Double Eagle Double Cross, page 22
He felt lethargic. No energy. Sleepy. As he began to nod off, he realized the danger in what he was doing. He had slept poorly because of the cold and uncomfortable conditions. He hadn’t eaten in—what?—probably at least twenty-four hours, maybe more. He had lost all track of time. He was sure he was dehydrated. His body was betraying him. If he allowed himself to doze off here, eventually the kerosene would run out and he would once again be in darkness, and this time he might not wake up.
Reluctantly, with great effort, Charley dragged himself to his feet. He stood, a bit unsteadily, ready to stagger on, this time with the lantern to guide the way. He surveyed the area, his mind working slowly, sure there was something else he should do. After some thought, he nodded. He pulled one of the remaining two lanterns from the shelf, placed it on the sand near the lit lantern, and pulled off the protective cloth. He quickly removed the glass, released the latch, and opened the access to the reservoir. He then retrieved the can that contained the spare kerosene. This time the cap came away easily. He didn’t have to keep his finger in the hole to guide the spout or judge the depth. The liquid in the second lamp reached the top as the last drops of kerosene fell from the spout.
Charley quickly reattached the latch and replaced the glass. He made sure the lid was tightly secured on the can that held the matches then managed to stuff it into one of the large side pockets of his windbreaker. He picked up the spare lantern in one hand and the lit lantern in the other. Looking over his shoulder to check the direction of his rope compass, he turned and started down the narrow gorge with renewed confidence.
With the lamp to light his way, the going was much faster and easier. He had been traveling for only a few minutes when he discovered a small waterfall spilling down the face of the rocks on his left. It was not surprising, considering how much rainfall there was in this region, and it provided a welcome relief. He knew that, at least in the short term, his two biggest enemies were hypothermia and dehydration. The lamp and now the waterfall had temporarily staved off those two concerns.
He placed the lanterns on the sand, and then, cupping his hands, he was able to drink his fill. He wished he had some sort of canteen or something to carry a supply of water, but he could think of nothing to use so continued on, figuring that he would come to the end of this passage, whatever that meant, before he needed more water. His mind was much clearer now that he had rehydrated, but his stomach was beginning to rumble. The water had reminded it that there were other things that would make it happy.
Charley had traveled for only a few more minutes when he came to an abrupt halt. He wasn’t sure if what he was looking at was good news or bad. The passage was blocked by a large, iron gate. The bars, about six inches apart, reached from the stone floor to the stone ceiling. Huge hinges held the gate to the wall on his left, bolts firmly anchored into the rock face. On his right, the gate was held fast by a large, ancient, rusted padlock. The good news was the gate meant that, most likely, this passage led out somewhere. The bad news was he had to get through the gate first.
Charley placed the two lanterns on the ground, grasped the heavy iron bars, and shook the gate. Although he was able to produce some rattling, there was no apparent weakness in any of the hinges or anchors. He inspected the ancient padlock, attempting to turn it to the light of the lantern. It was a key lock, and for a moment Charley thought he might be able to pick it, but upon closer inspection, he realized that the salt air had done its work. The thing was so rusted it was unlikely even the original key would work in it anymore.
Charley stepped back and considered the problem. His only hope, it appeared, was for the rust that had clogged the lock to have done its work on some of the other pieces of metal also. He turned and picked up the lit lantern and carefully searched back down the passage, taking care not to trip over his rope compass. He considered discarding it, and he supposed he would eventually, but for now he needed to work on something else. Soon he found what he was looking for—a large rock that he could hold in his hand. He quickly returned to the gate, and taking aim at the metal to which the padlock was attached, he began to pound.
Chapter 31
“Where do you think they might be?” Bill stuffed his hands in his pockets, not really expecting any specific answer.
Mac glanced out the front windows, noticing that the long blades of saw grass in front of the beach house were beginning to bend to the north, the windbreakers and hoodies of the walkers on the beach flapping in the same direction. The ocean glittered in a bright display of sunshine and white caps. She searched, hoping to see Jim and Bob out on the sand.
