They spent the evening leafing through the old journals. At one point, Brian and Honey took a walk for some fresh air. Trixie didn’t notice her sibling and friend leave; her sandy head was buried in the journal she was trying to decipher. Dan noticed but didn’t comment. He wished his friends would find new people; their repeated dance of getting back together and breaking up again was wearing on all of them. But both Brian and Honey resisted his offers to set them up with people he knew. Dan wouldn’t push, and he didn’t like getting involved in other people’s business, especially two of his best friends.

"The Captain wrote worse than me," Trixie muttered. “This is like trying to read Bobby’s homework when he was little!”

In the next chair, Dan chuckled. "I think I want some of those Severed Fingers. Trix, you up for a snack? That dessert was pretty good."

“Nah, I want to finish this,” she replied absently, not registering the unusual desire of Dan’s wanting something sweet.

"Okay,” Dan answered quickly as he left the room. He had asked more out of courtesy than anything else, he wanted to explore a bit on his own.

He strolled into the empty dining room. Marge Trask sat at the captain’s table, efficiently writing on a legal notepad. She glanced up when she heard his voice and rewarded him with a warm smile.

"Please join me," she motioned to him.

Mad Maria and the Weasel were cleaning the tables and a vacuum sat near the kitchen entrance.

"I was hoping to get a late snack, if the kitchen is open," Dan said hopefully.

"Of course," Marge answered. "Shall it be Flaming Tongue Pie?"

"Actually, I was thinking the Severed Fingers sounded good," he said sheepishly. "I know it's for the kids but. . . "

"Nonsense. I'll be right back." She stood but Dan protested. "No, no, I'll get it," she insisted. "Sending Willis in there right now isn't a good idea. He already set Nola off once tonight."

She hurried into the kitchen as Dan glanced at the notepad. It appeared to be a list of names and amounts. Creditors? He thought. Certainly suppliers of some sort.

Within a couple of minutes she was back, bearing two plates, one for each of them. Dan picked at his. The sauce was too sweet for him, but the ladyfingers were delicious. Mad Maria stopped by with two cups of coffee.

"Thought ye might be wantin' these," she smiled at Dan, who thanked her and looked away. Something about her bothered him. Maybe the shakily drawn eyeliner or badly applied lipstick or the inviting smile. Out of the makeup, she might look normal, he thought, but in it...she almost disturbed him. He discreetly pushed the napkin she had set down under his plate. He didn’t want to know her phone number, and he had glimpsed the pen writing on it when she set it down.

"Mart will be sorry he missed this," Dan chuckled. "Where did she learn to cook like this?"

"Nola's won quite a few awards, mostly local, in the towns she's lived in. She just credits it to her uncle getting her interested in food as a child, and following in his footsteps. Strange though, Gaston worked here for years, and I never knew he had any family, let alone a niece studying to be a chef. If Frank knew, he never mentioned it."

Dan made note of that. It wouldn’t be the first time they had come across an imposter.

"Have you seen Gaston lately?" he asked casually.

"No," Marge shook her head. "I remember Frank telling me last year he was going to quit and had promised a suitable replacement."

Dan nodded. "Well, he did that. Does she move a lot?”

"Seems to, though she appears quite happy here." Marge's eyes twinkled. "She’s a lovely young lady when in a good mood. Quite attractive too."

Dan realized Marge thought he was fishing for information for personal reasons. Well, that was okay, he decided. Dan chuckled.

"Kind of hard to see through whatever was dripping on her earlier."

"No doubt the raspberry sauce," Marge replied dryly. "She was in a rage that Willis had tampered with the sauce when she wasn't looking; put too much sugar in it, that it was too sweet. He of course, insists he didn't. That led to the war with it and the blueberry pie. I suspect she threw first, after he goaded her. The joys of managing well behaved staff, let me tell you," she smiled.

Dan laughed. Mad Maria, the Weasel and Nola were a far cry from Celia, Tom and Regan at Manor House.

"Must keep things interesting around here," he commented, sipping his coffee.

"That's for certain, Dan," Marge answered. "Frank did tell me they often had some entertainment with Willis and Nola shouting at each other. At first he thought it was a show they were doing but they really dislike each other. Well, that's not entirely accurate. They get along fine as long as they stay out of each others way."

Dan nodded. "Aren't most creative people a bit … temperamental?" he asked.

"Generally," Marge smiled.

