Damien nodded. “The room shouldn’t be hard to find. I was in the kitchen earlier and saw the door to the pantry. The servant staircase should be inside it just like the journal said.”

“Like I said earlier, you’re wasting your time looking for the treasure,” Ned Hoxley said. “The Whitcombs spent it all on those lavish parties they held here.”

Arcadias shot Ned a disbelieving look. “I hardly believe they could spend ten million dollars on parties. The treasure is here. I’d wager my life on it.”

“You never attended a Whitcomb gala like me,” Ned countered. “I’ve lived just down the road all my life. I rarely missed a party. Each one was bigger and more extravagant than the one before.”

“Ned, why do you think the Whitcombs hosted so many parties?” Annie asked.

Ned looked at Annie and shrugged his bony shoulders. “The Whitcombs were kindhearted people, and they loved their community. The Great Depression dragged along for so many years and hit this parish hard. No one had any money to speak of, and when banks wouldn’t loan anyone money, Lloyd would. This place became like a savings and loan. The Whitcombs kept us all from starving.”

Ned licked his lips before continuing his longwinded answer. “The economy finally started to improve around here in the late thirties, but then the war came and everything went sour once again. It was a depressing time. But the Whitcomb parties were fun and distracted us from the war.”

His hands secured together with plastic cuff ties, Rafter could do little but sit and listen. He watched Arcadias digest Ned’s comments. Clearly the news of unrestrained benevolence and extravagant parties came as a shock and didn’t sit well with Arcadias. He and his brother and their girlfriends were risking their lives and freedom for something that may not exist anymore, a vast treasure already spent. Although Arcadias hid it well, Rafter could see doubt beginning to creep into the hostage taker’s head. Little by little his grand plan for finding lost treasure unraveled. Frustration would soon eat at Arcadias’ mind. And frustration would eventually give birth to desperation. A desperate hostage taker was capable of anything, including violence.

“So how do you think the Whitcombs came across the treasure in the first place?” Annie asked Ned, her past detective skills flickering to life, as well as her curiosity.

Ned grinned. “We always wondered how the Whitcombs acquired their wealth. Everyone around here did.”

“Why is that?” Arcadias said.

Like an old schoolmaster giving the evil eye to a disruptive student, Ned glared at Arcadias. “For as long as anyone can remember this land never supported crops well. The Whitcomb sugarcane fields and their pitiful harvests lagged behind all the other sugarcane fields around here. Of course, I’m going on hearsay, because sugarcane production stopped here at the Whitcomb plantation around 1900.”

“So if I hear you right, you think one of the Whitcombs, possibly the patriarch, Rutherford Whitcomb found the Lafitte treasure. And that is how the Whitcomb fortune came about, not by growing sugarcane?”

Ned yawned and nodded his head weakly. “My great-great grandpa was friends with Rutherford. He passed down a story how his friend Rutherford went from penniless to wealthy overnight, how Rutherford bought this swampy property to build himself a stilt house. But then instead of a stilt house he built a plantation house.”

“Are you feeling okay, Ned. You look kind of pale. Did you remember to take your medicine?” Rafter asked his neighbor.

“I hadn’t got around to it yet. I usually take insulin with my supper. I was just going to run up here and tell you about your dog, and then go back home and take my injection.”

Rafter looked at Arcadias. “You need to let Ned go.”

“I can’t do that. He would call the police. Everyone in this room knows that.”

“Then get him something from the kitchen. There are granola bars in a bowl on the counter.”

Arcadias looked at Iris. “Please fetch Mr. Hoxley a granola bar.”

“Are you sure I’m capable? I screwed up the last assignment you gave me,” Iris said.

Arcadias patted her on the shoulder. “I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself. Make the most of it.”

Iris scowled at his comment but got up from her chair and stalked toward the kitchen. But she soon stopped in her tracks when the doorbell rang. Every head in the room turned and looked at the door.

“I’ll answer it. I got this,” Damien said, and headed for the door.

Chapter 26

That same moment

A half mile down the levee road from the hostage scene, Police officer Josiah Barrett rang the doorbell on an Acadian-style cottage. He glanced around as he waited for the door to open. The porch light revealed peeling paint and spider webs in the corners. This old house needs a bath and some new paint, he thought.

After waiting several seconds, and not hearing any footsteps, he rang the doorbell again.

The door opened almost immediately. An old woman in a wheelchair looked up at him. “Mrs. Hoxley, I’m Officer Barrett. You called 911 because your husband is missing?”

Cora Hoxley nodded her head. “Yes, I did. Why don’t you come in where we can see each other better? I’ll tell you everything that happened,” Cora said and wheeled into the front room, leaving Barrett standing there on the stoop.

The Copeland policeman stepped into the house and found the woman waiting for him. A ceiling fan provided stark illumination but did not spin. A giant black dog lay on a rug near a window. Occasionally the dog whined.

“You can sit down if you wish, Officer.”

Barrett sat down on a raggedy sofa. He got out a notepad and flipped it open, removed a pen from a chest pocket on his uniform. Barrett clicked his pen. “What time did your husband go missing?”

“Almost two hours ago.”

“And do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“Ned went to the neighbors just up the road—Jon and Annie Rafter.”

Barrett looked up from his notepad.

“Have you called up there, Mrs. Hoxley?”

“Please, call me Cora. Yes, I have tried calling up there several times. But no one will answer. It rings and rings.”

Barrett wrote in his notepad for a few moments. He looked up at Cora. “So why did Ned go up to the neighbors? Is that typical of him? The reason I ask is because if a person wants to leave of their own volition and go somewhere, that doesn’t mean something criminal has happened.”

“Officer Barrett, I don’t make a habit of calling 911. I’m not an alarmist. Ned told me he would only be gone for a few minutes. One reason I’m worried is because Ned hasn’t taken his medicine tonight. He needs his evening insulin shot and heart medication.”

“How old is Ned?”

“He’s eighty-nine, soon to be ninety.”

“Does Ned have dementia? Is he good about checking in with you when he’s out somewhere?”

“Ned’s mind is sharp. But he doesn’t have a cellphone, so he never checks in.”

Barrett looked at a framed photograph on the wall. In the portrait an elderly man wearing a suit sat close to Cora. Barrett guessed the photo was taken recently at a milestone anniversary party. “I take it that’s Ned in the photo with you?”

Cora nodded. “There’s another reason I’m worried for Ned.”

“And what would that be?”

Cora pointed at the dog lying on the rug. “That dog is Rosie, the neighbor’s dog. She’s injured. She may have been shot. That’s why Ned went up to the Rafters’ house—to tell them about their dog.”

Barrett looked at the dog. Even from where he sat on the sofa he could see something ailed the animal. Except for its great size, the dog looked puny. “Why do you think someone shot the dog?”

“When Rosie came here she was bleeding a lot. And I’ve been hearing gunshots off and on all night. And they sound like they’re coming from the Rafters’ place.”