Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (5 page)

Caleb could barely restrain himself. “Uh, this special tea? Aren’t you talking about peyote? Indians used that a lot. And, uh, correct me if I’m wrong, but peyote is now an illegal substance.”

Claire smacked him on the arm. “No, silly! Peyote comes from a cactus and was used by southwestern Indians. I’m talking about natural stimulants.” She turned back to Mark. “I could set up a wigwam for you, right here in your back yard, and show you how to meditate.”

Mark looked at Caleb with a silent plea for help. Claire really was earning her “crazy” nickname.

“Uh, maybe we can talk about this later,” Caleb said to Claire. “We need to give our attention to the project now.”

“Oh. Right. Have you been in the cavern yet?” she asked Caleb as she stood and dusted off her ass.

He nodded. “Abbie has given me the tour several times. And I ran cables for extra lighting yesterday. How ’bout you, Claire?”

“No tours yet, and I can’t wait. Abbie is proprietary over who she allows to go inside. It’s never been a commercial enterprise like other caverns in the area—Indian Caverns, Lincoln Caverns, Penn’s Cave, Woodward Cave.”

Mark pondered her words. “I haven’t been inside since my first deployment four years ago, but I can’t imagine that anything has changed. You want a walk-through?”

“I’d love it!”

“You’d have to hold my hand,” Mark teased, waggling his eyebrows at her. “For balance.”

At least, Caleb thought he was teasing.

“Gladly,” she said, waggling her eyebrows back at Mark. “You know how we older women are with younger men.”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind finding out.” More eyebrow waggling.

“Excuse me while I go hurl!” Caleb said.

Mark and Claire laughed.

Caleb didn’t think it was funny.

As Caleb followed the two of them across the back yard and over an arched wooden bridge, he muttered, “Who’s going to hold my hand?” Luckily, no one heard him, especially Ms. Ticking Clock.

Chapter 3

Honey, we have company . . .

“I’m so excited. How about you?”

Caleb shot her a look of alarm.

“Puhleeze! I meant I’m excited about exploring the cave. It’s the same when I dig for arrowheads in a new site or find a special antique at a flea market. Goose bumps. Thrill of the hunt. That kind of excitement.” She paused. “You thought I meant you.”

“Did not,” he lied, “though you did throw me before with that ticking time-bomb crap.”

She grinned at his choice of words.

They were waiting for Mark to return with a key for the huge double doors at the entrance to the cavern. Even though it wasn’t open to the public, the Franklin family had been forced to erect the doors a few years back because of trespassers and fear of liability if someone got hurt. Spelunkers, always on the lookout for a virgin or wild cave, were notorious for ignoring signs.

Once the doors were open and they’d all donned hard hats with carbide lamps attached and picked up flashlights, they entered the mouth of the cavern. Startled cave swallows that had built nests inside flew out in a cloudy swoop.

They were in the twilight zone, that area at the mouth where sunlight reached. Beyond that was pitch blackness. Any animals they saw beyond this area—fish, lizards, whatever—would be blind and colorless, having adapted thousands of years ago to the environment.

“Man, does this bring back memories!” Mark said. “I could probably make my way in here blindfolded.”

“You spent a lot of time in here?” Caleb asked.

“Oh, yeah! Me and my friends used to pretend we were Indians hiding out, or homesteaders hiding from Indians, or explorers searching for lost gold. I loved this place. Kid paradise, for sure.”

“Ever find anything?” Caleb moved his flashlight in an arc, not seeing much, since there was a long tunnel before descending into the cavern proper.

“No gold, but lots of Indian artifacts. Arrowheads, mostly. You’ve seen Gram’s collection in cases on the parlor walls, haven’t you, Claire?”

“I have.” Claire stood at Caleb’s side and surprised the hell out of him when she took his hand in hers.

He wondered if she had taken Mark’s hand on the other side. He shone his flashlight that way and saw that she hadn’t. He found himself pleased by that. Which caused him to not be pleased with himself. Which caused him to wonder why holding hands held such appeal. He’d never been a hand-holding kind of guy. More of a let’s-get-to-the-good-stuff kind of guy. Maybe his clock was ticking, too. Scary thought, that.

“That’s why I’m here,” Claire continued. “I believe there’s even more history to this cavern than we know.”

The air was cool and so still, it was as if the outside world no longer existed. There was a dim natural light in this section, which was half the size of a tennis court.

“It’s logical that the Lenni Lenape would have made use of caves in the region,” Claire added. “I get an eerie feeling standing here, as if I can sense the Indians who were here. Their spirits remain, that’s for sure.”

He and Mark exchanged looks. Cave spirits, that’s all they needed.

“They would have used the cavern for hiding purposes, but also for a primitive form of refrigeration,” Claire blathered on. “The area abounds with ice caves. I’d like to examine the ground and walls more closely once this project is completed, even do a chemical analysis of the dirt. Exactly where has your family found Indian relics in the cavern?” Claire asked.

