A Treasure to Die For Read online

  He glanced around. Everyone was still looking at him, most were smiling. Most were except for Carrie and Everett Bogardus, that is. She was studying her participant list as if memorizing it. He had his chair rocked back and was staring at the ceiling.

  “Well, uh, what man could turn down an invitation like that from a lovely lady who makes good meatloaf?”

  Now almost everyone laughed. Was that good?

  His message, hidden in the “why I’m here” speech, had been only for her, an acceptance of the conditions of this trip, a thank-you for offering it to him, and, maybe, a hint of how he felt about their relationship. He’d also meant it as a hands-off warning for Everett Bogardus.

  He looked at Carrie again. She was still staring at the list, but her smile had come back. In a rush of confusion he sat down, his face feeling like he’d been in the sun too long.

  Someone said, “Hear-hear,” then the room was silent.

  Had he said too much? Why had he admitted Carrie paid his way here? What he’d said had been stupid; he’d embarrassed himself, Carrie too, in front of everyone.

  He took in air, let it out slowly. It was going to be a long week.

  In his talk he hadn’t mentioned being a retired police officer. He hadn’t intended to. He knew what a damper that could be to a social relationship with some people. They might hate cops, fear them, or put them on a pedestal—he’d never figured out which was worse.

  And he still wasn’t all that sure about the man in black.

  Chapter IV

  Henry

  By the next morning his worries had shrunk. He was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

  That’s what his mother had called it so many years ago when he bounced out of bed on Saturday, eager to be off on adventures with his buddies.

  “My, but you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning, son.”

  Henry remembered those eager-up Saturdays now as he sat next to Carrie at a back row table in the Downtowner’s Crown Room. They had arrived early for this opening session, agreeing on a seating location without the need for a word of discussion. They could watch people so much better from the back row. Now they weren’t talking; both were more interested in watching their fellow Elderhostelers.

  Everyone looked wide awake, and the conversation in the room was loud enough to be called noise, at least until Greta stood at the front and waited for quiet.

  Henry felt fine, just fine. Worries about being here, about rooming with Carrie, about his introductory remarks the night before, had faded, mostly because last night—after the meeting was over—had gone very well.

  Carrie never mentioned his speech, though Greta had dismissed the group only minutes after he’d finished. It was painfully fresh in his memory, probably Carrie’s too, as they returned to their room. But she’d seemed cheerful, hadn’t said a thing about it, and had gone at once to get ready for bed in the privacy of the large bathroom. After he’d taken his turn in the bathroom, they sat against pillow-padded headboards discussing some of the more interesting members of the Elderhostel group, even debating about whether or not the Chicago lawyers would pair up with the widowed cousins.

  After conversation faded they both read. Carrie put her book down and switched off her light before he did, turning on her side away from him, pulling the covers over her head.

  Shutting out his light?

  Feeling guilty, he’d turned the lamp off soon after and lay in bed thinking about the day’s events, about the new turn his life was taking, and about Carrie. Especially about Carrie.

  The women in his life had always been outskirts people, pushed away in thought because that made life less complicated. His mother and his wife, each involved in many interests that didn’t include him, were outskirts people. He’d once been content to accept that, take them or leave them, do his own thing, make his career...his singular life.

  But he couldn’t push Carrie away. She, like the young boy he’d been and the friends he’d had back then, saw life as a series of adventures and managed to pull him into her adventure of the moment, making the two of them into a team.

  She said she’d done enough living in other people’s shadows before Amos died, so now, especially since she had a little money to spare, she was, by golly, going to enjoy herself. She was going to stand up for the new Carrie, and if that Carrie wanted to attend something like this Elderhostel, if that was an adventure that interested her, then she’d do it, and—she’d added, not quite looking at him—it would be so much better if he came along.

  He remembered pondering that last night, but then his memory faded into fuzziness. He must have been almost asleep when an idea had hit him, popping his eyes wide open again.

  The two of them were both finding themselves, like people said teenagers did. After coming to the Ozarks on separate quests, they were building new lives.

  Together?

  That was the thought he’d gone to sleep with.

  The next thing he remembered was coming awake this morning. If he’d snored, if Carrie had, he didn’t know it.

  Hot Springs National Park Interpreter Charles Hawkins was the first presenter of the day. About ten minutes into the program Henry looked over at Everett Bogardus. If he was truly interested in history and geology, he was sure getting his ear full this morning.

  The man had come in late and taken the vacant seat next to Carrie, which had Henry bristling until he noticed the only other chair left was in the center of the front table. Couldn’t blame the man for not wanting to go to the front when the speaker was already talking.

  The talk was interesting. Carrie obviously thought so; she was busy scribbling in her note pad while “Hawk,” as he’d said people could call him, spouted facts: “Three hundred million years ago the mountains here were as tall as the Alps are now. Springs emerged about 26,000 years ago. Our water is heated by radioactivity deep in the earth and percolates to the surface through a fault of unknown origin, coming out in various places near the base of Hot Springs Mountain. Emerging water temperature averages 143.

