Outside the house, his brother Damien hunted the backyard with a traditional metal detector. Originally he planned to hunt for the treasure alone. But the house and grounds were simply too big to go it alone. So he enlisted the help of Damien and his girlfriend Colette, as well as his own on-and-off-again girlfriend, Iris.
At first Colette and Iris thought they were being treated to a romantic getaway. But now that they were here, Arcadias put them to work. They worked as a team and searched one of the other six bedrooms, using scanners like his along the walls.
A large, antique canopy bed filled the Rose Room. Sheer curtains hung from the bed’s wooden frame and fluttered in the afternoon breeze coming through a window.
Pushing aside the canopy curtains, Arcadias climbed onto the bed and scanned the wall behind the headboard. It didn’t take long for his scanners to pulse stridently. Arcadias pulled a carpenter’s pencil from his tool belt and marked the location. He then hopped off the bed and grabbed his cordless drill equipped with a hole-cutter bit.
He climbed atop the bed once more and drilled the spot on the wall he’d marked. Plaster dust showered onto the pillows and comforter. His heart thumped as he peered inside the cavity. His headlamp spotlighted the wall’s interior.
But he saw only electrical wiring and Bousillage—a Spanish moss and mud mixture used to insulate houses during the antebellum period—and nothing else. Arcadias moved on. No time to pout. Keep moving, he told himself.
Arcadias moved to the next wall. He started his scan up high near the crown molding and worked his way down, methodically working a search grid. He was halfway across the wall when Damien’s voice came across his Motorola two-way radio.
Arcadias pulled the Motorola from his tool belt. He pushed the talk button. “Please repeat what you just said, Damien.”
“The owners are headed your way, Arcadias. And they look mad.”
Arcadias pushed the talk button once more on the Motorola. “You better stop what you’re doing and come inside. I’ll need your help with them.”
“Be there in a bit, brother.”
Arcadias switched channels on his radio and then hit the talk button again. “Iris, stop your scanning immediately. Tell Colette the same. Turn up the TV or turn on the shower and lock your door. The owners are coming.”
Arcadias switched the channel back to his brother’s frequency and put the two-way radio back into his tool belt. He took off the bulky belt and slid it under the canopy bed along with his metal detector and scanners. He then bent down and peeled his pant leg up high enough he could reach inside his boot. He pulled out a Glock 17 side arm. He slid a clip into the bottom of the grip and pulled back the slide.
Arcadias slid the Glock into his waistband at the small of his back. He opened the bedroom door a crack and then sat down in an overstuffed chair. He grabbed a paperback from a nearby bookcase—appropriately entitled Treasure Island—and pretended to read.
He heard people thumping up the stairs, could hear anger in their footfalls. A confrontation loomed like storm clouds in the hurricane season. Stay calm, Arcadias. Use your charm, he told himself.
In this portion of the house hallways didn’t exist. Upstairs bedrooms connected to each other through entry and exit doors. Each bedroom had three doors in it, one of which opened to the outside gallery. The stairs ended at a small landing. One had the choice of entering a room to their left or right.
Voices floated toward him from the landing. The Rose Room was the first bedroom available to the right of the landing. Arcadias heard a man and a woman. He recognized the woman’s voice. It was Annie, the owner. Arcadias assumed the man accompanying her was Jon, her husband.
A harsh series of raps sounded on the door. Arcadias took a deep breath and then exhaled. He set the paperback down and stood up. He took two steps and answered the door.
Jon and Annie Rafter faced him. Arcadias took a brief second or two to assess his foes. Annie was a strikingly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties. Caramel-colored hair and sapphire eyes made her pleasant to look at. She appeared fit and healthy. Long legs and toned arms gave her an athletic appearance. She’s probably a runner, he thought.
Jon stood about six feet tall. A handsome man in his early forties, Rafter’s graying hair made him look a little like George Clooney. He also appeared lean and fit. And if Arcadias could sum the man up in one word it would be: dangerous.
Jon Rafter was indeed an oxymoron. He gave the impression of being humble and meek. Yet Arcadias knew it was only a façade. Rafter was more than just an artist. Arcadias could look into Rafter’s eyes and see there was much more to the man than just paint and brushes. The eyes were windows into a person’s soul. And Rafter’s hazel eyes belied a quiet strength and courage few others possessed.
While planning this recovery expedition, Arcadias studied up on Jon Rafter. He had to know what he was up against. And he came across an old newspaper article of the man’s heroic exploits in the Atchafalaya Basin.
Without any support from law enforcement, Rafter singlehandedly took out the Boudreaux clan—hardened criminals—and saved Annie and a little girl named Gabby Witherspoon from their clutches. And he performed his heroic deed during the worst hurricane to ever hit Louisiana shores.
Be careful of this one, a voice said in Arcadias’ mind.
“I’m sorry Mr. Charbonneau, but we’re going to have to ask you and your friends to leave. Your money will be refunded,” Jon Rafter said firmly.
Arcadias put on a bewildered face. “I don’t understand. We just arrived not long ago.”
“We have a behavior clause in the contract you signed. Your behavior thus far breaches the contract,” Annie said.
“What have we done to warrant our dismissal?”
“Your brother is scanning our backyard with a metal detector. I explicitly turned down your own request to relic hunt our grounds several days ago.”
“I’m sorry about that. Damien wasn’t aware of your wishes. I’ll go tell him to stop.”
Jon Rafter shook his head. “Annie says she’s hearing electronic beeps, and maybe even saws. I see a cordless drill lying on the bed. And I also see a large hole in the wall. Most people would call that vandalism.” Rafter took a step forward. “Gather up your stuff and leave, Mr. Charbonneau. A refund will be placed back onto your credit card. If you don’t leave peaceably, I’ll have the local police escort you off the premises.”
Arcadias reached behind his back and pulled the Glock from his waistband. He leveled the gun at Jon Rafter. “I’m afraid I can’t agree to your terms. I paid for two nights. We’ll leave after that.”
Arcadias watched Annie’s pretty eyes grow large. But the surprise only lasted a second before anger replaced it.
“What is it you want?”
“Your house holds a secret. I know what the secret is. Your property, and perhaps even your house, has been guarding a historical item for nearly two centuries. I intend to find this item over the next several hours. I wish you no harm. I am a lover of history, and I appreciate the beauty of your historical home. Rest assured, should I find the item I’m seeking, I will leave you with funds to repair any damage the home sustains.”
“You’ll never get away with this.”
Arcadias shrugged. “I need you to give me your cellphones. Please comply without resisting.” He watched Jon and Annie pull smart phones from their pockets. “Now, toss them into the room behind me.”
They obeyed. The phones clattered onto the hardwood floor.
Damien sidled up behind the Rafters. He looked questioningly at the Glock in Arcadias’ hand. “I thought guns were a last resort.”
“They were going to the police. I had to persuade them not to,” Arcadias said calmly. He looked at Jon and Annie. The man and wife didn’t look fearful at all, just spitting mad. Arcadias turned his attention back to Damien. “Do you have any ideas where we can put them? It needs to be someplace where they’ll be out of our way, and where we won’t have to worry about them getting loose.”