“Mostly they were farther in. Not much here at the opening except an assortment of animals. They might have destroyed any evidence. Mice, squirrels, snakes, even wolves or bobcats occasionally. One winter we had a bear, but the animals have probably made themselves scarce if Gram and Peach have been stomping around in here the past day or so.”

Yep, stomping is a good thing.
“Even Sparky?” He glanced at Claire to see if she was smirking.

She was.

“You’ve heard about Sparky? He’s a sly one. Real slick at hiding unless he wants to make himself known.” Mark was smirking, too. “Like now.”

Huh?

Mark aimed his flashlight at an area behind and above Caleb’s head.

Slowly, Caleb turned, and sure enough, a bigass snake occupied a ten-foot section of a ledge. “Son-ofabitch!” Caleb took a step backward, dropping Claire’s hand. “That is one huge mother.” Caleb could swear the reptile’s big beady eyes were staring at him, probably thinking,
Yum, yum!
“You better keep your rat dog out of here. Sparky might just eat Boner for brunch.”

“
Boney
is tougher than you think.”

“In his own pea-sized brain, maybe.”

Trying to alleviate Caleb’s fears, Mark assured him, “Sparky is nonpoisonous. He can’t hurt you.”

“That’s what I told him,” Claire said.

“Hah! That snake wouldn’t have to bite. All it would have to do is fall on me and crush my skull.” Caleb wasn’t about to let his repugnance transform him into a wuss, though. He walked over near the ledge and snapped on a series of lights, including some of the freestanding lamps he’d brought in yesterday. The corridor was immediately flooded with light. He proceeded to free-climb up the wall, prepared to show the snake who was boss.
I must be friggin’ nuts. Next I’ll be doing backflips.

Sparky took one look at this wacko person climbing up his wall and slithered off to wherever he lived.

Dropping back down, Caleb saw Claire and Mark gaping at him.

“Wow!” Mark said.

“That was mature,” Claire said.

Is there anything sexier than a sarcastic woman? Not!
“At least I got rid of him. He’s off to get a little action from Mrs. Sparky, no doubt. Snake sex. Making little Sparkys.”

Claire laughed. “Is that how you handle all your fears, head-on? Here snakie, here snakie, I am macho man and I want to wrestle you.”

“I am
not
afraid of snakes.” He glowered at her and hissed under his breath, “You are gonna pay, lady.”

Mark was already leading the way, slowly, down the steep stairs with his one hand on a handmade rail for balance. “Whoa! I’ve never seen the cavern under this much light. Ah-mazing!”

That was an understatement. The cavern was like a crystal palace. Beautiful and frightening at the same time. The only sounds were the drip-drip-drip of moisture and the occasional flap of bat wings. There were about two gazillion bats hanging from various parts of the ceiling. And cave crickets abounded, too.

Claire moved to descend the steps next, with Caleb behind her. Big mistake, that.

He reached out and pinched her butt.
Payback time!

“Hey!” she squealed.

“Oops. I was reaching for the rail and must have missed.”

“Something wrong?” Mark asked, turning around at the bottom of the steps.

“No,” Claire said. “I thought I felt something slimy on me, but it was just a worm.”

I’ll give you a worm, lady.
But he had more important things on his mind as he snapped on more of the lights.

Mark proceeded to give them a mind-blowing tour, complete with family history passed through the generations. What most amazed him—Claire, too—were the speleothems, those stalactite, stalagmite, and helictite formations that looked like crystal shapes hanging from the hundred-foot ceiling, or rising from the floor, or growing every which way in twists and spirals. In some cases the stalactites and stalagmites had grown together, forming columns. Steady drips had formed a flowstone drapery on one wall, resembling a waterfall. In other places, there were those amazing gypsum flowers with feathery “petals,” and other formations known as dogtooth, boxwork, selenite needles, popcorn, and moon milk. Some of the ceiling limestone pieces resembled chandeliers. An amazing collection of nature’s own sculpted art.

Into the almost churchlike silence, Claire whispered, “It makes you realize how insignificant each human being is in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t it? It took thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of years, to create these marvels of nature.”

“Yep, fly specks on the windshield of life, that’s us,” Caleb commented.

Claire gave him a dirty look for not taking her words seriously, although he did. Sometimes a human just had to be awed by the incredible things God created. Besides, his own research had revealed that it took about a hundred years just to form one inch of some of these massive formations.

“Seeing and exploring this cavern is a life-changing experience,” Claire continued, “or it should be.” She glanced at him, no doubt expecting him to make fun of her observation.

He surprised her by saying, “I agree.”

He and Claire both turned to Mark.

“Okay, okay, I get the message. Life-changing. Change my life. I’m not totally brain-dead. We call this the Room of Sorrow,” Mark announced. Pointing down at the dirt floor, away from their path, toward the base of some of the stalagmites, he said, “See that darkish rust coloring?”

