“How about the police?”

“This was a very rural county. People stayed out of other people’s business. I would bet there was little effort to enforce the Volstead Act locally. My grandmother told stories of her father brewing beer and the sheriff dropping by in his Model T to share a few bottles.”

“So what about the buried treasure? Any truth to that?”

“I’ve just skimmed the first few chapters. According to Fox, Capone amassed a huge amount of money, most of which he converted to gold coins. This was going to be his special retirement fund. Not trusting Bank of America, he and the boys buried barrels of gold all along the Lake Michigan coast with the plan that they would retrieve it as needed. Alas, the wages of crime caught up to them.” Ray flipped the book over to show Hannah the back. “The best thing is, if you look on the author’s note, Fox says the book is an invaluable guide to finding the Capone treasure.”

“So what happens now, a summer of digging up beaches?”

“Probably. Many of them are in the National Shoreline. It will give the rangers something else to worry about besides the nude sunbathers.”

Hannah stood up with her plate and reached for Ray’s. “I’ve got my boat on the car….”

Ray yawned. “It’s too late, and I’m too tired. How about a short hike? Then I want to crash.”

“You’re on,” she said. “Let’s do the dishes.”

7

Sue had backed into Vincent Fox’s gravel drive and was standing at the open tailgate of her Jeep organizing her gear when Ray arrived.

“That was fast,” she said over the noise of Simone, yapping her greeting from the front seat.

Ray opened the door and accepted the kisses of the dog’s enthusiastic welcome. “I was already rolling when your call came.”

“I’m getting ready to cast a couple of tire prints. But I didn’t want to start on the house until you saw it. You can tell me what things looked like yesterday. And before we go in, I want to check the exterior for footprints, especially the area around the back door. That appears to have been the point of access.”

“So you’re telling me to hang back and not mess anything up?”

“Boy, are you fast,” Sue said, dryly.

Ray set Simone back in the car and closed the door. “You’re a bit touchy this morning,” he said.

“I’m a little ticked at myself. I should have been here yesterday and looked the place over. But it was late in the day, the search warrant wasn’t ready yet, and…”

“I didn’t expect you to be here yesterday, Sue. Didn’t I say that in my e-mail?”

“Yes, okay, but I would have normally come over and checked the place out. Shot some photos, looked for anything that might have shed some light on this man’s disappearance. I would have secured the place to come back to do a more thorough search, if it seemed necessary. But it was close to six o’clock when I got back from Sandville. And if I had started, I would have spent most of the evening here. I’m trying to figure out how to get a life. We’ve been working crazy hours for months.”

Ray waited for Sue to look at him, but she continued to fuss with her gear. “It’s okay, Sue,” he finally said. “Yesterday this wasn’t a crime scene. You did the right thing. When I requested that you look the place over, all I was thinking was that you might spot something that would give us a hint at why Fox went missing. You’re so good at that.” Ray paused for a long moment. “And you deserve a life, I recognize that.”

Sue faced Ray and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not putting this on you, Ray. It just happens when we are in the midst of an investigation. And, well, we are both like bulldogs. We keep going until we solve the crime. But I still need a life. I haven’t made it to yoga in months. I seldom spend any time with friends. I know it’s been the same for you.” She turned back to the Jeep and lifted out a bag of Traxtone, a powdered casting material. Then she said quietly, “I photographed the tire prints already and hope the castings will provide a better impression of the sides. I’m not sure there’s enough on the treads to give us any real evidence. If this is the perp’s ride, he’s driving on a couple of real bald eagles.”

Ray watched as Sue knelt and measured some warm water from a thermos and poured it into a plastic bag. Then she added the Traxtone. As the water came in contact with the cement, colored pellets appeared. She kneaded the material until the color disappeared, then carefully poured the mixture into each of the two tire prints. Ray stood by quietly. He knew that Sue liked to focus on her work without the interference of a conversation.

Suddenly she stood up and once again faced Ray with her arms crossed. “And I started seeing someone,” she said. “It would be nice to have weekends off, most of the time, and sort of a normal life.”

“Anything else?” Ray asked, matching her serious expression.

“Simone. I think we should have joint custody. I would like to be able to go away for a few days and not board her. She really likes you. I think it would be good for you, for her, and for me.”

“It almost sounds like we’re negotiating the terms for divorce.”

“It does,” she responded, half laughing. “ And we’ve never had the joys of a marriage, let alone the pain of separation.” Sue’s tone changed. “I really like you. If you weren’t my boss and a bit too old, I could go for you. You’re a prize, Ray Elkins, a truly nice man who’s one hell of a cook. Even though you don’t seem to do shirts or windows, you’d be okay. So how about joint custody?”

“I can probably manage that.”

“Now let me show you the house.” Sue was back to business. “We’ll start at the front. Whoever broke in last night didn’t bother with the front door. They probably scoped out the place enough to see that it was fairly substantial. The back door, however, is little more than an interior door. Something they could easily kick in.”

Ray followed Sue through the open front door and stood motionless for a few moments, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the dark interior. “Unbelievable,” he said.

“Bit of a change from yesterday?” asked Sue.

“Someone really tore the place up.” Indeed, the house had been thoroughly ransacked—furniture upended, drawers dumped, books pulled off shelves, cupboards emptied.

“What were they looking for?” asked Sue.

“Did you read my notes from yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see the line on Vincent Fox’s book?”

“Yes,” said Sue. “You noted the book’s title, something about Al Capone.”

“I scanned it last night. According to his daughter, it’s all fiction, but Fox presents his story as fact. Here’s the condensed version: Fox writes that he was once Al Capone’s driver and that Capone hid millions of dollars in gold coins up here during the 1920s and ’30s. He hints at the locations, but says with the passage of time things look different and, also, his memory is starting to fade so….”

“You think the trashing of his place….”

“Yes, and maybe even his disappearance, is connected to the book.” Ray carefully studied the interior. “It’s gone.”

“What’s that?”

“His computer, a desktop model. It was there, to the right of the printer.”

“So if we go with the theory that this break-in is connected to his book….”

“Exactly,” responded Ray. “Someone was looking for more information on the buried treasure. Maps, diaries, whatever. If what his daughter says is true about the story being total fiction, it must have been a frustrating search because there isn’t anything here. He wrote the book on the computer, so a quick glance at the directory would probably show file names related to the book. Maybe the perp was hoping there would be other material stored on the drive, so taking it would make sense.”