7 Never Haunt a Historian (5 page)

“We should let Maura and the police know,” Leigh finished.

He nodded in agreement.

“Grandma, we found a treasure map!” Lenna said excitedly, opening the door. Leigh’s Aunt Lydie, who was coming over to stay with Mathias and Lenna while Cara and Gil went on a weekend trip to Lake Chautauqua, responded to the news with her usual unflappable calm.

“Did you, dear?” she said with feigned interest. “Can I see?”

Lenna bounced over and yoinked the paper from Leigh’s hand. “Look here!” she explained excitedly, holding the paper up to her grandmother and pointing. “Allison says this is Snow Creek. And this is the little creek by our house. See?”

Lydie’s brow furrowed. She studied the map a moment, then cast a glance at Leigh and Warren. “Where did this come from?” she asked, her interest no longer feigned.

Leigh explained. Lydie buried her nose in the map, walked backward over to the recliner, and sat down.

Leigh allowed herself a twinge of hope. Lydie, who had raised Cara as a single parent working two and sometimes three jobs, had gone back to college in her fifties and earned a double major in accounting and history. With luck, maybe she would have an edge on understanding chicken scratches and confusing symbols.

“What do you think, Grandma?” Lenna persisted.

Lydie’s lips puckered. “Well, I think the original map—the one this is a copy of—must have been old. Quite old.”

“Why?” Leigh asked.

Lydie pointed to the right edge of the paper. “Well, for one thing, it shows the Harmony Railroad Line. I don’t know when the actual tracks were taken up, but the line stopped running in the early thirties. And then there are the trees. I’m guessing this cross-hatch pattern is forest, based on what’s on the hill behind Cara’s farm. Those are older woods, with big oaks. But look at the far left, where there are plenty of trees now. This map shows nothing. People tend to forget that all the flat areas around here used to be farmland. Most of the trees you see now are relatively young maples and evergreens that have grown up since the area went residential.”

Leigh sat up. Her aunt had also done some graduate work—in historic preservation. “How old do you think the original map might have been, then?”

Lydie cocked her head. “Well, I’m no expert on maps, you understand. But if I had to guess, I’d say no later than the early thirties. Probably earlier.”

The children’s eyes widened. “That’s almost a hundred years old!” Mathias exclaimed. “Wow!”

“Don’t make me feel older than I am, young man,” Lydie said drolly. “The early thirties were only eighty some-odd years ago, thank you very much.”

“Still,” Ethan chimed in. “That’s
old!”

“I found it!” Lenna reminded.

Allison crept quietly to her great aunt’s side. “Can you understand the lines, Grandma Lydie?” she asked. “It’s strange that there are so many Xs, don’t you think?”

Lydie’s brow creased further. After another moment she shook her head and rose. She handed the map back to Leigh. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Makes no sense to me. You kids ready to go?”

“Almost,” Mathias said meaningfully, staring at Leigh. The other three children were staring at her as well.

“Yes?” she asked, perplexed.

Mathias cleared his throat, his tone all business. “I believe the contract was for one more cookie each?”

“The
contract?”

Warren laughed out loud.

She smacked him with the map. “Fine. One more cookie each.”

The children turned in unison and headed toward the kitchen. “But don’t make your grandmother wait too long,” she added. “And from now on, could you please make an attempt to talk like normal ten year olds?”

Mathias spun around on a heel. “I’m thirteen!” he said indignantly.

Leigh sighed. “So you are, as of last month. Duly noted.”

He nodded smugly and rejoined the others.

“Could I see that map again a moment?” Lydie asked, stretching out a hand.

Leigh complied.

Lydie adjusted her glasses, the lines of her face creasing deeply in concentration. “I wonder what ‘The Guide’ is. I’m not familiar with the buildings down that way. What do you think the arrow is pointing to?”

Lydie held out the map so that Warren and Leigh could take another look.

A heaviness crept into the pit of Leigh’s stomach.

“That’s Archie Pratt’s house,” she answered.

***

Water sloshed over the side of the bucket Ethan was holding, drenching Leigh’s shoes for the second time today.

“Sorry, mom,” he apologized. “You want me to carry it in for you?”

“No,” Leigh answered quickly. “The dog is going to be upset enough about one person going in.”