Dan finally went for a walk, scoping out the property to refresh his memory of the layout, before he decided to return to his room. The light was off in Trixie's room where they had been, so he figured his friend had gone to sleep. Brian wasn’t in the room yet and Dan chuckled to himself.

Dan read for a bit, then lay awake, wondering why he couldn't get Nola off his mind. He chalked it up to his loneliness, and let himself drift into fantasy about the hot-headed chef.

***

Trixie watched anxiously as Honey’s palm pilot downloaded the information they wanted.

Erica Sentel was a bit of a surprise. A two bit hack searching lost treasure. She had creditors climbing all over her and several misdemeanor accounts of petty theft, destruction of private property and general unruliness—all in the name of the hunt, the Bob-Whites discovered. She had been run off from several treasure locations and had a essentially a restraining order against her in Egypt. She wasn’t even allowed in the country. She had served some jail time in more than one country for desecration of holy sites.

“Maybe she tried to lift King Tut’s jewels,” Dan commented.

“As long as she isn’t cursed and bringing it here!” Honey answered. “This girl is so bent on finding treasure it’s unbelievable. She must think if she can find some treasure and money, she’ll have an easy ride, but she’s definitely not getting the point that with all the energy and money she’s wasting, she could have a regular,productive life.”

"Looking for an easy ride, I guess," Brian commented.

Dan was running a background check on Nola Gabriel. There wasn’t much. Solid credit, good education, had indeed gone to the Cordon Bleu. No rap sheet, not even a speeding ticket. By all accounts, Nola Gabriel was just an average citizen. But Dan couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that that wasn’t all there was.

Even the Weasel had been run as suspect, though his devotion to Frank Trask was well known. He wasn’t really considered a suspect, but the investigators wouldn’t rule him out completely. Some petty theft charges when he was young, but nothing since he came to work for Frank Trask.

“Mad” Maria Lambino’s background check came back and raised a couple of eyebrows. Two stints in jail for prostitution several years before. With a poor family life, she had run away when she was sixteen. Two years ago she turned up looking for work and Frank Trask had hired her. The Weasel spoke highly of her and Marge said she got along well with Nola, until Nola’s food review got bypassed in lieu of the treasure map’s surfacing, thanks to Maria’s big mouth. She had mentioned it to the food critic, who forgot about his review. Nola had been furious and hadn’t spoken to Maria since.

The honeymooning couple was Alan and Maggie Olas. They were often seen walking along the cliff side, hand in hand, or else nowhere to be seen, and presumably in their room. They came for meals in the dining room and spent most of the time feeding each other and making googly eyes at each other.

The other guests so far were vacationing families with small children who delighted in the fake gold “doubloons” that were chocolate, and eager to go on the pirate tour, or search the dining room for clues to the old Captain’s disappearance.

Coming in this afternoon was more guests that the Bob-Whites expected to be treasure hunters.

***

They found out they were right when they saw the SUV pull up, and bizarre looking equipment piled in the back. Moments later a dirty white pickup arrived, its bed loaded down with more equipment. The third car to pull in was a dirty green Buick.

“Oh dear,” Marge muttered. “I didn’t tell them they could bring all that…stuff.”

“We’ll take care of it for you,” Dan promised. He and Brian had already talked it out and when the new guests came to register, they refused them the equipment.

“But, how else are we to find the treasure?” Brad Gentler demanded. He was young, late twenties, and stocky with thick hair, a goatee. He had arrived in the pickup.

“You can bring metal detectors and that’s it,” Dan said firmly. “There will absolutely not be any other equipment being used, especially if it tears up the ground.”

Johnny Dentan, the lanky, sullen-looking owner of the SUV, glared at the two young men. “Just who the hell do you think you are, to tell us this?”

“We’re Inn Security,” Dan smiled coldly. “We welcome all guests but we will not allow every gold hungry drifter to tear this place apart.”

“Fine,” Brad grumbled. “Metal detector it is.”

Johnny glared but finally conceded. The owner of the green Buick was unloading only a suitcase and large duffel bag. He was average height, stocky, and had a ruddy complexion and mustache.

“I’m not here for treasure. I just want some peace and quiet by the water. Tom Matten’s the name.”

Brian and Dan oversaw the guests checking in and exchanged an amused glance. This was going to be an interesting week.

***

Dan had wandered around the back of the inn, where he recognized Marge’s maroon sedan. There were a couple of other cars he figured belonged to the staff, and as he stood there, a small, midnight blue coupe pulled up. Nola hopped out and grabbed her backpack.

