But don’t feel bad for me. It’s beautiful up here in the mountains. The snow is sparkling. It’s like I’m already in heaven. I can hear angels singing hymns.

You don’t have to wait for me any longer. You’ve waited long enough, Rose. It’s my turn to wait for you now. We’ll dance in heaven, I promise.

Love,

Bobby

****

With shaky hands, Rose brought the letter up to her chest and pressed it against her shuddering heart. A piece of her soul was trying to escape. She knew it was Bobby. He wanted her to let go. But she didn’t want to. Letting go meant saying goodbye. And she couldn’t bear the thought of moving on. The memories of Bobby and their last days together were etched in her mind. They would never fade.

Rose took a deep breath, braced herself for the tears she felt coming. She hung her head, and the tears fell like rain.

Chapter 1

Grand Isle, LA—present day

Arcadias Charbonneau peeked at his gas gauge and scowled. His dented Ford Ranger surely ran on fumes and nothing else. The gas gauge needle hunkered far below the E, and had been there nearly all week.

I should just drive right into the ocean and end it all, he thought. No more money worries.

He originally drove to the ocean on a whim, unable to resist a strong urge to comb the beach. And now he didn’t know if he would be able to make it back to his apartment. Only 43 dollars sat in his bank account. And out of that paltry amount he needed to somehow pay his overdue rent and electric bill. He also owed two months of back child support payments. As far as he knew his ex-wife hadn’t reported him yet, but that might change if he missed another month’s payment. So filling up his “trusty rusty” slid far down on his priority list.

Arcadias took his foot off the gas and allowed the Ford to coast into the beachside parking lot. He glided into the first open spot. Only two other vehicles sat in the lot. Arcadias shut off the truck’s sputtering engine. He carefully moved his feet so he didn’t put them through the rusted-out hole in the floorboard, and hopped out. Out of all the vehicles in the world, he had to somehow wind up with one from Minnesota. Rust ate at the small pickup truck like spreading cancer.

Arcadias reached into the truck bed and pulled out his beloved Fisher F75 metal detector. The expensive metal detector was probably the nicest thing he owned, and it definitely ranked as his most prized possession.

Arcadias measured the descending sun. He figured daylight would stick around another fifteen minutes. High cirrus clouds streaked the sky over his head. Conditions were perfect for a spectacular end to the day, but Arcadias wanted the sun to hang in the sky a little while longer and give him a chance at discovering hidden treasures. Finding buried coins, jewelry, and historical items made him come alive. His passion for relic hunting couldn’t be quenched no matter how much time he devoted to it.

He’d once held an important title: Professor of Louisiana History at McNeese State University. And over the years people had called him many colorful names, mostly derogatory ones. But the only title he took pride in, and the only name or title that truly summed up what he was all about was: Treasure Hunter.

Holding the metal detector with his right arm, Arcadias walked out onto the 7 mile long beach. Sand squished under his bare feet, burrowed up between his toes. Over the years he figured he’d scanned every square foot of the Grand Isle beach in his never-ending search for Jean Lafitte’s buried loot. He’d also searched nearby Grand Terre Island where the infamous pirate based his shady operations back in the early 19th Century.

But other than digging up a few items of broken jewelry and countless dimes, pennies, quarters and buttons, he’d found nothing belonging to Jean Lafitte. Arcadias often wondered if his obsession with Jean Lafitte was worth it. His incessant metal detecting cost him his marriage and professorship at McNeese State. Even worse, his fifteen-year old daughter wouldn’t even speak to him.

All told there are thirteen suspected sites where Lafitte may have stashed his vast fortune. Arcadias had searched each site thoroughly. One of the sites is Contraband Bayou. This particular bayou cuts through Lake Charles, Louisiana and right through the campus of McNeese State University.

Once admired and esteemed among his peers at the university, he eventually became a laughingstock. Near the end of his tenure his students often sat without an instructor in his classroom for most of the class while he scanned the nearby bayou shores with his metal detector.

Arcadias blinked away the bad memories. He shook his head defiantly. His shaggy brown hair flopped on his head. I’ll find it someday. And then they’ll have to eat their words, he thought as he waved the metal detector’s coil back and forth over the sand, the muscles in his forearm rippling.

If nothing else his relic hunting hardened his body, making him physically fit. He sported powerful forearms. His legs and back were also strong from constant squatting and stooping, and he possessed the agility and balance of a fencer from walking thousands of miles on shifting sand.

And yet he looked ten years older than his actual age. The sun had bronzed his skin into leather, while ocean winds chiseled deep furrows onto his brow and around his ash-colored eyes.

Arcadias listened intently to the Fisher F75 chatter away. The other people on the beach—a young couple and an artist toting a canvas under an arm—climbed into their cars and drove off, leaving him alone. Only a brown pelican, a flock of seagulls and a few stone crabs near the surf kept him company.

Arcadias glanced at the sky and the magnificent sunset. His exposed skin turned pinkish red and lavender as the sun cast its fading light. The metal detector sang out a long strident note. He looked at the display screen, noting the depth. It’s probably a dime, he thought.

He bent down and pushed the sand into a heap with his pinpointer. He spotted a small coin and held it up to his eyes. He let out a whoop when he saw he held a wheat penny from 1914. He noted it had a D on it and figured it might be worth one-hundred and sixty dollars. It wasn’t Lafitte treasure, but at least he could pay his electric bill now. Things were looking up.

He always ran into hard times when the tourist season ended. Arcadias owned and operated a small treasure hunting shop in town. He rented out metal detectors to people wanting to comb the beach. Fifty dollars rented you a metal detector for an hour; one-hundred dollars rented you one for three hours.

Some days he got no takers, other days he rented out all his metal detectors. It was hit and miss business at best. But if he could just hang on a few more weeks his dire financial situation might improve with the coming season.

Smiling like a kid with a new toy, Arcadias dropped the century-old penny into a pocket in his cargo shorts. I wonder if there are any more laying around here. For a moment he forgot all about how close he was to losing his business and becoming homeless. To save money he lived in a cramped backroom at his treasure hunting shop and ate ramen noodles for sustenance. He kept telling himself it was only temporary. One day soon he would be wealthy and not have to worry about paying bills.

Arcadias continued to wave the coil over the sand in the same general vicinity. But then he stopped when he felt a strong urge to urinate. BPH symptoms sent him running for the toilet more frequently than he liked.