  “The water is amazingly pure, odorless, tasteless, colorless, and has no harmful bacteria. Water source: rain, which spends at least 4000 years being processed underground in some mysterious part of the earth before bubbling out at a rate of 850,000 gallons a day.”

  “That’s a lot of hot water to get into,” Henry whispered to Carrie, who nodded and kept writing.

  “Most of the springs were covered long ago to protect the purity of the water,” Hawk explained, “and the output of over half of them is now channeled to a reservoir maintained by the National Park Service. The water is dispensed to various licensed bathhouses in the city. Some of the water is also available to the public free of charge at open fountains.

  “NASA has been interested in the water because nanobacteria found in it may be the same as bacteria found on Mars, indicating the historic presence of water on that planet.”

  And some link between Mars and Earth? Henry wondered.

  On and on the story went, pushing Carrie’s pen across page after page.

  “Human use began around 10,000 years ago when early peoples discovered the pleasure and health benefits to be found in the valley’s waters. By legend this was a place of peace, a place where warring tribes laid down weapons and bathed and communed together. The springs were possibly seen and enjoyed by members of the Hernando DeSoto party in 1541.

  “Hot Springs became the first ‘National Reservation’ in the United States in 1832, set aside by the Federal Government to protect the natural features, especially the water. That was forty years before Yellowstone National Park was created, which is why some people insist this, not Yellowstone, was our nation’s first national park.

  “Early bathhouses were built, and various entertainments in town became notorious for what you might call licentious behavior. And Hot Springs remained a bawdy town, at least until the 1960’s.”

  Every few minutes Henry glanced at Everett Bogardus. Most of the
time he was leaning back in his chair looking bored, his eyes closed to mere slits. The rest of the time he seemed to be watching Marcus Trotter and Sim Simpson, who were sitting at a front table. Was he interested in them because they were the only other single men here?

  Then Henry realized he hadn’t thought of himself as one of the single men. Huh. He was, of course. Single and independent.

  During the break Greta assigned Jason the work of helping the next speaker, who would be teaching the group how to grow herbs and use them in cooking. Jason disappeared, going to the parking lot to meet the speaker, while Henry, Carrie, and Eleanor drank coffee in the lobby and talked with fellow Elderhostelers.

  “I’m a rock hound,” said a bald man, reminding Henry his name was Don Rothman. “My wife Ethel is too, and we’re looking forward to that crystal dig. We’d like to add some nice specimens to our collection. There’s always hope you’ll find a real treasure, right? Clear pieces? Good points?

  “We flew here from Oregon, brought an extra bag along in case we locate crystals worth taking home, but who knows what today’s airport security will make of that? We may have to ship what we find. Guess you drove from, what did you say, the Ozarks? Lucky. You can carry what you find home in your car.”

  He paused for breath, peered at Henry over his glasses, and asked, “Hey, you one of those Ozarks hillbillies like on TV? What is Arkansas called, the hillbilly state?”

  “It’s the Natural State, and I’m from Kansas City originally,” Henry said, “but I know several old-time Ozarks hill people. I’ve found they have lots of practical knowledge I don’t, to my disadvantage, I think. Good friends. Good, good people.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean, that is...” Don said, fumbling and sputtering until Henry interrupted to ask if he was retired.

  “Sort of. I’m an accountant. Keep my hand in during tax season. What about you?”

  Henry realized he’d left himself open to that question by introducing the topic. Careless of him if he wanted to keep his former occupation a secret. He said only, “Retired,” and took a slow sip of coffee, looking around the lobby as he did. He noticed that Carrie and Eleanor were talking with Everett, laughing at something the man had just said. He excused himself as quickly as he could and went to see what was so funny.

  The joke was over by the time he got across the lobby, and the three were talking about Ranger Hawk’s information, though Everett seemed to be adding facts of his own to what the park interpreter had told them.

  “No, the small amount of radioactivity in the water isn’t harmful,” he was saying. “In fact, some think it’s good for you. But in any case you get more radioactivity by standing in sunlight. Whatever you may think about that, for many years, and especially after the Civil War, people came here from all over the country for the water cure. They came for treatment of war wounds, internal and external aches and pains, female complaints, neuralgia, venereal diseases. Especially venereal diseases. The waters were said to cure them all.”

  He laughed, got only weak smiles from Carrie and Eleanor, and went on hurriedly. “At one time Hot Springs was a real pest hole. Of course eventually the place was cleaned up, and, on the surface at least, the town became downright classy. Newer and safer bathhouses were built. The Arlington Hotel was the place to stay if you had money. In the 1920’s Al Capone came here frequently and rented a whole floor at the Arlington. I suspect he wasn’t here to take over the criminal activity as some supposed, but to seek a cure for syphilis. I understand he eventually died in prison of that disease.”

  Everett was obviously enjoying the attention Carrie and Eleanor were giving him. But how’s he know all this? Henry wondered. Then he remembered that the man’s specialties were supposed to be history and geology.

  Nevertheless...

  “You know quite a bit about Hot Springs’ past,” said Henry, his tone more challenging than he’d intended.

  Everett flushed and hesitated a moment before he replied, “Oh, I read a lot.”