Where had she been? He wondered. He knew she lived on site.

“Hi there,” he smiled at her and she tensed as she saw him.

“Oh, um hello,” she forced a smile but Dan’s eyes narrowed slightly. Something was up.

“Need something for dinner?” he asked casually, motioning to the backpack.

“No, excuse me,” she demurred, sliding past him. His eyes lingered on her retreating form. There was definitely more to Miss Gaston than she was letting on.

By dinner time, the new guests were all outside, looking, waving their metal detectors, crouching by the cliff side, and studying the angle of the sun. The Bob-Whites snickered softly as they watched.

“The problem is,” Trixie said thoughtfully, “how can we look when they’re all over the place?”

“At night?” Honey suggested reluctantly.

“I don’t like the idea of going down that cliff side again in the dark,” Dan commented.

“It may be our only chance, if these leeches are going to be out here all day,” Trixie answered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw a couple of them out at night.”

***

Dan poked his head into the immaculate kitchen. Nola was nowhere around but a pot of coffee was almost finished, the rich aroma filling the room. Stepping into the kitchen gingerly, expecting her to pop out waving a frying pan at him, he located a cup in the cabinet.

The kitchen was enormous, he noted, and immaculate. Stainless steel counters, refrigerators, wooden-door cabinets up high, an expensive, new looking dishwasher. White tile flooring and well lit. A big knife block held an assortment of knives with matching black handles. Strainers and bowls and items Dan’s limited cooking knowledge couldn’t identify hung neatly on the walls. Two ovens were nestled in the wall, one on top of the other.

Pouring himself a cup, he set the mug down and pulled out one of the barstools at the island to sit on. From his pocket he produced a copy of the map and a small notebook.

Unfolding the paper, he studied the childish scrawling and sketching yet again.

The handwriting matched the journal, confirming that it had been written by Captain Trask. In the upper right corner of the map was a big X. And while there wasn’t a line connecting the drawings, it was pretty obvious where it started.

First, there were three squiggly lines, and a bunch of straight lines. Then teeth. Big teeth, he thought, frowning. Some sort of creature? Next were the circles. Well, oval, really, he thought, wondering if that made much of a difference. That made no sense whatsoever. Above that, was some sort of bird, he determined, noting it down. Then the broken path of three, all indicating they ended up in a bigger circle, where there were more teeth. And they led to the big X.

Studying the faint trace of color, Dan decided the big circle around the X would be an underground lake of some sort, where they stashed the treasure and had to be able to sail in and out of. The different lines might be different tunnels he thought. They all ended up at the X, but who knew what sort of traps might be set, or if the tunnels had collapsed over time?

Captain Trask was educated enough to write out his journals. But his artistic talent sucked, Dan thought, refilling his coffee.

The question still remained as to why the Captain bothered to bury his treasure. Was it ego? Make everyone think there was a treasure when he really had it all aboard his ship? Or had they been right in thinking the captain had planned to come back?

Making notes on his notepad he never heard the door open but the voice made him smile.

“What are you doing in here?”

He glanced up to see Nola, chef coat draped over her arm, in a pretty pale blue t-shirt and black pants, her long hair in a ponytail.

“Needed someplace private,” he offered a charming smile. “So I could think something out and get some coffee.”

The smile returned was hesitant and he realized how very uncomfortable she was. Her movements were lithe but tense, but Dan wondered why she should be on such guarded behavior. Unless she had something to hide, of course.

“I’ll uh, clear out,” he stood but she waved her hand in dismissal and stepped forward.

“You’re all right. Marge said you were to have run of the place. But if you slide over a couple seats, it would help.”

Dan did so willingly, as she hung her crisp white jacket on a hook, and turned to start preparing that evening’s menu. His eye lingered on her, the way her ponytail fell, the graceful yet efficient movement around the kitchen and her round backside. She had some athletic background, he decided and he had to work consciously to not stare at her long legs and rounded backside. She was built the way he liked his women, solid and curvy and strong. He found himself distracted by her hands, as they chopped tomatoes, arranged salads, and rolled out dough.

“What are you working on?” she finally asked. “You looked pretty intense.”

“The map.” He surprised himself by answering.

“No kidding? What do you make of those teeth?” she asked, taking a container from the refrigerator.

“Kind of scary. Even back then there weren’t dragons. I don’t know of any cave dweller that would have teeth like that.”

