Lady Justice and the Ghostly Treasure by Robert Thornhill Page A

hunting.”

     
        Once back home, I figured I’d better tell my wife what was going on.
        In the five years we’d been married, I’d been involved in some very bizarre cases, but none quite like this one.
        I got home before Maggie and decided the best way to break the news was over a tasty meal and a bottle of fine wine, so I got out all the ingredients for tuna casserole, my signature dish, and put a bottle of Arbor Mist in the fridge to chill.
        The minute she walked in the door, she knew something was up.
        “Hmmm, tuna casserole! And I’ll bet you have a bottle of Arbor Mist ready too. Okay, Walt, what’s up?”
        Maggie is very perceptive that way.
        Over dinner, I started at the beginning and told her the whole story.
        When I was finished, she gave me ‘the look.’ You guys know what I mean. Every woman has it down pat. It can have several subtle meanings, but usually it says, “Really? What a moron! You expect me to believe that!”
        She took a sip of wine. “Okay, ghosts, a diary, Mary’s long-lost sister, and a map. I don’t suppose this is a prelude to you telling me you’re going treasure hunting?”
        I grimaced. “Yeah, something like that.”
        I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the one I got. At first, she just giggled. I figured it was probably the Arbor Mist taking hold. Then she burst into a fit of laughter.
        When she finally gained her composure. “You and ‘poop on the shoe’ Mary, traipsing around the Ozark hills looking for buried treasure. This is over the top, even for you.”
        “So, any chance you’d like to go with us?” I asked timidly.
        “I wouldn’t miss this for all the tea in China.”
        I wasn’t sure exactly how much tea that actually was, but I assumed her answer was ‘yes.’
     

     
        Early next morning I called Dan the Catfish Man.
        “Good morning. It’s a great day for fishing! How can I help you?”
        “Hi Dan. Walt Williams here.”
        “My old buddy from the big city. Good to hear your voice. You finally ready to hunt some of those big cats? They’re bitin’ real good on cut shad.”
        “No, not quite ready for that yet, but I am looking for a good guide. Would you happen to know one?”
        “Just might,” he replied. “Whatca lookin’ for this time?”
        “Have you ever heard of a place called Upps’ Lake?”
        “Sure have.”
        “Is it still there?”
        “Right where it’s been for the past eighty years or so.”
        “What do you know about it?”
        “Well, let’s see. Back in the forties, fifties and sixties, it was a private resort owned by the Upps family. There is a lake, pretty good size, maybe forty acres, right on the Osage. The only thing separating the lake from the river is a long dam on the south side. Cottages and cabins surrounded the lake. Really good fishing. Bass and crappie in the lake, catfish in the river.”
        “You said in the forties, fifties and sixties. Is the resort still there?”
        “Yes and no. In the early seventies, the Corps of Engineers started building Truman Dam. The Osage River is actually part of Truman Lake. The engineers knew that when the dam was built, there would be times that the river level would rise dramatically. They calculated that the river could periodically rise over the dam and flood many of the cabins along the shore of the lake. Long story short, once they figured how high the river could rise, the Corps had to buy out all the property in the flood zone. That included every property across the dam on the west side of the lake and at least half the cabins on the east side. Once that happened, the lake was no longer private. It became Corps of Engineers property.”
        “So what happened to all of the cabins in the flood zone?”
        “All gone. Some were