Randy White - Haunted

100 silver dollars gawn, he’d written with an ink quill pen some months later. The date: December 1864. Jettisoned, hidden, or stolen, the journal had yet to reveal.

Birdy, remembering, asked, “What would a hundred silver dollars be worth now? Captain Summerlin, I like his name.”

“Two or three thousand dollars,” I said, “depending on their condition. I looked it up on the Internet. Silver dollars is how they paid cattlemen in those days, Union and Confederates both.”

“He sold to both sides?”

“Some did,” I said, and let my eyes move around the room. “This had to be a good area for cattle. That’s not much of a river out there, but I bet it was like a highway in those days. Captain Summerlin might have mentioned it in one of his later entries. Not by name, but the location seems about right.” Then I tried to get back to the subject of men by asking, “That archaeologist we met, Theo Ivanhoff, did he seem a little strange to you? In an odd, sneaky sort of way?”

Even when she is yawning from Benadryl, Birdy’s brain works faster than most. “I knew you didn’t like him. That’s why you bit his head off when he went on a talking jag-all because of your uncle the blockade-runner. There had to be a reason. You’re usually so polite.”

She was right about the professor. I didn’t like him.

“I wasn’t mean about it, I just corrected him,” I replied. “I’m glad to hear you say talking jag . I thought you were hanging on every word. That man doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“No,” Birdy said, giving her hair a flip. “I was picturing him in the shower. I bet you were, too.” Said it in a fun, devilish sort of way, her mood back to where it had been before a scorpion landed on her face. “I’ve got forty credit hours in archaeology. Might have majored if the guys were better-looking. Theo’s a five, ordinarily, but he is a solid twelve on the King Tut scale.”

The timing was right to discuss the man I had seen peeping. I started to say, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. When I went outside to get the first-aid kit-”

Three soft raps on the door interrupted me.

“Who the hell could that be?” Birdy said. “Probably teenagers getting a jump on Halloween.” She reached for her pistol. “Stay here. I’ll go.”

Dr. Theo Ivanhoff was trouble. I sensed it, and, before the night was done, he would prove it by trying to sneak a wedge between Birdy and me. Instigate an argument, play one off the other-I had seen this method before.

Even with her sheriff’s deputy instincts, Birdy seemed oblivious. The two of them had archaeology, an empty Friday night and loneliness in common. She liked the shape and size of the man, I suppose.

Softened by firelight, Theo was decent-looking, I had to admit, but in a way I consider feminine, like a sheik in a silent movie. Smooth skin, gaunt, his hair combed back just right, and dark eyes that were more alive for the angles of his face. But the angles were slightly off, pinched like a ferret, a man who sniffed his opponents before deciding how to behave. His clothing was a warning, too, the way it demanded attention: black jeans, a black collarless shirt buttoned tight, no belt, no socks, his billfold on a chain like he’d just climbed off a Harley or out of bed. Add a white collar, he could have passed for a priest vacationing in Hawaii.

When Theo noticed me staring, he said, “You’re still not convinced it wasn’t me. Are you?”

I had told Birdy about the peeping man while I observed Theo, but there had been no reaction, just amused patience. Like I was a child. I said, “The nearest house is two miles on the road to Arcadia. The main road is half a mile-more, I’d say-but your trailer’s close, right there by the river. Don’t sound so offended. You’d think the same if you saw what I saw.”

He had the irritating habit of hooting “Well, now!” a cartoonish signal of victory or discovery. He used the device before saying, “You don’t know anything about this area, do you? If you don’t mind walking, I can take you to where forty people are camped not more than a mile from here. Or get in my canoe, there are houseboats hidden in some of those bends, the trees so thick you couldn’t spot them from the air. I said it wasn’t me. Now, in essence, you’re calling me a liar.”

In essence- an educated man who draped words like fashion scarves.

Birdy said, “She’s not accusing you,” then swiveled in her chair to me. “Anyway, he wasn’t breaking any laws.”

“This land is posted,” I said. “Why didn’t he stop when I asked who he was?” I turned to Ivanhoff. “You had to get written permission to stay here, didn’t you?”

Theo, settling back now that I was on the defensive, said, “The investment group invited me. I didn’t have to ask.”

I should have expected that. Earlier, he’d spent twenty minutes telling us how important he was, saying, “Federal law requires they bring in an expert before they cut down every damn tree for miles and build houses. Or whatever cardboard community they’re planning. But they can’t touch the place until I say it’s okay. I’ve been here a month and I’m in no hurry. The so-called lead archaeologist only stops by on weekends-and only if his arthritis isn’t acting up, the old prick. Recceology’s not his strong suit, so I’m the person actually in charge.”

Recceology was the study of battlefields, he’d explained. Civil War battle sites had to be mapped before they could be bulldozed. Even minor skirmishes, like the one that had taken place here, between the house and the river, in 1864 or ’65. Theo hadn’t said what his actual work was, though, nor had he invited us into the areas he had cordoned with rope. Three areas, about a quarter acre each. There were dirt mounds and sifting screens, signs posted by the government that read Federal Antiquities Site. Access Prohibited .

Theo had done some probing, too, by asking Birdy, “What kind of development does your aunt have in mind? Condos or a planned community? They’re keeping it all hush-hush, which is just stupid. They’re better off if I know.”

I didn’t trust the man but found some of what he had to say interesting. The same with his references to the nearby RV campground and houseboats, because those were the people I needed to speak with. Then I made a mistake by asking, “You’re what’s called a ricky-ologist ? Are there other Florida sites you’ve excavated?”

An expression of contempt flared while he corrected my pronunciation, then he had expounded on his expertise. Twenty minutes, we’d stood there listening.

I didn’t want to risk another lecture now, so I cut the man off before he could start, saying to Birdy, “I bet your aunt’s insurance company considers trespassing a crime.”

“The grande dame of Palm Beach,” she said to Theo. “My aunt’s just an investor, not the owner. Well… this part of the acreage is assigned to her, I guess. But we don’t arrest people for trespassing unless there’s a complaint.” Taking the middle ground before taking sides. Then she tried to dismiss it, saying, “A week before Halloween, a place like this is bound to attract some weirdo visitors. Drunken kids, the UFO types.” Birdy caught herself before adding That’s why we’re here.

Theo eyed her for a moment. “You’re right. That’s why the RV park’s full.” Then turned his sights on me. “Why do you call her Birdy when her name’s Bertie?”

Birdy warned, “Because she wants to,” and continued with what she was saying. “The house has a reputation-all that paranormal baloney, so who cares? I say we find a hotel and get a drink. It’s still early and, let’s face it, we can’t sleep in a house full of scorpions.”