Don Bruns - Too Much Stuff

“Why are you so interested in Cheeca?”

“I want to visit.”

“It’s a private resort. They got a gate with a guard. You’re a guest or a vendor or you don’t get in.”

We’d hurdled bigger obstacles than Cheeca Lodge.

“So, unless I pony up for the room rate, I can’t visit?” I asked the old captain, even though I wasn’t sure he had the answer.

“Well,” he stretched his arms and took a deep breath, “I told you I know this island like the back of this hand-” the gentleman passed his hand in front of my face. “If you pull up to that gate and say you want to visit the Methodist cemetery, they cannot deny you a visit. It’s an official historic site.”

“Really?”

“They don’t want everyone to know that, but the Methodist church still owns the cemetery and anyone, even you, can show up and be admitted. I mean, they do have this very pricey resort and all.”

“What’s your name?”

“Here’s my card.”

I looked down to read it.

Al Amero. Fishing expert and boat captain.

“Mr. Amero, I’m Skip Moore and I will tell anyone who wants to know that you are the finest fishing guide anyone could want.”

He gave me a broad smile and shook my hand.

“I do the best I can, young man.”

“You’ve been a big help.”

“Things are a little slow right now. You might want to get out there and start spreading the news, know what I mean?”

I found him at the pool bar, no surprise.

“Where’s Amy?”

He rolled his eyes. “I stopped by the bar next door and she’s in deep conversation with another guy. Some salesman named Trump from Illinois.” He took a swallow of his draft.

“Yeah?”

“I suggested we split for some private time, but she’s telling me that she’s not done yet and she’s kind of into this guy.”

“She said that?”

“Implied it.”

“Imagine that.”

“Imagine what?”

“She’s married, having an affair, decides to have an affair with you, then finds someone else attractive. I mean, what are the odds?”

“I thought you’d have a little more compassion, amigo.”

“I don’t.”

“I got that.”

He was silent for a moment. I could hear the gears working in his head. Finally, he looked at me.

“Well, it’s obvious that Em isn’t on board with this either. Maybe I should stay away from women who are in a relationship.”

“Or multiple relationships?”

He nodded.

“James, I want to take the metal detector to Cheeca Lodge. Tonight. After dark. There’s some exploring that needs to be done.”

“We can do that.”

“We’ve got to tell them that we are there to see the cemetery.”

“Dude, I’m really not into cemeteries.”

“Dude, you suggested that we get involved in this project. If you don’t want to deal with it, we can kiss our two million commission goodbye.”

He hesitated, then said, “Why a cemetery?”

“You remember, Cheeca Lodge has a Methodist cemetery? All we’ve got to do is mention that we’re there to see the cemetery and it’s a guarantee to get onto the property through the private gate.”

“But it’s still private property, Skip. We go tooling in with the truck and they’re going to send us packing.”

“They’ve got to let us in. It’s a deal they made with the Methodist church.”

“So you’re going to take the detector to Cheeca Lodge?”

“I am. We’ll go in late afternoon. Then when it gets a little dark-”

“Amigo, where do we start looking?”

“Well,” I’d thought it through and was pretty pleased with my plan. “There’s a golf course, a beach, of course all the buildings-”

“Man, if that stuff is buried under the buildings I don’t see how we could ever get it up.”

“There’s a big pool-”

“When they dug the pool, somebody would have found it if that’s where it rested.”

“There’s only one thing left, James. And it was there in nineteen thirty-five.”

“Whoa.” He gave me a big smile, his eyes opening wider. Motioning to Bobbie, he said, “I’m buying this guy a beer. He’s a genius.”

She nodded. “What kind?” She still didn’t remember.

“Whatever he’s having,” I said.

“Oh,” she brightened up. “Yuengling.”

James looked out at the water, focusing on something inside his head, the vision I’d painted.

“Pure genius. This guy Kriegel is walking around, maybe he even gets a ride down to this Millionaire’s Row where the fancy house had been, and he’s thinking about where to bury his gold.”

I nodded. “I’m thinking that the gold was still on the train. The railroad cars were scattered everywhere, but maybe this freight car was still closed. And these crates had to be solid. Put together really well. So Kriegel has a little time before the looters get here and he’s checking things out.”

“He gets this far and finds out there’s a cemetery. And it’s still there.”

“That’s where I’m headed.”

“Bodies buried?”

“Under the sand. The only damage to the entire place was the angel statue. There are bodies from the late eighteen hundreds. Just headstones above ground.”

“Nobody is going to dig up bodies.”

“No decent people. Zombies, maybe.”

He frowned.

“So, if someone did stumble on one of these buried crates, accidentally,” he rubbed his chin, “they’d think it had something to do with dead people. A wooden box in a cemetery? Maybe a pet coffin?”

“Doesn’t this make perfect sense?”

“Skip, it does. It would be like hiding something in plain sight. Anyone who found it wouldn’t understand its significance.”

“You’d think it would be a pretty safe bet.”

“We’re on for tonight, pard.”

“A little exploring.” Hiding in plain sight.

Kind of like the boat people down at the vacant property. I’d bet money they were smuggling something in plain sight. I wouldn’t bet our two million dollars, but I’d bet money.

“Hey, Skip,” James scrunched his shoulders, ran his fingers through his hair, and shook his head. In his best Rodney Danger-field imitation, he said, “Country clubs and cemeteries are the biggest wasters of prime real estate.”

That one was a freebie. I think we’d both memorized every line in Caddyshack .

I carried the shovels, just in case we decided to dig tonight, and Em had the metal detector.

“Suppose we can stop in for dinner?”

“We’ll give it a try,” James said. “Once they let us in, they may as well take our money.”

We went through the gate with no trouble.

The guard said, “Oh, you’re here to see the cemetery, our historic site?”

“Yeah. History,” James said.

He handed us a pass and motioned us through.

When we arrived at the circular drive, the guy at the lodge walked out with a question mark look on his face.

Studying the truck he said, “Are you a vendor?”

Was it so hard to believe we were guests? Dressed in T-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops, I thought we fit right in.

“We’re here to have dinner and see the cemetery.” Em smiled at him and that seemed to get the job done.

“Very few people come here to see the cemetery.”

“We have family buried there and-” James trailed off.

“Well, certainly, sir.” He stood there in his crisp white shirt, white cargo shorts, white socks, and tennis shoes, holding his hand out.

“I’m sorry,” staring at the nametag on the attendant James said, “Jack, where do I park?”

“Sir, I’ll park the-” he surveyed the truck, “the vehicle.”