“Maybe I should go,” Allison piped up. She was standing behind Leigh’s elbow, holding a heaping bowl of dog food. “Animals like me, you know. Grandpa says it’s because I’m not intimidating.”

“You also haven’t been vaccinated against rabies,” Leigh reminded. “And I have.”
Thanks to client nutcase #453,
she thought uncharitably, remembering the man with the silver nail polish and George Washington wig who had sworn up and down that his outdoor cat had been vaccinated every year since kittenhood and was only stumbling around because his crazy neighbors were trying to poison them both with nerve gas. The cat hadn’t bitten her, but just holding the animal for five minutes had earned her a one-way ticket to vaccination land. That was a long time ago, when she had been subbing as a vet tech at her father’s practice, and she doubted seriously that she was still immune. But her daughter wouldn’t know that.

“It’s probably worn off by now,” Allison said with a pout.

Leigh did not respond. She looked at the opening to the cellar under Archie’s tool shed, but could barely see it in the dark. The days were getting shorter all too quickly. “Warren?” she called. “Where are you with the light?”

“Right here,” he answered from a few feet behind her, turning the beam back on her and the children, where it had been until just before Ethan bumped into her.

“What’s up?” Leigh asked. She knew he had insisted on accompanying them because he was concerned about Archie’s disappearance, not because he “needed some exercise” as he had claimed. The children weren’t fooled, either. Not only because the seasoned ex-politician never broke a sweat, but because he was about as comfortable in the great outdoors as Daniel Boone at a Star Trek convention. Leigh had only convinced him to move into a place as countrified as this by tempting him with the ultimate man-toy—a riding mower.

“Sorry,” he responded, not answering the question. There was something odd in his voice, and Leigh made a mental note to ask him about it later.

She reached down and pushed the broken cellar door to the side. Then she slowly opened the other one, leaned in, and listened. There were no squealing sounds this time, but the low growling began right on cue. “Okay,” she instructed. “Warren, you shine the light down the stairs. Allison, give me the bowl. I’m going to set it down right at the bottom—close enough for her to smell it, but hopefully
not
close enough she’ll feel obliged to warn me off. If I start to run back up, don’t stand there staring—get out of the way. She might follow me. Got it?”

“Got it, Mom!” Ethan said enthusiastically. “When do I take the water down?”

“I’ll
take the water down,” Leigh corrected, “if she reacts all right to the food. Otherwise we’ll leave it here. For now, just set it on the ground. All right. Here goes.”

She took the food bowl from Allison, inhaled, and started down the narrow stone steps. The growls grew louder. She began to talk soothingly to the dog, keeping her movement slow and steady. When she descended the last step, the dog seemed ready to rise again, but much to Leigh’s relief, the animal instead lifted her nose into the air and sniffed. “That’s right,” Leigh said with a smile. “You get it now.
Food.
You remember the good stuff, don’t you?”

Looking at the mother dog from a closer vantage point, Leigh was not at all sure that the dog did remember. The mongrel was painfully thin, with nearly every bone showing through her short coat of once-white, filthy fur. As Leigh set the bowl down on the ground the dog lifted a threatening lip, but the gesture was clearly half-hearted, and her growling had ceased. “Good girl,” Leigh praised. “Now let me get you some clean water. We both know you’re thirsty, and Snow Creek’s a long walk for a mother in your condition. Right?”

Leigh made her way back up the stairs, where Ethan eagerly handed down the pail.

Water splashed all over her shoes again.

“Sorry, Mom,” he repeated.

She carried the bucket down the steps and placed it by the food bowl. The mother dog hadn’t moved, but lay still as a statue, staring longingly at the bowls. Leigh took a quick look around. With the light beam centered on the stairs, she couldn’t see much more than she had been able to earlier in the day. But she did see what had struck her as out of place. On the dirt floor not far from the dog’s nest of rags lay a large, bright-yellow plastic flashlight.

The dog began growling again.

Leigh took the hint.

She recommenced her cooing and moved slowly back up the stairs. Once out, she turned around and began replacing the doors.

“Good job, Mom!” Ethan praised.

Warren kept the light on the doors, and no sooner had Leigh moved the broken one back into position than she heard a familiar sound from below. She peeked through the hole to see the dog already at the food bowl, wolfing down the kibble.

