Arcadias walked past a mural depicting the prodigal son returning home to his jubilant father, and was about to enter another bedroom when a grinning Damien exited a bedroom door and joined him on the landing, an extension cord dangling from his left hand.
“Let’s do it, Arcadias. Let’s open this crate,” Damien said, his raspy voice filled with determination.
Arcadias allowed himself a tiny smile. “Our destiny awaits us, Damien. It’s time to claim what’s been given us.” Arcadias led the way and entered the attic first. He zigzagged his way through the antiques until he reached the crate. A lump formed in his throat, and he knelt down on his knees almost reverently.
Damien plugged the extension cord into the receptacle and joined him. He then plugged the reciprocating saw into the extension cord, took a deep breath, and placed the saw blade against the lock’s shackle. He smiled at Arcadias briefly, and then pushed in on the trigger button.
The saw growled as the blade cut at the shackle in a push and pull motion. The lock wildly flopped around in response to the saw blade. Damien quickly shut off the saw. He looked at Arcadias. “I think we’d be better served if I just cut the lid off. It’s going to take forever to cut through the lock.”
“I see what you mean. Go ahead, I’m not stopping you.”
Damien placed the saw blade at one corner of the crate’s lid and started the saw once more. The Dewalt chewed up the old wood like a beaver gnawing at a dead tree. Sawdust billowed into the air and soon coated both Charbonneau brothers.
Damien continued to guide the whirring blade, and after a minute or so stopped the saw. He set down the power tool. He looked at his brother. “Do you want to do the honors?”
Arcadias nodded. He extended his hands, shaky with anticipation. Years spent searching overgrown fields, wading through mosquito-plagued bogs and alligator-infested bayous and it all came down to this moment. He pushed aside the lid. It clattered to the floor. Both he and Damien looked inside the crate.
Their jaws dropped.
And then both swore. No Lafitte treasure greeted them. Pieces of eight and gold doubloons didn’t flash in the crate.
Arcadias reached into the crate and pulled out yellowed papers and ledgers.
“What are those? They look like records,” Damien grumbled.
“That’s basically what they are. These are conveyance records, which are nothing more than manifests of slaves and equipment, manifests of livestock, and ledgers detailing sugar cane production numbers.”
“So all we found are business records?”
Arcadias nodded. “I’m afraid so.” For whatever reason, looking at the old records and historical documents made him think back to a time at the university when Dr. Granberg called him into his office. That day had been the beginning of a long period of bad days and rotten luck.
Arcadias had buried the remembrance in a deep grave far in the back of his mind. But now the memory resurrected itself from its lonely grave, pushing through until Arcadias found himself back in Dr. Granberg’s office, and face to face with the history department’s lead professor.
****
His reading glasses riding low on his nose in their customary spot, Dr. William Granberg looked up when Arcadias entered the office. Granberg’s frosty-blue eyes flashed anything but warmth. “Sit down, Arcadias,” he said bluntly.
Arcadias sat down in a leather-covered wingback chair. He avoided his boss’s glare and looked at his feet, knowing full well a lecture headed his way, and that the lecture wouldn’t be about Louisiana and nineteenth century U.S. history.
Arcadias stared at the red mud clinging to his shoes and waited for the scolding. He heard Granberg tamping tobacco into his pipe, and could smell a cherry scent waft up and mingle with the smell of old books and leather already riding the air.
“How did your class go this morning, Arcadias?”
“Um, I suppose it went well. I didn’t see too many students nodding off.”
“I bet you didn’t. It’s hard to see your students when you’re not even in the classroom.”
“I’m not following, Bill.”
Granberg lit his pipe. He looked at Arcadias fiercely. “You never appeared in your classroom, not even to take roll. You left your students alone while you treasure hunted.”
Arcadias sighed. “I told all my students on Monday that they were to use today’s class to study for an upcoming exam. They knew that.”
Dr. Granberg removed his pipe and exhaled. Smoke billowed into Arcadias’ face; its sickly-sweet aroma settled over him like cherry-scented fairy dust. “These kids are in debt up to their eyeballs, and they deserve a good education for their money. But you’re not giving it to them.”
Arcadias felt his cheeks burn with heat. “I disagree, Bill. I—”
Granberg waved a hand in the air, cutting him off. “You have a brilliant mind, Arcadias. The book you wrote on Louisiana history is topnotch. And all your published articles on the War of 1812 and the Battle of New Orleans are highly esteemed. But you need to stop trying to be Indiana Jones and start being Professor Charbonneau. Pour your knowledge into your students and teach them what you know. Teachers are supposed to instruct. And that’s why you are here, Arcadias. But you could lose your tenure if you repeat what you did earlier today.”
“It won’t happen again, Bill. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you, Arcadias. I don’t think you can stop treasure hunting. It’s become an obsession. It’s all you think about. And I think you love your metal detector more than Lorelei and Alisha.”
“That’s not true, Bill.”
Granberg chewed on his pipe stem as he prepared his reply. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Arcadias. Our wives are friends. They go shopping together. Your wife has confided in mine how your obsession with Jean Lafitte is driving a wedge between you and Lorelei and Alisha.”
Arcadias closed his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was causing anyone pain.”
Granberg nodded. “It’s not too late to salvage your marriage and career. But you need to give up looking for Lafitte treasure at once. Admit to yourself that the Lafitte horde is only a legend and nothing more, and then move on. Your family is the only treasure you’ll ever possess.”
Arcadias opened his eyes. “But the treasure does exist, Bill. I’ve been close to finding it several times.”
Granberg shook his head. “You need help, Arcadias. I think you should talk to a psychiatrist. Maybe you should start with Professor Girard here in the Psychology Department. Christopher is a good man who won’t betray your trust. I’m confident he could help you move on from your obsession.”
“Chris is a stand-up guy, but I don’t need to talk to him. I’ve gotten the message loud and clear, Bill. I won’t abandon my students again.”
“You better not, Arcadias. This is the last time I’m sticking up for you. I like you, but your tenure here is on thin ice. Screw up again and you’ll be filing for unemployment benefits.”
****
“I guess I’m done here then.”
Arcadias snapped out of his flashback and looked over at his brother. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m giving myself up.”
“You’re going to do serious prison time, Damien.”
“What choice do I have? I can’t run out of the house. I won’t get very far before they cut me down. Look, I’ll just keep up the charade that Jon Rafter took us all hostage. And then after I answer their questions I’ll just blend into the background and slip away.”
“I don’t think that will work. But I wish you good fortune.”
“What are you going to do, Arcadias. Surely you aren’t going to continue looking for the treasure.”
Arcadias shook his head. “I still believe the treasure exists somewhere on this property. But time has run out on us. So I am going to search for a way out of this attic. Jon and Annie found a way to the outside. I plan to take the same escape route as them.”