw some of those down on South Beach one year.” Em sipped a rum and Coke. “Angels, naked women, Neptune, sea serpents, castles. The ideas were fabulous.”
I’d made several sandcastles as a kid. Small ones, using milk cartons as molds, but the role we were playing took things to an entirely different level.
“I want to know what happens tomorrow when Diego comes out here and there’s no sculpture. I mean, what happens when he calls Maria and says, ‘Hey, where’s my one-of-a-kind world-famous sculpture?’”
I didn’t want to be here to find out.
“Maybe the sand wouldn’t bond, or one of you got sick. You had a fight and broke up, you decided not to share your idea with the world at this time. Come on Skip, James. You’re both born storytellers,” Em said. “Surely you can think of a dozen reasons for why there’s no sculpture tomorrow morning.”
James was silent for a moment. He had picked up a cheap cigar from a shop up the street and lit it, puffing until the smoke streamed from his mouth. He quenched his thirst with the last swallow of beer and looked at me.
“Wonder if there’s serious money in sculpting sand, Skip.”
“James, we don’t know the first thing about sand sculpting.”
“Think about it, amigo. No bosses. You get to play in the sand and water all day,” he glanced at Em, “work on a beach surrounded by bikini-clad girls who are oohing and ahhing about your work.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe not. I say we at least look into it.” He lay back and closed his eyes. “I Googled it, Skip. Fifteen to thirty thousand in prize money in these contests. And you’re kind of like the rock stars of the beach, huh?”
“James, we’re about to embark on a project that could gross us two million dollars. And you want to play around on the sand for fifteen thousand dollars?”
I know, it sounds absolutely crazy, but James is always half serious about his business ideas. Myself, I didn’t want to travel the world with a butter knife, cutting and smoothing lifeless sand into art forms.
It was eight o’clock when James and I ran the yellow tape from a pole by the building to a pole by the ocean, effectively cordoning off our section of the beach and the little cemetery.
At nine, the dump truck pulled up followed by a flatbed truck with a backhoe loader on the back. I have to admit I got a chill. Funded by Mrs. Trueblood, Maria Sanko had gotten us everything we needed.
Em, Maria, and James watched the perimeter. I supervised the dumping of a load of sand. After we’d created a mountain of the silicate and dirt, I helped the two drivers roll the tractor off the flatbed.
As advertised, the machine had a backhoe on the rear, and a bucket loader on the front. You could dig up the wooden crates with the hoe, then lift them into the truck with the front-end loader. Pretty cool.
The driver of that vehicle reached over to the passenger seat and pulled out my metal detector. The JW Fishers metal detector.
I was convinced we’d be stopped. There was no way that anyone was going to allow us to dig up ten wooden crates and then load them on a truck. We were crazy to think that Maria Sanko had a good plan. It was a terrible plan. And on top of terrible, there was a great chance that the crates would be rotted, so we’d be faced with everyone seeing that there were crates of gold bars surrounding the old cemetery.
If there was any gold. Hell, I’d probably found a metal casket that had been buried in the last seventy-five years. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea and I-
“Hey, kid, where do you want me to start digging?”
I didn’t want him to start digging at all. I was ready to call the whole thing off. Of all the hare-brained schemes-
“Here.”
I walked off the spot where the metal detector had gone off.
“Man, be careful.”
“We’re going to scrape away one layer at a time. Inches. I understand the sensitivity of what you’re doing. You’ve got some ancient wooden cases and you don’t want to destroy them.”
A very cool operator.
While he scraped, I swept the detector ahead. Nothing. Farther. Nothing. So possibly Mrs. T. had spent a lot of money on a project that was not going to produce anything. I swept farther ahead and there it was. The sound came out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me. I actually jumped. The siren was loud in my ear and very fast. Woooo, woooo, wooo, wooo. I felt a chill up my spine.
Clenching my teeth to keep from grinning, I fanned it length-ways and it stayed loud for over a foot, then tapered off.
Two possible miniature coffins. I glanced up at the windows facing the cemetery plot. They were dark. Behind the black glass could have been the eyes of two private detectives, watching our every move, but I could see nothing.
“Kid.” The driver was motioning to me.
“Yeah?” I was anxious to find the next one.
“There’s a wooden crate. Just like you said. Do you want me to work around it and put it in the truck? Time to decide.”
There was no question.
“Yeah. Dig it up.”
“Tell you what, just a point I should make.”
“What’s that?”
“If this is bodies we’re diggin’ up, there’s a pretty stiff penalty for that.”
“These crates aren’t that big.”
“I probably shouldn’t admit to this,” he paused, “but I actually done that before. Dug up a body. Just don’t ask why.”
He pushed the backhoe into the earth, pried up the wooden box, then turned around and lifted it with the front loader. It looked right. Pretty much the dimensions that were outlined in Matthew Kriegel’s letter. And hopefully there was two hundred pounds of gold inside. We’d know soon enough.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
They came up one after another. Box after box and I was ready to scream. James and Em left their posts periodically to run over and see the wooden crates.
“Team, we’ve got to make sure no one gets close to this site.” Maria would motion for them to go back and guard the borders.
“Don’t know what’s in these that you want, but the boxes are well preserved.” The dump truck driver stood there, puffing on a cigarette.
I was in awe as I ran the detector over another box buried about five feet below the surface. The boxes were in great shape.
“Silicate.” Maria Sanko had walked up and heard his comment.
I pulled out my earplug. “What’s that?”
