Arcadias sighed and turned off his metal detector and hurried over to a small thicket of oak and hackberry trees standing in a marshy area about forty yards away from the parking lot. He took cover behind an oak tree.

After he finished his business and zipped up his shorts, he picked up his metal detector and turned it back on. The metal detector immediately went crazy, growling in low tones. The low tones indicated iron or gold, and he stood right on top of it. The screen on the Fisher predicted the object lay eight inches below the surface.

Arcadias dropped to his knees and began digging with his knife. He worked quickly. Darkness fast approached. He periodically stopped digging to aim his pinpointer over the area. The pinpointer looked similar to a magician’s wand, and amounted to nothing more than a mini metal detector.

The pinpointer let loose a steady shrill note. I’m right on top of it, he thought. Arcadias slowed his digging. He loosened the sand/soil mixture carefully. His knife soon clunked against something metallic.

“It’s some sort of box,” he said aloud as he viewed two corners of a small iron box sticking up through the soil. Arcadias sped up his digging. He dug furiously like a dog trying to catch a mole in the backyard. Excitement made his body shake. He couldn’t believe other relic hunters had somehow missed the buried object. His intuition told him he’d found something significant, perhaps something valuable.

Part of the iron box lay buried underneath a tree root. Arcadias had to dig fairly deep to extricate the box. The box had also shifted while in the ground. It lay vertical, forcing him to dig deeper. Arcadias wished he had his shovel, but the garden tool was in his truck bed and he didn’t want to go back. He made do with his knife and pinpointer. And at last he freed the box.

Arcadias lifted it out, grunting with the effort. Dirt clung to the box, encasing it. He swept the box off the best he could; tapped at with his knife to knock off perhaps a century or more of dirt. He guessed the iron box measured approximately 10 inches wide by 6 inches tall by 12 inches long.

Arcadias felt his heart pound. He steeled himself against disappointment. So many times in the past he’d been excited about a find only to be crushed by the inevitable letdown. He shook the box gently. The box rattled, its sound unmistakable like coins clinking in a coffee can. Giddiness welled up inside him. Laughter burst out his mouth.

He stood up and carried the heavy box with two hands back to his truck, temporarily leaving his metal detector behind. He needed light to see what he’d found. At the truck, he set the box down on the ground and yanked open his door. He reached behind the seat and hurriedly dragged out a headlamp, praying the batteries inside still had life. The light flipped on and he slid the lamp onto his head with shaking hands.

Arcadias dropped to his knees on the asphalt. He examined the box and whistled. The box looked old, really old. He studied the latch on the box’s front for a moment and then tried it. It wouldn’t budge. Undeterred, Arcadias slid his knife blade underneath the latch and pried upward. The extra leverage popped the lid open.

He gasped. His mouth quivered. Arcadias reached inside the iron box, buried his fist into a mound of Spanish doubloons and pieces of eight. He let the gold and silver coins spill out his hand and back into the box, enjoying the metallic sound. Just moments ago he wanted to drive his vehicle into the ocean and end it all, but not anymore. Ecstasy filled his body. He could sing like an opera singer he was so happy. Arcadias knew without a shadow of a doubt he’d just found Lafitte treasure.

He swiveled his head, scanned his surroundings. Paranoia warned him to be careful. People would kill for what he held in his hands. But he was all alone in the parking lot, just him and that stupid brown pelican. Relax. Take a deep breath. Enjoy the moment, he told himself.

Arcadias pushed a button on his headlamp. The LED lamp brightened and pushed away the intensifying darkness. And then he saw the note inside the box. It was partially buried by the doubloons. Arcadias pulled the note out gently. There were only two lines written on the rag paper, and they were written in French. The iron gall ink looked well preserved for its age. The calligraphy letters hadn’t bled at all.

Arcadias took great pride in his Cajun heritage. He could read and speak French fluently. And so he read aloud what the note said, translating it into English.

“This is only one percent of what I took from the Spanish galleon Nuestra Senora de Cerredos. I buried the rest at North 30 by West 91.”

Arcadias put the note back into the box and shut the lid. He mulled over what to do. He could go the conservative route and sell off the coins in the box and pay off his debts and child support payments. Or he could take what he held in his hands and finance an expedition to find the entire Lafitte stash.

Arcadias estimated the value of the doubloons and pieces of eight at seventy thousand dollars, and the amount might even be higher. If he could trust the note as factual, there could be treasure worth upwards of ten million dollars at the coordinates given. To shut up the naysayers he would have to find it all.

But if he kept the discovery to himself he wouldn’t have to pay taxes to Uncle Sam. And he surely didn’t want his ex-wife to get wind of it. She’d want her child support payments increased significantly.

Arcadias shook his head. Nope, I’m not telling anybody. Mum is the word, Arcadias. Mum is the word.

Chapter 2

New Orleans—3 weeks later

“I’m afraid I’ll never have a green thumb like you, Annie,” Claire Quigley said as she tamped down the brown mulch around an azalea bush she’d just planted.

“It just takes time and practice, Claire,” Annie Rafter said. She’d driven up to New Orleans from Copeland earlier in the morning to help her friend with a landscaping project. Claire was a widow and frequently needed help around her house. “A little research will help too,” she added. “Knowing how acidic the soil is and how much sun and water a plant needs is crucial.”

Claire laughed. “I don’t know how much more time I have left. I’m pretty old, you know.”

Sweat dripped off Annie’s nose as she dug a hole for another azalea bush. Claire wanted to plant the colorful bushes in a space where a live oak tree once dominated her backyard. “You’re not that old, Claire. You have more time than you think.”

“Well, I hope you’re right. But I wouldn’t bet on it.” Claire poured water into the freshly dug hole with a watering can.

Annie placed the azalea bush into the hole. “I need to ask you something, Claire.” Annie lost her mother when she was very young. And even though Claire was old enough to be her grandmother, she’d taken on a maternal role in Annie’s life. She approached Claire whenever she needed advice.

“Why sure, Annie, ask away. If it’s not about plants…maybe I can help.”

Annie straightened up and leaned on the shovel. “It’s about Jon and me.”

The perpetual smile on Claire’s face vanished. “Is everything okay between you two?”

“I guess so. It just seems like Jon doesn’t love me as intensely as he used to.”

The smile reappeared on Claire’s face, a knowing smile. “Oh, it sounds like you’ve reached the end of the honeymoon phase. Now you’re in the realization phase.”

“Can you elaborate on this realization phase, Claire?”

“When the romance and passion of the honeymoon phase ends you come to realize your spouse isn’t perfect, that they have all kinds of flaws and bad habits you’re going to have to live with for the rest of your time together. The D word comes onto the scene at this time. And I’m not talking about divorce. I’m referring to disappointment.”