“They’re transients,” she heard Peter respond. “They could be anywhere from camping in the dunes to hanging out downtown looking for a free handout to hitchhiking somewhere and long gone.”
“I don’t think so,” Obie countered.
“Why’s that?”
“Because if they really are the key to finding Charley, like we are hoping, they’ll make themselves available. I think they’ll stay close.”
Mac felt a sense of urgency and with it a sense of frustration. “So what do we do then?” she snapped. “Just sit around and wait?”
He looked at her, seemed to recognize her impatience, seemed to understand, and suddenly she felt embarrassed, but for what she wasn’t exactly sure.
“No. We’ll find them,” he assured her, his voice firm and resolved. “And we’ll get this whole mess resolved.” He turned back to the others. “Bill, you and Jack take the van and ride into town. Go clear down into Old Town. Ask around. See if anybody has seen them. Mac, you go south, back down the beach toward the jetty, but check up in the dunes to see if they’re holed up somewhere. Peter, you go north up the beach to see if they’re in that direction. I’ll take a walk up the road just so we cover our bases there. We’ll meet back here in an hour.”
“What about breakfast?” Jasmine asked. “None of you have eaten yet this morning.”
“I think this takes precedence,” Bill growled.
Edie stepped to the counter and picked up a spatula. “Jasmine and I will fix breakfast. It will be ready in an hour when you all get back.”
Mac was already moving toward the door. “I think we’ve all got cell phones. If anybody finds them, let the rest of us know.” She pulled open the door and gave an involuntary, and for her an embarrassing, squeal, then recovering, she said, “I think I’ll just stay here and wait for them to show up.”
Jim and Bob stood inches from the door, Jim’s hand poised in the air as though ready to knock. Bob peered over his shoulder, his eyes wide in surprise at the sight of Mac, but then, as his gaze seemed to focus beyond her deeper into the house, he spied Edie and exclaimed, “Pancakes?”
“Mac,” she heard Obie call from behind her. “Are you going to invite these two gentlemen inside?”
“Uh. Oh, yes,” she stuttered. “Please, come in.” She stood aside, holding the door wide.
Jim and Bob stepped across the threshold. They appeared oddly self-conscious, taking the time to fastidiously wipe their feet on the doormat before stepping into the room. Mac closed the door behind them. The two men were now surrounded by a circle of old people, who, it appeared, had no immediate intention of feeding them pancakes.
“Do you know where Charley is?” Mac demanded without preamble.
Both Jim and Bob turned back to her and shrugged. “No,” Jim answered for both of them. “Why?”
The question was so simple and the answer so complex that Mac was at a loss for words to try to explain.
“Do you have something for us, perhaps some key to help us find him?”
They both turned back toward Obie but this time, hesitated.
“Maaaybe,” Bob replied slowly.
“Maybe?” Peter growled. “What does that mean?”
“I’ll make you hotcakes if you tell us,” Edie chimed in, waving the spatula in the air as though that proved her trustworthiness.
Both men seemed to hesitate, although Mac noticed that Bob eyed the spatula hungrily and nudged Jim on the arm.
“We can only give it to the one known as beautiful,” Jim blurted. Oddly, it sounded more like some code word than simple instructions.
“Well, that counts you out, Bill,” Obie grumbled.
Bill’s gaze slowly swung toward Obie, seeming to size him up. “And you think you’re still in the running?”
“What do you mean the beautiful one? That could be a matter of opinion.” Peter pulled the focus from the two old men’s bantering and back to Jim and Bob.
Jim shook his head. “Not the one who is beautiful,” Jim clarified. “Although they may very well be, but there’s a lot of beautiful people in the world. No, dude, this has to be the one who is known as beautiful.”
“What’s the difference?” Jack demanded.
Obie answered Jack’s question, but he seemed to be staring at Mac, his eyes piercing into hers. “I suspect it’s kind of like what you were trying to get us to understand—the difference between being Mayan or because it’s Mayan.”
