The Puzzle of Piri Reis (3 page)

"No. I thought he might mention its location in his
will, but he didn't."

I frowned. "Kind of thoughtless, huh?"

Ted missed my subtle zinger. Seriously, he replied,
"Father was like that. He was, well, different." He held
up his hands to the heavens in frustration. "Anyway, I
searched his office and even his safety deposit boxes
although I knew it wouldn't be there. In the safety deposit boxes, I mean"

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Why, he always said so" When he saw the frown
on my face, he continued. "Father always told me the
location of the map was in his den but I searched every
inch of the den. Nothing. Besides, the map is on parchment, and none of Father's safety deposit boxes were
large enough for the map"

"Just how large is it?"

He held his hands several inches apart. "Forty-fiveby-sixty-one centimeters." From the box he was making with his hands, I figured the map was about
eighteen by twenty-four inches. He picked up the folder
from the desk and handed it to me. "Here. This is the
history of the map, which has been studied by various
universities and military commissions."

The folder contained a half-inch-thick sheath of
single-spaced pages. I whistled softly.

He laughed. "When do you think you can start,
Tony?"

I glanced at my uncluttererd desktop, then at Marty.
"Give me a day or two to clear my desk"

"Is there anything you need me to do in preparation?"

I hesitated. "You said there were several who offered to buy the map. Do you think any of them would
be capable of stealing the map or, as you think, murdering him?"

He shook his head emphatically. "No. Oh, some
didn't care for Father. He was sort of arrogant. He
wasn't an easy man to like, but I can't believe any of them capable of his death, nor can I believe any of them
would steal the map"

I listened to him with a jaundiced mind. I'd seen too
many seemingly honorable individuals turn out to possess the morals and integrity of a feral cat. "Well, maybe
not. Anyway, make me a list of them. When I get there,
we'll look around the den and see what we can come up
with." I paused. "See if we can find a starting spot"

Watching Ted Odom leave, I wondered if he were
capable of his father's murder. He appeared to have
been indulged most of his life. He was soft and artless.

From the corner of my eye, a figure appeared. I
looked up. It was Marty. With the innocence of a child,
he asked, "Well, what do you think?"

"Why didn't you tell me the old man might have
been murdered?"

His eyes grew wide in surprise. "No need. The police said it was an accident. There is no investigation
for us to worry about."

Of course, Marty was right, but I couldn't help wondering just how certain the San Madreas JP was that
Odom's death was an accident. From what I knew of
JPs, some of their decisions were crapshoots. "What if
it turns out his death wasn't an accident?"

Marty shrugged. "We back away, and keep the ten
Gs" A leering grin plastered his pan-shaped face. He
laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. "You worry
too much, Tony. Just get down there and find the map. Think about it. Your share of fifty thousand is five big
ones, right?"

Marty always could find a way to be persuasive.

After work, I rushed home, fed AB, then plopped
down on the couch with a cold Old Milwaukee beer to
peruse the folder Ted Odom had given me.

I had about an hour or so to spare before I picked up
Janice for our eight o'clock dinner date. As usual, we
would, as she so primly phrased it, dine at the Commodore Plaza Hotel overlooking the Colorado River at
the Congress Street Bridge in downtown Austin.

The date was an impromptu surprise, for she had
called me the day before and suggested in her inimitable rich girl's way that she wouldn't mind dinner
and dancing at the Commodore Plaza. Such a spontaneous call was unusual for her. For the most part, she
was a purposeful young lady, and for her, one day's
notice was impulsive. I had a feeling she had something on her mind other than dinner and dancing.

Naturally, I suggested the next night at eight. And
naturally, she accepted. Janice was used to getting her
way.

She and I met a few years back when I helped her
out of an insurance jam. She was the only heir to one
of the largest distilleries in Texas. Neither she nor I
was interested in getting serious, but we had fun together even though I quickly realized I was simply a
dependable escort, an infrequent lover, an occasional
confidant.

In other words, I was a tool to satisfy her various
needs. And she was the same for me. We had reconciled our positions in our relationship. And both were
fairly content with the status quo.

Inexplicably, despite our skewed relationship, from
time to time Janice did speak of our relationship. After
a few of those little discussions, which I really didn't
understand, I learned when to agree and when not to
agree.

Once, she had even worked a case with me, but the
thrill and challenge of long hours, unpleasant surroundings, and even more, unpleasant individuals, could not
in any way compare to the tedium of a gambling jaunt
to Monte Carlo or a boring weeklong ski trip to Vail.

She gave up investigative work, but in fairness to
her, she did a gutsy job on that case with me, just as
gutsy a job as any tough woman could turn out.

Reading through the folder of material, I could only
shake my head in disbelief at such nonsense. That the
Piri Reis Map actually existed was evident, but much
of the background and theories linked with the map
stretched belief beyond the breaking point.

There was no way I could believe navigators had
mapped the shoreline of Antarctica thousands of years
before it froze over, or that in 9500 BC, because of a
polar shift, the continent had moved hundreds of miles
from the north to its present position.

And there was no way I could choke down the theory that the detailed accuracy of the map was the re suit of aerial mapping six thousand years ago. After
reading that off-the-wall hypothesis, I tossed aside the
folder in disgust.

Oh, yes, there was one other thing that boggled my
mind. I couldn't believe there were imbeciles out there
willing to spend thousands of dollars on such garbage.
On the other hand, I once again reminded myself that
somewhere out there is always one more imbecile than
you expected.

At that moment, AB hopped up on the couch and
curled up beside me. I grinned and scratched him behind the ears. "A bunch of nonsense, little guy," I muttered. "Makes you wonder what woodwork these guys
come out of, huh?"

