Lady Justice and the Ghostly Treasure by Robert Thornhill Page B

moved, some were torn down.”
        “So what’s there now?”
        “There’s maybe a dozen cabins still habitable there. All of them are privately owned by individuals. They’re mostly city folk like you who use the cabins on weekends. There’s only one full time resident at the lake now.”
        Looking at the map, I had a bad feeling. It looked like the Sinclair’s cabin was on the far side of the lake, the part that was no longer there.
        “I don’t suppose you would know the Sinclair family. They used to own a cabin at the resort.”
        “Can’t say as I do, but I’ll bet ole Stacy would.”
        “And who is Stacy?”
        “Stacy Phelps. He’s the one full time resident I was telling you about. He’s been there over forty years. If anyone knows them, it would be him.”
        “Any chance you could take us out there and introduce us to Mr. Phelps?”
        “Sure thing. When do you want to go?”
        “How about tomorrow morning? We could meet you at Osceola Cheese at ten.”
        “Works with me.”
     

     
        Time for a road trip.
        I told Maggie and she made arrangements to be away from the real estate office for a day. I knew if Mary found out we’d gone without her, she’d have a cow, so I called and told her we’d pick her up at seven-thirty the next morning.
        It’s a two hour drive from Kansas City to Osceola. Once out of the city, it’s a pleasant trip through the country side. We pass through Harrisonville, Clinton, and finally at the little town of Lowry City, there is a sign that says, ‘Where the Ozarks meet the plains.’ It’s just seven more miles to Osceola, but in that distance, fields of hay and corn turn into the rolling oak-clad Ozark hills.
        Just past Lowry City there’s another sign that says, ‘Osceola Cheese, five miles ahead.’ As soon as we passed it, I knew what was coming.
        “Ohhh, Mr. Walt,” Mary pleaded. “Can we stop for some cheese? Please!”
        Mary had made this trip with us once before and I was prepared. We’d be there at nine-thirty. That would give Mary a half hour before we were to meet Dan.
        The sign says that there are 250 cheeses and they give free samples. Mary tries each and every one.  Willie was with us the last time, and I remember him observing that with all the cheese Mary consumed, it would take a stick of dynamite to bust her loose the next day. He was probably right.
        My timing was right on the money. Mary had just paid for a big block of smoky cheddar when Dan pulled up.
        “You pilgrims ready?” he asked.
        “Ready as we’ll ever be.”
        We all piled into the car.
        “Cross the highway, get on state road B, and head west.”
        In about five miles, he said, “Turn left on 175 up ahead.”
        As soon as I turned on the gravel road, I knew I’d been here before.
        “Isn’t this the way to Red Rock?”
        “Sure is,” he replied. “Go straight and you’ll run right into Red Rock, but you’re going to turn west on 151. It will take you right to Upps’ lake.”
        “I was that close and didn’t even know it was there.”
        “Well it is, about a half mile west as the crow flies.”
        We wound around through the hills and eventually came to what was left of the resort. A few of the cabins were well maintained, but just as many were dilapidated and uninhabitable.
        We finally came to a circle drive that overlooked the lake. Most of the cabins here were in pretty good shape. It was from here I got my first glimpse of the lake and river.
     

     
        A man about my age had been sitting in a lawn chair under the shade of big oak tree, a cold Bud in his hand.
        We parked and he strolled up to greet us.
        “Stacy,” Dan said by way of introduction, “this is Walt Williams, his wife, Maggie, and their friend Mary.”
        “Pleased to meet you,”