Suddenly, Mac understood, and although publicizing it was a bit embarrassing, she appreciated Charley’s cunning in making sure they told the right person the key, and at the same time she found it gratifying. Maybe Charley hadn’t completely crossed her off after all. “In Navajo, I am known by my middle name, Nixhoni.” She spoke slowly, carefully framing her words to fit the criteria described by Jim. She noticed her grandfather nod, but then she turned her full attention back to Jim. “It’s a Navajo name. It means ‘beautiful.’”
Jim nodded in a manner that reminded her of the way her grandfather had just done it.
“Do you have something for me?”
Jim turned to Bob, who gave her that big, lopsided grin. “Sure do.”
“Can you tell it to me?”
Now Bob looked confused. “Uh, no.”
Now it was Mac’s turn to look confused. “But you just said . . .”
Jim slapped Bob’s chest with the back of his hand. “Just do it, dude. You know this is what Charley wanted.”
Bob swallowed, nodded, then reached behind his neck and began removing some sort of thin leather strap. He pulled it over his head. As it came out of the neck of his shirt, Mac could see it was laced through the opening of a small brass key. “Here you go, dudette!” Bob held it at arm’s length, the key dangling at the end of the loop. “Or should I say, Beautiful?”
Jim snorted and slapped Bob on the chest. “Nixhoni, dude.”
Mac stared at the key. She had expected some form of verbal direction, perhaps a word or phrase telling them where to go or where Charley might be. Instead the key was just a key, a real key. Tentatively, she reached out and grasped the leather, holding the key closer for inspection.
“What’s it to?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” Jim replied with an apologetic shrug.
She felt Bill move closer to her. “It looks like a key to a safety deposit box.”
“I would agree.” Jasmine peered past his shoulder.
“That’s what we thought too,” Jim replied.
“You thought too?” Mac looked up.
Jim nodded. “Yep. Told Charley that when he found it, but he never told us what he figured out.”
“Two possibilities,” Obie observed. “It’s either from a safety deposit box, or it fits something around here, a safe or something.”
“So which is it?” Jack asked.
“Don’t know. That’s something we’re going to have to figure out. Bill, you have some experience searching houses. Why don’t you stay here with Peter, Jasmine, and Edie. You guys can start searching the house for something this key might fit while Edie feeds these two gentlemen the pancakes she promised them.”
Bill nodded but then raised an eyebrow in question. “And what are you three going to be doing?”
“We’re going to take Jack’s van and start checking out banks.”
“But even if we find a bank that this goes to,” Mac countered, “they’re not going to just give us access to someone else’s box.”
“First things first,” Obie countered. “We’ll worry about that when, and if, we find a bank that fits that key. We might just be hurrying back here to open whatever it is these guys find.”
Mac nodded. Her impatience tended to get her ahead of what she should be thinking. It was her grandfather’s scientific training that reminded her to take it one step at a time.
“And,” her grandfather added, “we need to hurry.”
“Why?”
“We have an appointment with the gentleman who is going to tell us about Aleshanee Smith and your pouch at one o’clock this afternoon.”
In her worry about Charley, Mac had completely forgotten about Aleshanee and their reason for being there. “Grandpa,” she argued, “finding Charley is a lot more important than worrying about that purse. I think we should just cancel that appointment.”
“Maybe,” he replied calmly. “But let’s wait until we find out what we can between now and then. One thing at a time.”
Again, her impatience had gotten the better of her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, then impatiently followed Jack and her grandfather out the front door.
Chapter 32
They followed Heceta Beach Road away from the ocean, Jack pushing the forty-mile-an-hour speed limit while Obie searched his phone.
“I’m finding at least five banks in Florence and a few credit unions. Any idea which one?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Mac, who sat in the captain’s chair directly behind him, subconsciously pressing her foot against the floor, urging Jack to go faster.
She hesitated then blurted, “That old checkbook, the one with the note in it, had Siuslaw Bank on the checks. We should probably check that one out first.”