“Well, there’s always a yeti or sasquatch,” she smirked, but her blue eyes twinkled at him.

Dan smiled. “I’d find that pretty interesting.”

Nola shrugged. “We are in the Catskills.”

He slid into the opening. “Speaking of, what’s a talented lady like you doing way out here?”

“Instead of suffering the backstabbing and hell of a big city where every Suzi- homemaker is aspiring to be the next Emeril and making barely minimum wage?” she asked with amusement.

“Well, when you put it that way,” he said, sipping his coffee.

“I’m too lazy to deal with the rat race, and too dominant to be stuck as an underling in a restaurant. The hours are insane, and the pay is crap until you work about four levels up the structure, which can take three or more years. This place is perfect. I have free rein, I get to create what I want, I only answer to Marge and she pretty much leaves me in charge of the kitchen.”

Dan nodded. “Sounds pretty good, but seems like a waste of time after attending a school like the Cordon Bleu.”

Nola hesitated just a fraction too long before answering. “My uncle wanted to retire. He had grown pretty fond of this place and hated to leave it in the lurch. It was a golden opportunity. I don’t like people much to begin with, so this limits my interactions with them. It’s a win-win.”

With another sip of his coffee, Dan studied her. She was a fairly cool liar, he thought, but definitely lying. About what, he wasn’t sure.

“What do you in your time off?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t have much time off but that’s my choice. Mostly I study more recipes, read a fair amount. Walk along the cliffs. I have an excellent wireless card in my laptop so I have plenty of contact to world events. We’re not that isolated out here.”

“Pretty boring for a young woman like you.”

“On occasion I catch a movie,” she smiled at him. “I’m a pretty solitary person by nature.”

“That’s something of a shame,” he smiled. “I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime.”

Nola seemed caught off guard, or else she was looking for an excuse. Dan wasn’t sure which.

“Oh well,” she hesitated, “I don’t know that I should mix business with pleasure. Marge might not like it.”

Dan knew that was a crock of crap, but he’d play her game for now.

“No problem,” he smiled, “but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Standing up from his bar stool, he winked at her as he took his notebook and map and wandered out of the kitchen.

Nola stood staring after him for a moment, smiling slightly to herself.

***

The four Bob-whites waited until the dining room had thinned out slightly before going for dinner. Mad Maria and the Weasel were joined by Bloody Bart, an enthusiastic if clumsy young man whose shirt looked like it had dried blood on it. Marge assured them it was just hair dye. He was studying theatre and insisted on smearing red paint on his face ‘for atmosphere’.

Every conversation the Bob-Whites overheard revolved around the treasure, pirates and maps. Everyone had a theory.

Trixie noted the Weasel’s tension but Mad Maria was cheerful, both she and Bloody Bart entertained their guests by calling them things like ‘scurvy curs’ and ‘mad dogs’. The children in particular were delighted with the costuming and festive atmosphere.

After another superb dinner, the Bob-Whites met up in Marge’s office.

Trixie and Honey had spent the day exploring the “Cave of Thrills” in between tours.

“Everything was just fine. No trapdoors, no hidden passages. It looks better than it did all those years ago, now it’s a real nice little tour,” Honey reported.

“We have some interesting guests that arrived,” Brian said. He gave a brief rundown of their newest arrivals. Honey made notes on the new guests. In addition to the Inn’s guestbook, the restaurant did a fair lunch and dinner business from the nearby towns, especially on the weekends.

“Did you get anywhere with the map?” Trixie asked Dan. His assignment for the day had been to work on the map, and hang around the den, listening for suspicious conversations. He had had to dodge Maria a couple times, who kept smiling at him and trying to get him to talk to her.

“Not really,” Dan sighed. “The symbols are crazy. Teeth, maybe birds, circles, it’s like Bobby wrote it when he was six. It does no good if there’s no place to start.”

“Good point,” Brian said, digging into his piece of that night’s dessert, the Cheery Cherry, a mouthwatering cherry pie.

“We don’t have a lot of time to monitor these people and find the treasure,” Trixie commented, looking over her notepad. “We need to find that treasure if Miss Trask wants to save this place.”

“I wish she’d just let me give the money to her,” Honey sighed. “It sure would make things easier.”

“You know she won’t,” Dan answered, sipping his coffee. Honey nodded.

“I know.”

“If there is a treasure,” Brian reminded her. “Remember this could be one big hoax and Captain Trask managed to sail away with it after all.”

Trixie just nodded absently, her mind turning.