  Nodding to the two women, he walked away to pour more coffee in his almost full cup.

  Just then Jason came out of the elevator, helping an attractive middle-aged woman maneuver a cart stacked with small kitchen appliances, bowls, pans, boxes, green leafy things in pots, and containers filled with what looked like bunches of grass and weeds. Carrie and Eleanor, who both had herb gardens, hurried over and introduced themselves to the herb lady. Henry heard them offer to help set up, thus, he supposed, getting a head start on words of wisdom from the next presenter.

  He wondered if anyone ever skipped sessions at these things. Didn’t matter, he was going to. He wasn’t interested in weeds and seeds or recipes for cooking with them; he’d rather go explore some of Hot Springs. Salt, pepper, mustard, ketchup, horse radish, hot sauce—all prepared and conveniently packaged in boxes or bottles—were the only seasonings he understood. Maybe onion too. Or was the onion a vegetable?

  In spite of the promise of gardening hints and delicious samples of food prepared with various herbs, Henry left Carrie and the other Elderhostelers to enjoy the next session and headed down the street toward Bathhouse Row, saying he’d be back in time for lunch.

  The day was hot, as mid-September could be in Arkansas, and Henry’s forehead was damp under his hat by the time he reached the lush trees and grass of Arlington Lawn, a park located across the street from the Arlington Hotel. At the back side of the triangle-shaped park, steaming water cascaded down a high bluff, ending by spilling into concrete pools at the base. It looked inviting, and Henry walked that way.

  He strolled past the pools, saw a shaded trail leading up, and decided to climb toward the source of the waterfall, undoubtedly one of the springs Hawk had talked about.

  Black iron railings along the path guided him between luxuriant growth on the mountainside. At several locations it was possible to stand beside the steaming falls and watch them cascade over rocks, moss, and blue-green algae. He stopped at one switch-back to enjoy the water sounds and a wide-angle view into the park below.

  Part of the sidewalk leading along Central from the Downtowner to Bathhouse Row was visible too. Leaning against the railing separating him from the cascade, Henry watched people strolling along. Their slow, rhythmic movement combined with the shush of the water sliding next to him would relax a clock spring. Wonderful place.

  There was another herb session scheduled for tomorrow morning. He could come back here then, but he’d like Carrie to enjoy this place with him. She made most everything...he searched for a word...richer. That was it. She made everything richer by her presence. Or, at the least, she entertained him.

  As he relaxed against the railing, he wondered what being married to Carrie would be like. The idea had been popping up inside his head since he’d learned about the mistake in the roster.

  He said it aloud. “Carrie King.”

  Carrie would never go for marriage; she valued independence too highly. It was one reason for her move to the Ozarks. She’d wanted to escape from friends and family in Tulsa who kept urging her to move to a city apartment complex after the death of her husband.

  “They saw me as helpless, wanted me to be taken care of,” she’d told him with a touch of sadness in her voice. “But I’m a strong person, not the weak elderly female they picture. You can understand how I feel about that, can’t you, Henry? I am strong, I know I am. But it seems I have to keep proving it, and proving it, and proving it. You do understand, don’t you?”

  Maybe he had understood. During his many years as a police officer he’d needed to continually prove himself, prove his own strength. He’d succeeded very well until...until he killed a boy only thirteen years old during a convenience store robbery. Never mind that the child had looked older. Never mind that he’d just shot the store clerk and turned the gun on Henry. He was a child. He had died.

  Henry made himself go talk to that boy’s mother. After that, he couldn’t carry a gun. His refusal led to retirement from the departm
ent and disgrace in the eyes of his former wife and her family.

  But he’d come back to strength, and Carrie had been the avenue for his return. He’d learned quite a bit about strength from her.

  He was even fairly comfortable carrying a gun again and had carried it twice in the past year. One of those times was to help save three lives—Carrie’s, Susan’s, and his own. The other was to rescue Carrie from a kidnapper.

  He hadn’t needed to harm anyone either time.

  So his own proving was over, but it didn’t ever seem to be over for Carrie. She said it was because things were very different for a woman.

  That could be. But he wished she’d let him through her independence wall, would acknowledge that she needed him for something more than enjoyable partnership in their adventures. Sure, he wanted her to look to him when physical strength was required, but there was the other stuff too—ideas, plans. She wasn’t the only one who could make plans, but get her to admit it...

  He let go of the railing and stood erect. Everett Bogardus had appeared on the sidewalk below, striding toward Bathhouse Row. Henry looked at his watch. Bogardus must have left the herb program early, if he’d been there at all.

  The man was walking with a sense of purpose, even seemed to be in a hurry. But then, people with long legs sometimes gave that impression. He was carrying a small tote bag. No wonder. Henry didn’t see how he could get anything in the pockets of those jeans.

  Henry leaned on the railing again and watched until Bogardus, no, Everett—they were supposed to use first names—was out of sight. He was probably headed for the Hot Springs National Park Visitor Center in the restored Fordyce Bathhouse, or maybe to the Buckstaff, the only building along the row currently open to the public as a working bathhouse.