Begay scrolled down through the list of banks on his phone, his frown deepening. “I’m finding an Umpqua Bank. You sure that wasn’t it?” Mac shook her head. “No. I’m sure it said Siuslaw, just like the Indian tribe. Why?”
“Because I’m not finding any Siuslaw Bank in Florence—or anywhere else for that matter.”
“So what do we do?”
“Well, I suppose we just start trying every place in town and hope to get lucky,” he replied.
“If it’s a safety deposit box, it wouldn’t be a credit union,” Jack said as he swept around a turn and slowed as they neared an intersection. “We need to focus on the banks.”
“But which one?” Mac asked.
“First things first,” Obie reminded her. “We’ll start with the closest one and work our way from there.”
Most of the banks in Florence, like the businesses, seemed to be either on or near Highway 101. The closest was U.S. Bank. They found the Florence branch of U.S. Bank just south of 25th Street on the east side of Highway 101 where 23rd Street should intersect but didn’t. They were momentarily confused, but Obie saw the sign, and Jack was able to slow and cross oncoming traffic in time to safely pull the van into the parking lot. They entered, unsure of exactly how they should approach the problem. In the end, they simply showed the key to a teller who confirmed, with a look of curiosity and suspicion, that the key did not fit anything they had at their bank. They said thank you, and before the teller could ask any further questions, they exited the bank and climbed back into the van.
The next bank on the list was the Oregon Pacific Bank. Once again, they entered the foyer of the bank, stood, indecisive, unsure of their next step.
“May I help you?”
It was a woman, middle-aged, portly as middle-aged business people will tend to be but not fat. She was wearing a business suit, unlike the tellers, and Mac had the sense she had stepped out from a nearby desk, possibly a manager of some sort. She seemed welcoming enough, eager to possibly open a new account.
“I hope so,” Mac returned her smile then held up the key. “We found this key in the effects of my late grandfather.” She had come up with the small lie as she had come through the door, hoping to avoid the suspicion she had sensed in the first bank. Obie’s eyes widened at the unexpected news of his recent demise, but he kept the rest of his face impassive.
“We have no idea what it goes to, but it has been suggested that it may fit a safety deposit box somewhere. Would it happen to fit one of yours?”
“Let me see.” The woman stretched her hand, palm up, and Mac, a bit reluctantly, handed her the key. “What did you say the name of your grandfather was?” she asked as she held the key high, examining it in the light.
“I didn’t,” Mac blurted, then when the woman looked over the top of her glasses, Mac realized her reticence might cause more suspicion than it was worth. She smiled and continued, “Sawyer. Charles Sawyer.”
The woman went back to examining the key. After a moment, she handed the key back to Mac. “Doesn’t ring a bell, and although I suspect this is a key to a safety deposit box, I’m afraid it wouldn’t fit any of ours.”
“You’re sure?” Mac asked, disappointment evident in her voice.
“Mmm hmm,” the woman confirmed, leaning in close and pointing to the key. “See the letters and numbers on the top there? They don’t match our identification system.”
They said their thank-you’s, left the bank, and climbed back into the van.
“Interesting near-death experience,” Obie muttered as he retrieved his phone and checked to see where they needed to go for their next stop.
“I never said you were dead,” Mac retorted. “Just late.”
Obie directed Jack to turn right out of the parking lot, continuing their search. At 8th Street they turned right again then left into the parking lot of the Banner Bank. Jack parked the large van near the back of the lot where it wouldn’t be so intrusive, then they all walked across the asphalt and into the bank.
Four tellers’ booths occupied one long counter. This time, Obie asked for a manager who might be available. They were ushered to a small, glassed-in cubicle where they were shown two uncomfortable, generic office chairs of stainless steel and fabric and assured that someone would be with them shortly. It was about five minutes later that a portly, balding man, who Mac thought had “banker” written all over him, approached and introduced himself as Mr. Ogletree. They all stood, and after introductions were made, they seated themselves, Jack sitting next to Mac, Obie standing, Ogletree behind his desk.