He and Claire nodded.

“Blood.”

“What?” he and Claire exclaimed together.

“There were skeletons here at one time, dozens of them. Most of them minus hair, which would indicate scalping,” Mark continued. “We believe they were Lenapes from about two hundred and fifty years ago.”

“What makes you think so?” Caleb asked.

Claire answered for Mark. “Most Lenape fell into one of three tribes: the Unami or ‘turtle tribe’; the Minsi, whose totem was the wolf; and the Unalachtigo, or ‘turkey tribe.’ The Minsi were the most warlike and the first to migrate westward from the Delaware River Valley when us white folks moved into this country. The Minsi were known to be responsible for lots of kidnapping and torture and murder of white settlers in the Juniata Valley, but the Iroquois were on the rampage then, too, massacring not just white homesteaders, but Indians, as well. So Minsi or Iroquois would be my guess.”

“I gotta give you credit, lady. You do know your Indians.” Caleb patted Claire on the shoulder.

She made a tsking noise, thinking he was mocking her, which he wasn’t. It was just that she went on and on and on.

“As for skeletons, see,” Claire pointed to Caleb, “this is why Park Service oversight is necessary.” Then she narrowed her green eyes at Mark. “Where are the skeletons? It’s against the law to disturb a historical site or to remove any human remains. Like grave robbing, but worse.”

Mark waved his hand dismissively. “They’d have a helluva time prosecuting. The culprits who removed the bones have been dead for more than two hundred years.”

“Oh.”

Caleb had to admire Claire’s succinctness—for once, she didn’t blather on endlessly—and the heightened color on her face indicated she knew she had spoken too quickly.

He smirked at her, just to show he had noticed.

She elbowed him.

“What’s up with you two?” Mark studied them both. “You already got a love connection or something goin’ on?”

“No!” he practically shouted.

“Maybe,” she said at the same time.

He glared at her.

“Just kidding. Caleb doesn’t have a sense of humor,” she told Mark. “Comes from being an Amishman, I suspect, or an I’m-too-sexy-for-the-average-lady Navy SEAL.”

“Give me a break.”
Hot damn! Did she call me too sexy for the average lady? Hoo-yah!
“You are not like any historical archaeologist I’ve ever known.”
Shit! If the snake doesn’t turn me into a wuss, this woman will.

“Known a lot of historical archaeologists, have you?” Mark asked.

“No, but that’s beside the point.”
Yep! Wusses “R” Us.

Mark continued to show them around. There were many other corridors in the maze of underground cavities, ranging for at least a mile, but the openings were too small for any human to get through, and no effort had been made to widen them.

The spot they had targeted was on a wide ledge, at least six feet wide, up about fifty feet, where an enormous rock had been placed many, many years ago. Allegedly, humans had put the rock there to hide a deep, flooded chamber where the cave pearls would be found.
If
the pearls were actually there. The gems hadn’t been seen for two hundred years, before the time when the water table rose and filled the cavity.

They were about to return to the outside when someone shouted, “Yo!” The call echoed through the cavern with progressively lower volume. “Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo . . .”

As they moved back toward the entrance, they glanced up the stairway to what had to be Caleb’s worst nightmare. There stood LeDeux with a grimace of apology on his face. Next to him was his great-aunt Louise Rivard, better known as Tante Lulu, the world’s most interfering, infuriating Cajun combination of Granny Clampett from the
Beverly Hillbillies
and Sophia Petrillo from the
Golden Girls.
Today her eightysomething hair was frizzed up and colored blonde. She wore a safari outfit with pith helmet, right out of Banana Republic. She must have imagined herself a senior-citizen female version of Indiana Jones.

What the hell are you doing here?
“How nice to see you again, Tante Lulu.” Meanwhile he glared at LeDeux.

The young Cajun rascal just shrugged. “Tante Lulu decided to give me a birthday surprise. My brother Remy dropped her here in that farm field across the road.”

“Dropped?” Mark asked.

“A Piper Cessna.”

Mark’s face lit up. “Holy crap! Old Man Hollick is gonna shit a brick if his cornfield is disturbed.”

“Not to worry,
cher,
” Tante Lulu said. “I already had a talk with George. Didja know he has a cuzzin what lives in Baton Rouge? I promised ta make him some corn bread fritters with some of that damaged corn. What happened ta yer arm? Never mind. You kin tell me later, but we gots ta do somethin’ ’bout fattenin’ ya up. An’ ya needs more sun, yes, ya do. Good ol’ sunshine kin be the bes’ medicine. I knows ’cause I’m a
traiteur.
Thass a folk healer.”

Mark blinked several times. That was the usual reaction on first meeting the first lady of Bayou Black. Then he hurried up the steps as fast as he could while holding on to the rail.

“A healer,” Claire murmured, as impressed as if Tante Lulu had said she was a movie star . . . or a Lenni Lenape princess.