The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

count on me for anything, Sean. Ya’ll want anything to drink? Coffee? Water? A Coke?”

“Coffee would be good,” Sean replied.

Allyson nodded in agreement.

While the two of them sat down on the voluminous brown couch, their host made his way into the kitchen adjacent to the living room. Inside, they could hear him turn on some water, presumably filling a coffee pot. A minute later, he reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen and joined them in the sitting area on a smaller tan couch.

“Coffee will be ready in a minute.” Spreading his arms out across the back of the sofa, Joe continued, “So tell me what I can do for ya.”

“Tommy’s been kidnapped.” Sean felt no sense in beating around the bush. “We don’t know who took him, but we’re pretty sure it has to do with something he found last week.”

The grin disappeared from Joe’s face, and the kind blue eyes went from relaxed to concerned in a matter of seconds. His arms dropped from the back of the couch, and he folded them, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward in thought. “Kidnapped? Why would…? Have they made any demands?”

“I don’t think it’s about money. The cops haven’t received any contact. No,” he stopped in midsentence and reached into his jacket. He produced the letter they had found at the Borringer home. “We think they are trying to find the Golden Chambers.” As he finished the statement, Sean handed the letter to his friend, who reached out, curiosity covering his face.

“The Golden Chambers?” His eyes grew wide, and one eyebrow raised slightly. “I had my suspicions Tommy was still looking for that. But you say he found something?” Joe began scanning the letter while Sean responded.

“Yeah. That letter is from Dr. Frank Borringer down at KSU. Apparently, Tommy needed Frank’s help with deciphering whatever it was he found.”

“Oh? I haven’t seen Frank in a long time. How’s he doin'?”

“He’s dead.” Sean’s tone was direct, almost cold.

Joe stopped reading the correspondence and looked up. “Dead? What happened?”

“Dr. Borringer was murdered a few days ago outside the library at Kennesaw State.” He continued, “Nobody seems to know who did it. Apparently, whoever killed him was looking for something. We think it had to do with the information in that letter.”

“Where did you find this?” Joe asked, holding up the paper.

Allyson chimed in, feeling like she needed to contribute, “In Frank’s office. It was sitting on his desk.”

“And the police didn’t see it?”

“No,” she said, glad to be included in the conversation. “It was in plain sight, but it was disguised as a letter from a financial company. If anyone searched through Dr. Borringer’s desk, they would have just assumed that it was nothing important.”

“Ahhh. Like a purloined letter, eh?”

She cocked her head sideways, impressed by Joe’s literary knowledge.

“What? A country boy can’t read Poe?” He cast her a playful glance to which she responded with a smile.

Joe went on, “That’s a shame about Frank. He was a good man. I’ll have to pay Gretchen a visit soon.” He finished reading the letter as a reverent silence settled on the room.

After a few minutes, he set the note on the hickory coffee table. “Interesting.” His face was thoughtful.

Sean had waited as long as he could. “So, what do you think?”

Joe answered with a question, “How much do you know about the Golden Chambers?”

“Not much. Just that it’s one of those non-mainstream legends. There are only a handful of people on the planet who have even heard of the story. Tommy knows more about it than anyone I’ve met.”

A big, mischievous smile returned to Joe’s face. “Well,” he paused, “I‘m not so sure about that.”

Allyson and Sean looked at each other in confirmation. They’d come to the right place.

22

Blue Ridge Mountains

The pale glow of the laptop illuminated the corner of the kitchen where Tommy sat. Frustration and exhaustion were written all over him.

He’d been working on the translation from Dr. Borringer for the last five hours with little success.

Tommy had relentlessly searched the Internet for clues, cross-referencing all of the words in the translation, but had, thus far, come up with zilch. This riddle wasn’t something for which Google had an easy answer.

The guards had been trading off every couple of hours, taking turns watching the computer screen to make sure that their captive didn’t try to send some kind of rescue email out. Their vigilance had proved to be without a crack, so he’d been forced to keep working, hoping that something would give.

Glancing down at his watch, he couldn’t believe how late it was.  He’d been awake so long. His legs were numb from sitting for such a long time. “Dude, I need to stretch for a second. Is that all right with you?”

The neck-less guard nodded, standing at an angle behind the prisoner. Tommy stretched out his arms over his head and tried to lean over to touch his toes just to get the circulation back in his legs for a few brief moments. Break time over, he slipped back into the wooden nemesis he’d been trapped in for the better part of the evening. The guy with the flattop haircut remained standing.

The nocturnal sound of a whippoorwill’s song resonated from the darkness in a tree outside the kitchen window. As the hours plodded on, every little noise had become a distraction. Thoughts of sleep entered Tommy’s mind and muddled his progress. His eyes kept begging to close as the drowsiness seeped into his brain. Again, the bird whistled its melody, communicating to another bird in some unseen tree in the woods. He let his