“Success!” she whispered happily. The children gave a silent cheer. She stood up and allowed them each a chance to peek down the hole. While Warren continued to hold the light in position, she took a few steps away around the corner of the shed, where she could just see the dim outline of Archie’s truck in the same position as before. Her gaze swept hopefully toward the farmhouse, but no light shone from within. She exhaled with a sigh and pivoted back toward the others, then stopped cold.

What was THAT?

Her pulse began to hammer. Her eyes scanned the area by the side of the garage, the area where just a second ago she had sworn she saw—

Leigh gave her head a shake. No. She was losing it. The moonlight was dim; she could barely make out the buildings. Besides, was her long distance vision not deteriorating every year, along with the rest of her body?

The area was dark. Nothing moved.

But something
had
moved. Hadn’t it?

Her shoulders gave a shiver.

“Leigh?” Warren called, shining the light her direction. “You ready to go?”

“Absolutely,” she answered, moving quickly to his side. “Our work here is done.”

“But we’ll keep feeding her,” Allison corrected. “Won’t we, Mom?”

“Of course we will,” Leigh replied.
But only in the daylight.

“Are you all right?” Warren asked quietly, eyeing her with suspicion. The man always could read her like a book.

“I’m great,” Leigh answered, almost certainly unconvincingly.

I didn’t really see a human figure slipping around the corner of the garage. Particularly not a tall one with a funny long coat…

“You sure?” Warren pressed.

“Positive,” Leigh answered.

… and no head.

Chapter 5

“Take this one,” Randall Koslow suggested, pulling the thirty-pound bag of premium puppy food off a stack in the clinic basement and hoisting it over one narrow shoulder. “I’ll carry it out for you.”

Leigh knew better than to argue. Her father might be pushing seventy, but his rail-thin arms were deceptively strong—testament to a lifetime of lifting the dead weight of unconscious dogs on and off of surgery tables.

“Let her eat as much as she wants,” he instructed as they walked, referring to Leigh’s latest stray. With his sister-in-law and now his daughter on the board of a bustling animal shelter, he was more than used to donating both supplies and his professional time to the cause. “Make sure she has water and keep everyone else away from her. If she’s smart enough to find shelter out of the wind and the rain, I’ll suspect she’ll manage just fine.”

Leigh nodded. Her father had always been a staunch advocate for getting strays off the street, neutered, and adopted. But she knew that he harbored a secret respect for the wiliest among them, whose determination to remain independent thwarted even his best efforts.

“Thanks, Dad,” she responded, opening the door for him.

“Oh and by the way,” he said dryly as he reached the top of the concrete stairs leading up to the tiny parking lot, “your mother is looking for you.”

Leigh cringed. Over the years she and her father had perfected the art of covert communication where one Frances Koslow was concerned. Their conspiracy was never discussed; it was simply understood. Randall’s actual message was as follows:
Your mother has become obsessed with some new triviality with which she plans to harass you, potentially at some length. You have roughly six seconds to prepare. Godspeed.

Leigh reached the top step and saw exactly what she expected to see: Frances Koslow herself, giant handbag in tow, marching down the steep brick street, heading straight for them with determined strides.

Leigh’s mind raced. What was it this time? Frances hadn’t looked so vexed at her only daughter since discovering that her sainted son-in-law ironed his own shirts.

“Can I have your keys?” Randall asked, holding out his hand. “I’ll go drop this in your trunk.”

Translation:
You’ll be tied up here for some time, and I have to get back to work.

Leigh complied.

“And where have you been, young lady?” Frances spouted as she approached. “I’ve been calling all morning!”

“I have my cell phone,” Leigh offered, knowing the reminder to be pointless. Frances also had a cell phone, but reserved it strictly “for emergencies,” a policy she believed the rest of the world should be equally obliged to follow. The failure of anyone to answer Leigh’s home phone, which Frances had probably been calling every five minutes for the last hour, was no mystery. Lydie had arrived bright and early to take the Pack on a Saturday field trip to the Heinz History Center, and when Leigh had left Warren was out playing in the yard (a.k.a., “mowing the lawn”). “Everyone’s out,” she explained, attempting a casual, cheerful tone. “What’s up?”