Search Me (19 page)

“Hang on. Lemme check the index.” After skimming the D’s, I sucked in a breath. “
Datsunal’asgunyi
or ‘where there are tracks’ refers to Track Rock Gap five miles outside of Blairsville in Union County.” I jerked my head up from the book and grinned. “Houston, I think we have a real live place to start.”

Maddox laughed. “Hell yeah.”

While he scribbled down Track Rock Gap, I took out the Georgia maps book from my bag. I opened it to one of all the Northern counties and circled Union. “All right, so we’re going south from Track Rock Gap and then somewhere west…”

“Past the talking rocks,” Maddox replied.

“No,
‘where the rocks talk’, not ‘talking rocks’.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Just like ‘where there are tracks’, I bet we have to find it as ‘where the rocks talk’.”

Maddox grunted. “Whatever. It all sounds like someone was toking on the peace pipe when they wrote this!”

I ignored his comment and started reading about the Cherokee place names that could potentially be southeast of Track Rock Gap. I had just dabbed a fry in some ketchup when my eyes landed on the words Talking Rock. “Oh my God. Here it is.” I cried, sliding the book over to Maddox.

He then started reading aloud. “While Talking Rock officially became a town in 1852, it was first a creek in upper Pickens County that flows into the Coosawatee River. There are two theories on how it received its Cherokee name—
Nunyu-gunwani’ski
, or where the rocks talk. One says that the echoes that played off the rocks made it seem as if someone was talking or the rocks themselves were talking. The other comes from a certain rock near the creek where Cherokee tribes often held council meetings.” He looked up. “Okay then. Talking Rock it is.”

Peering down at the map, I circled Pickens County. “Hey look. It matches the directions too.” I said, bringing my finger south from Track Rock Gap and west over to Talking Rock. “Now we just need to find out where there are caves in Talking Rock.”

“It’s supposed to be where the pretty fawn shed her tears…” Maddox rubbed his chin—his usual quirk when he was thinking pretty hard. “You know the Cherokee’s were like most Native Americans and named people after animals and all. What if this ‘pretty fawn shedding tears’ was a chick?”

“Hmm, let me see what’s in here under the name Pretty Fawn.” As I thumbed over the titles, I asked, “Want some dessert?”

“You’re
still
hungry?” Maddox asked.

I glanced up from the book long enough to shoot him a nasty look. “Yeah, I am. Do you have a problem with that?”

He shook his head while holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Easy now. Don’t freak out. We’ll get you some chocolate.” He called Tina over again. “Can we get two hot fudge sundaes please?”

“Coming right up.”

He grinned. “Happy now?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you.”

“Got anything yet?”

My eyes scanned over a couple of pages, desperately searching for anything that mentioned a fawn, period. After Tina returned with our sundaes, I finally found something. “There seems to be a legend about a Chief’s daughter named, Pretty Fawn, and the white man she loved.”

“Why do I have the sickening feeling this is going to end up like a soap opera plot?”

“Good call,” I replied.

He sighed. “Fine. Hit me with it.”

“It seems that Pretty Fawn was promised to a great Creek warrior named Grey Eagle as a way to mend the peace between the two tribes. But she didn’t love Grey Eagle —she instead had fallen in love with a farmer named—” I nearly choked on my sundae. “No way.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

“The farmer’s name was Avery Jensen.”

Maddox’s eyes widened. “Jensen? You mean as in the creep out to kill us
Jensen
?”

I nodded. “When he first came to Maudie’s, he mentioned something about the painting having ties to his family. I had no idea it was something like this.”

“Man, that’s intense.” He spooned in a glob of ice cream. “So what else does it say?”

“It seems that Pretty Fawn took part of the gold dowry that was supposed to be given to Grey Eagle and buried it in the secret cave where she and Avery used to meet up. It was supposed to be the money they could escape with. But then the night that Pretty Fawn and Avery were going to run away, Grey Eagle and some of his Creek warriors caught Avery Jensen and murdered him.”

“That blows,” Maddox replied through a mouthful of ice cream. “What happened to her?”

I shuddered. “When she found out what had happened to Jensen, she jumped off the highest cliff of the waterfalls at their meeting place and drowned.” My appetite was suddenly gone, so I pushed my half-eaten sundae away. “That’s so sad.”

Maddox frowned. “Okay, so if she took a flying leap, how did anyone find out about the gold or make the map?”

“Huh, I hadn’t thought about that one,” I replied, going back to my reading. “Ah, here we go. Pretty Fawn’s father, Onaconah, was so grief-stricken after her suicide that he viewed her dowry as blood money and wanted no part of it. He sent his son, Notley, to the cave to bury the rest of it in the same place Pretty Fawn had once hidden it.”

With a snap of his fingers, Maddox said, “And what do you bet Notley is the one who made the map?”

“And,” I paused, letting all the details fall into place, “He became the chief who was in Maudie’s portrait.”

“Damn…that’s some intense Sherlock Holmes stuff.”

I laughed. “I know, right?”

Maddox slid the book over where he could read it. “The location of the cave is a two mile hike off rural Talking Rock Springs trail. Historians note the irony of the location of Pretty Fawn’s cave. It was northeast of her tribe’s settlement. Since Cherokee’s believed that the direction of North meant defeat and trouble coupled with West’s meaning of death, it is thought that Pretty Fawn and Jensen were doomed to begin with.” He closed the book. “Great. Nothing like a little superstition or bad omens to go along with the cave location.”

