Randy White - Haunted

I said, “She was never found? I followed the story for a while, but they stopped writing about it so I figured she was okay. It seems like more than four years. You didn’t answer my question about the bones.”

“Nope. Five years next September. At the dig sites, no, there’s nothing that appears to be modern era, but they still have to check.” Birdy sipped her tea while her eyes took in the journal, my notebooks, then found the mimosa seedpod on the night table. “You’ve been working all afternoon.” She studied me. “And you look upset.”

I said, “It was something I just read. I doubt if Theo’s smoke treatment killed any scorpions, but it dried more pages free in the journal. That Civil War was so… damn ugly, the way people from the same country treated each other. Reading about it in history books is one thing. But when a man you’re related to writes about it through his own eyes… well, all that ugliness becomes real.”

I saw a flicker of a smile. “You said damn .”

I hadn’t yet processed the entries I’d just read and wasn’t ready to discuss them. “Was there any mention of them renting a canoe? I’m talking about the missing people. Or owning one?” Birdy gave me a confused look, so I added, “We found a sunken canoe this afternoon. It was underwater but anchored. Someone went to a lot of trouble so it wouldn’t be found.”

“ Really. No, but I didn’t ask. The weather girl was on her way to Labelle to attend a rodeo, so you can scratch the canoe theory. She’d left Orlando after midnight but didn’t show up.”

I said, “I’ve been to a few rodeos and certainly didn’t see any TV stars walking around. I wonder why she went.”

“Weather girls aren’t considered stars, I don’t think. In Labelle, though, well… maybe she was making an appearance.” Birdy looked through the window, the houseboat beyond. “Or could be she liked cowboys. Yesterday, I couldn’t have related”-Birdy vamped a look-“but now I do.”

“All the way from Orlando for a rodeo. Where’d they find her car?”

“Both cars were found in the woods-different places, and years apart, but similar-within four or five miles of the Cadence place. There’s no evidential connection, but that hasn’t stopped the rumors. I’ve got names of two cops who might talk to you off the record. What they told me is, the place is poison. The Cadence house.” She smiled. “You’ll have all the proof you need the house is stigmatized.”

Poison. Birdy had used that word in an earlier text, which I’d found interesting because, at the time, I was doing an Internet search on manchineel and mimosa trees-there are dozens of varieties of mimosas. Matching the seedpod to a photograph hadn’t been easy, nor conclusive.

More information had come from my friend Tomlinson, who seemed to know a lot about “experimental drugs”-possibly because he lives aboard a sailboat and travels. In Brazil there is a species of giant mimosa that locals used in traditional medicine. Sometimes used the roots, often the seedpods. Tomlinson claimed that powder made from the seeds had recreational uses as well. But agreed the photos I had texted didn’t confirm that the Telegraph River mimosas were from Brazil.

I was sitting on the bed, my feet on the floor, and opened the second notebook. It contained notes from my interview with the librarian and abbreviated versions of the stories Brit had told us. I handed the notebook to Birdy, along with a pen. “Write down the names of the deputies, if you have them handy. I’ve got some other things to tell you, but you go first. What about the spot Theo dug up?”

She talked while she swiped at her iPhone. “He wasn’t authorized. That much, Leslie will swear to, but that’s not enough. I had my hopes up because the GPR produced several three-dimensional images that looked like coins scattered over more coins about four feet deep. That’s the spot where Theo dug. Metal, plus what appeared to be more human bones. No doubt about the metal, but, when we got there, Theo had already filled the hole in.”

“Today, you mean?”

“Early this morning. Leslie was pissed.” She paused to write the names and numbers, then handed the notebook back to me. “He wanted to wait until the other cops arrived, but I talked him into going ahead. We took turns with the shovels until we got close, then we waited. After that, with a dozen uniforms and detectives watching, we used trowels and brushes, which took damn-near forever. They weren’t impressed by what we found. I don’t blame them.”

I checked the names she’d written down. Both were unfamiliar. “I bet I know why-Theo stole all the valuable stuff. The coins-of course he took those. Could Dr. Babbs tell from his radar unit if they were gold or silver? I know a man-a former lieutenant governor, in fact-he has a metal detector that supposedly can tell the difference.”

“Not so fast. There’s no evidence that Theo took a damn thing. That’s the problem, which was no surprise when we saw what was there. No coins, just stacks of crumbling cans and jar lids. You know, metal that looked like coins in the photos. That’s probably why Theo filled in the hole. Oh, and a pocket watch. That was interesting, at least. And the bones might be cattle bones.”

I said, “All that work for a garbage dump? Dr. Babbs told us he’d made a remarkable discovery.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn about archaeology. Garbage collectors from the future, that’s what field scientists are. Leslie was happy as a kid on Christmas morning. Apparently, canned food was a big deal during the Civil War. The Borden Company, same one as today. Food in cans was issued later in the war, mostly, and mostly to Union soldiers. To an archaeologist, that’s a great find. How did Union supplies end up in the middle of nowhere Florida? Pocket watches were a new thing, too. Every cop there was, like, What a waste of time, but not Dr. Leslie. He’s a kook-a lot of them are-but cute in his way.”

I said, “No more tequila for you if you think Leslie Babbs is an attractive man. Were the cans and things too fragile to touch? I’m wondering why they were found in one pile. People weren’t fussy about littering in those days. What I’m getting at is, why did they bury it all in one place?”

“Of course he didn’t touch anything. I helped him rig a scaffolding so he could use a handheld macro lens and a laptop to snap stills. All he had to work with was the surface layer, but he got some decent shots-the name Borden Meat Biscuits was stamped into a couple of lids. That was pretty cool. Contextually, Theo had done very little damage. I don’t know why unless it’s because he got interrupted-or it didn’t cross his mind there might be something under all that rust and tin.”

I said, “That’s it? Theo’s not going to be arrested?”

“For what? No eyewitnesses, no proof. You and I saw him inside Leslie’s camper, but you heard Leslie’s version this morning. He said he doesn’t remember giving Theo permission. There’s a reason he doesn’t want to press the issue, I think.” Birdy stood, walked to the nightstand, and picked up the seedpod, not particularly interested but before I could stop her.

“What’s this?”

“I’m not sure yet. Now that you’ve touched it, go wash your hands.”

She dropped the thing as if it were hot. “Why?”

“I just told you-I’m not sure what it is. But, if I’m right, it might explain why so many bad things have happened at the Cadence house.”

“My god, you could have warned me.” She went to the sink, hands up, palms turned inward, like a surgeon awaiting gloves. As she washed, she asked, “Those are poison, you mean? What’s that have to do with the Cadence house?”