AB just purred contentedly, and despite my AA
vows, I popped open a second beer.

As usual, Janice was a knockout.

Having grown up in Church Point, Louisiana, on
my grandfather's farm until Mom moved us to Austin
when I started high school, I figured everyone was just
like us.

I discovered my mistake when I met Janice. Everyone was not like us. Other than the normal human appendages, the only thing the very rich have in common
with the rest of us is nothing. Their speech is different;
they carry themselves differently; their tastes are
unique; even their attitudes are distinctive.

Janice never shopped at Wal-Mart or Penney's. I
don't think she even knew that such merchants existed. Her clothes, whether simple or elaborate, screamed
haute couture, obscenely expensive.

That night was no exception. She wore a simple white
sheath dress with long sleeves and lacy cuffs about her
wrists and an identical collar caressing her slender neck.
Her diamond earrings and necklace sparkled like a tenfoot Christmas tree. And even if you screwed up the
nerve to ask, she couldn't tell you what they cost. Her
typical response was, "No idea. I bought them because
I liked them"

The maitre d' saw us enter and hurried to escort Janice to her favorite table by the windows overlooking the
river. I ordered white chardonnay, her favorite. For dinner, she ordered terrine de saumon aux epinards-riz
special, salmon and spinach terrine with rice. I never
cared for the classic French cuisine, primarily because
the traditional French in which the menus were printed
was nothing like the Cajun French patois with which I
grew up in Church Point. Consequently, I learned one
entree and side dish that I ordered every time we dined
French, filet mignon aux oignons-gratin dauphinois,
pork filet mignon with onions and a baked potato.

As the waiter left, Janice rested her elbows on the
table, folded her hands together, and laid her chin on
her slender fingers. She smiled warmly. "I'm glad you
could make it tonight, Tony. I've missed you"

Her remarks puzzled me. We'd been out the previous Friday, three days earlier. "I missed you too" I started to ask her what was on her mind but instead I
rose and offered my hand. "Dance?"

We danced until our dinner was served.

As I held her chair for her, I leaned forward and
whispered in her ear. "Are you all right?"

She frowned up at me. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

I shrugged as I sat across the table from her. "I don't
know. You seem different tonight."

Her eyes lit despite a tiny frown wrinkling her forehead. "Different? Oh, and how is that?" She made an
effort to be coy.

Smiling, I laid my hand on hers. "I can't put my finger on it but you seem different tonight. You're always
radiant but tonight you seem even more so"

She squeezed my hand. "That's because I've been
thinking about us, Tony."

I chuckled. "Good things, I hope"

"Oh, yes" She beamed and squeezed my hand again.
"Tony, I've been thinking about you and thought that
maybe it's time for us to talk about getting married"

My life flashed before my eyes. I was at a loss for
words. We had joked about marriage in the past, but
nothing serious. I gave her a weak grin. "Okay. I'll bite.
What's the punchline?"

Her brows knit and her smile faded. Then, figuring I
was just pulling her leg, which I might add, was a very
attractive leg to pull, she laughed. "Now, stop clowning
around, Tony. I'm serious. We've been together for a
few years, and maybe we should think about moving on
with our lives."

My Grand-pere Moise always cautioned me never
to believe that I knew how a woman really felt. Only
God knew, and at times, even though He created her,
He was mistaken. Despite that warning, I couldn't believe Janice was serious. Not wanting to offend her, I
tentatively replied, "Well, you're right about moving on. I haven't really thought about it that much, but then
you know, whenever the subject has come up in the
past we've always joked about it."

She smiled knowingly. "That was then"

Searching for the right words, I grabbed my glass of
chardonnay and with trembling hand, very delicately
chugged down the remainder. "Have-have you talked
to your Aunt Beatrice about it?" Beatrice Morrison was
the CEO of Chalk Hills Distillery, the largest distillery
in Texas. Head of Austin society, she carried herself
with the regal disdain of a modern-day Cleopatra. After Janice's parents died, Beatrice adopted her. Janice
was Beatrice's only living relative, and one day Janice
would be worth more than the Queen of England.

Her smile grew sad. "No. Aunt Beatrice hasn't been
well. I-I didn't want to excite her until I knew how
you felt."

I sensed a degree of reluctance on her part. Leaning
across the table, I laid my hand on hers. She looked
into my eyes, and I made sure to pick my words carefully. "It would be a big step, Janice, especially for
you. You know how I feel. You and me, we're, well, we
come from different backgrounds. You-"

At that moment, her cell phone rang. She ignored it.
It rang again. "Isn't that your cell?"

She nodded. "Whoever it is will leave a message."

I wasn't as concerned about the message as much as
I was a golden opportunity to sidetrack the direction
of our conversation. "It might be important."

With a sigh, she fished the little phone from her diamond-encrusted purse and answered. She stared at
me, her eyes growing wide in alarm. "Which hospital?"
She nodded. "Fine. I'll meet you there" She punched
off and stared at me in disbelief. "It's Aunt Beatrice.
She's had a heart attack"

At 2:00 A.M., Beatrice's doctor informed us it was
angina instead of a heart attack. Still, they wanted to
keep her overnight.

I nodded and squeezed Janice's hand. "I'll take you
home"

She pulled away. "No. I'll spend the night here"

"Okay. I'll stay with you"

She shook her head. "That's sweet of you but it isn't
necessary. Aunt Beatrice has a private room with two
beds. Besides, one of the maids will be here if we need
anything."

I studied her a moment, admiring the cool aplomb
with which she faced the situation. "All right. You have
my cell number. I've got a job down in San Antonio.
I'm leaving in the morning. I'll call before I go"