“At least we know where to go. We could still be stuck at square one about where in the county the cave was.”

“True. Very true.”

We both sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the map with astonished looks on our faces. “I can’t believe we actually figured it all out,” I said.

Maddox grinned. “I guess we make a good team, huh? Maybe we can become crime fighters or some shit.”

I laughed. “Does that mean we’ll get to wear really cool outfits or have code names?”

“Maybe. Or we could become FBI agents and get to flash around our badges.”

“You’re a man with a plan, that’s for sure.”

Maddox eyed his watch. “Since the day is practically shot, whatcha think about staying put here, and then getting a start bright and early in the morning?”

“Makes sense to me.” I glanced around the bar that was starting to fill up with some of the early evening crowd. “Just what do you suggest we do while we’re here?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Anything and everything.”

Inwardly, I groaned. I had a feeling it was going to be a really, really long night.

I had just started packing the Cherokee Lore
book and our notepad of clues into Maddox’s bag when West ambled over to the table. I quickly slid the map back into my mammoth purse before he could see it.

West tossed a quarter up and down in his palm. “You guys finished?”

“Yes, finally,” I replied.

“So that means you guys can finally start unwinding?”

Maddox laughed. “Yeah, it does. What did you have in mind?”

“How about some music?”

I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

West nodded and then headed over to the jukebox across from us. Maddox had just taken a large swig of his beer when the song blared out of the speakers. Immediately, he started choking, spewing a stream of Budweiser across the table.

“Are you all right?” I asked, handing him some napkins.

“Fine,” he muttered, although his usual tan features seemed to have paled. Between bouts of coughing, he blotted up the soda.

West came sauntering back over to us with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Thought I’d torture you a little with this one.”

Maddox glowered at him. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate the trip down memory lane.”

“What’s the deal with the song? It’s one of Poison’s, isn’t it?” I asked. My knowledge of 80’s metal, big hair bands came from Maddox. His dad had been a huge fan and had even taken Maddox to some reunion concerts. He had passed on the appreciation to me during our summers together.

West ignored Maddox’s pleading look. “Yep. It’s
I Won’t Forget You
by Poison.” He dragged a chair over to our booth. He spun it around and then straddled it, draping his arms over the top rung. “Let me tell you what this douchebag used to do. Friday nights at the hospital, we would have karaoke. And every freaking time, Mad Dog had to sing
I Won’t Forget You.”

“I didn’t know you could sing,” I said to Maddox.

West grimaced. “Trust me. He can’t.”

I giggled as Maddox snapped, “Asshole!”

“Dude, after what you put us all through, you deserve a little ragging.”

“The singing was that bad?” I asked.

“Nah, it wasn’t just singing the song over and over. He’d usually get shit-faced after the song went off on smuggled in beer and start crying about this girl who—”

Maddox interrupted West by kicking him in the shin. At West’s questioning look, Maddox gritted his teeth. “That’s enough.”

West stooped over to rub his leg. “Fine man. Christ, you didn’t have to kick the shit out of me though.” He shook his head. “You must be in dire straits for something more hardcore alcohol than beer.” Pushing himself up out of the chair, he said, “I tell you what. Since my old man isn’t here tonight, I’ll slip some of the best Patron we’ve got under the table for you.”

Maddox’s face stretched into a wide grin. “Now there’s something you remember about me that’s good.”

West winked before limping over behind the bar. He grabbed a couple of shot glasses, a large bottle of what I presumed was Patron, and then hustled back to our table. He poured two glasses full and then passed one over to Maddox. “Here’s to us, man.”

“To us. Screaming Eagles forever.” Maddox knocked his shot glass to West’s and then downed the liquid in one gulp. He grunted and brought his hand across his mouth to wipe his lips. “That’s some good tequila.”

“Wanna do a shot with us, Lane?” West asked, refilling his glass.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Maddox silenced me with a snicker. “Dude, you’re so barking up the wrong tree there. Lane doesn’t drink.”

West cocked an eyebrow at me. “You don’t?”

“I do too,” I protested.

Maddox shook his head. “A sip or two of beer, maybe. You know you don’t party.”

“Ah, so she’s really a goody-two shoes?” West asked.

Maddox grinned. “Yep. A total choir-girl priss in toe shoes, no less.”

“Hmm, a ballet dancer. You gotta be pretty flexible for all that!” West said, raising his eyebrows in a slight leer.

Maddox smacked West’s arm and shot him a disgusted look. I snatched the empty shot glass and shoved it in front of West. “Fill it up.”

“Aren’t you a sassy one?” West chuckled. He poured me a shot. “Bottoms up.”

As my lips hovered around the glass, I caught Maddox and West’s intrigued expression. I’m sure at any minute they thought I’d chicken out. Oh yeah, I’d show them. I tipped my head back and swallowed the contents in one fiery gulp. My eyes watered as the tequila rocketed down my throat to burn in my stomach. My cough turned into a pant, and then I smiled sweetly at their shocked faces. “Another.”

“Hot damn, we’ve got us a live one!” West exclaimed.

Maddox put his hand on mine and gave me a warning look. “I think the one was enough.”

West ignored him and filled the shot glass to the brim. “Oh come on, Mad Dog, let the girl cut loose for once. She’s had her head buried in some moldy ass book for hours.” He handed me the shot glass and then picked up his own. “Cheers.”