Minneapolis Is Missing?

Adam Dumphy

Description

Adam class=GramE>Dumphy’sstyle='mso-spacerun:yes'>  early years in San
Diego, Ca, included service in the Navy of WW II and a
treasure hunt in Mexico
in which he learned of the Beale.

Undoubtedly the most genuine
treasure in history, the Beale is verified by newspaper accounts, private
letters, even his name on Pawnee Rock, Kansas.
It has fascinated people of every age, trade and profession. It has spawned
clubs, research from every profession and even support groups for the faint
hearted.

In the 1819 era T.J. Beale
returned from New Mexico with
treasure in silver, gold and jewels. He buried it near Buford,
VA and left a box with three manuscripts to
tell of its presence. Linguists, cryptographers and even the Navy’s famous
purple box have been unable to decipher all but one.

With this Dumphy
was able to concoct a lighthearted quest about a treasure hunt in the ‘40s with
people and background of San Diego.
The Beale remains as ever elusive but the characters do discover why ‘Minneapolis
Is Missing’.

Sujets

• Romance
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 26 avril 2004
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781414062013
• Langue: English

Extrait

Minneapolis Is Missing?
 
 
 
 
by
 
Adam Dumphy
 
 
© 2004 by Adam Dumphy. All rights reserved.
 
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
 
 
First published by AuthorHouse 04/07/04
 
 
ISBN: 1-4140-6201-X (e-book)
ISBN: 1-4184-2361-0 (Paperback)
ISBN: 1-4184-2362-9 (Dust Jacket)
 
 
Contents
Chapter 1  
Chapter 2  
Chapter 3  
Chapter 4  
Chapter 5  
Chapter 6  
Chapter 7  
Chapter 8  
Chapter 9  
Chapter 10  
Chapter 11  
Chapter 12  
Chapter 13  
Chapter 14  
Chapter 15  
Chapter 16  
Chapter 17  
Chapter 18  
Chapter 19  
Chapter 20  
Chapter 21  
Chapter 22  
About the Author  
 
 

For
 
Irene
 
As always
 
Chapter 1  
 
The ad in the “Agony Column” of the Evening Tribune, San Diego, CA for June 10, 1946, read:
“f o ‘ T e e n m i l ezy as w H u p E d s y ll a B u b Er y A y y? 2038 hornblend down up Left lEft left.”
It seemed so ridiculous, so silly. How could it be a legitimate lead to the Beale, the best documented, unrecovered, buried treasure in the United States? Still Marnie was certain that it was.
That ad was in her hand now as she stood vacillating on the bottom step of a solid if stolid, commercial building on Fourth Avenue in San Diego’s not quite uptown and definitely not downtown section.
She made a neat figure that perfectly fitted the caption beneath her picture in the well thumbed, if still smelling of printer’s ink, Senior Class Annual from San Diego State College.
“Class of the class of ‘46…Quite simply the prettiest thing at State ever… and what a shape.”
The shape was thinly disguised today in a simple, green wool suit with white blouse, white gloves, carried not worn, hose and heels, and a little hat, exactly as prescribed for “Luncheon at The Savoy”, Lesson 5 in Miss Chumley’s “Socially Awareness Class for the Unwed” at State College, with modifications.
The modifications were Marnie’s own in response to her quest. The heels were the very stylish hole-through-the-heel wooden wedgies. And the hat was a close fitting green cloche of her Mother’s with a feather that came down over one cheek. The appearance she was attempting was an egalitarian mix of the innocence of Nancy Drew, Detective, and the wiles of Theda Bara, Vamp. And she wasn’t sure she had achieved it.
Heads swiveled in appreciation as business types passed up and down the avenue while she stood, one foot on the lower step, unmindful of the attention, or accustomed to it.
What to do? And how did she get into this?
Maude Marie Albertson should have been a pseudonym. It was just not Marnie. Marnie could never be a Maude much less Marie, both family names.
Besides being pretty her prime characteristic was a very low “minimal ignition temperature”. And once ignited, she glowed, and cast a reflected, happy glow on all about her.
And she liked practically everything. Most anything ignited her.
She liked people, boys mostly, (except that since now newly matriculated that should read “men”), Australian Sheep dogs, catsup sandwiches, wind sailing, beach volleyball, water-skiing, parties, party dresses, any color as long as it was green. Almost everything.
Naturally she could not glow uninterruptedly and when her glow dwindled to a flicker she had a home grown remedy. She would retreat to a rustic, guest cabin behind the big family house in fashionable Mission Hills. There she would eat, sleep and dream her dreams, but mostly eat.
Idle dreams came easily to her and drew her into roles unlikely and worlds unknown.
But stomach replete, her dreamer turned user unfriendly, and too lazy for any intelligent pursuit, she might condescend to glance at the newspaper.
Not all the paper for the front page might bellow and bombast, the editorialist might bluster and blunder, the Fashion Pages tiptoe through the trivia, the business section pontificate over-bearingly or under-bullishly but they did not kindle her.
The sport page simply confused. “Didn’t they decide that just last year?”
Not so the Personals. Some of the best dream material came from the “Agony Column”. That kindled. And that was what had happened this morning.
Marnie leafing through the ads had noticed this one. She read it again, sniffed and went on to the next.
“Lost. Adult, African Black Maned Lion answering to the name of Muffin. Requires raw meat daily.”
Marnie sympathized, first with the owner, then with the finder and went back to read the first ad again. That’s what it said all right. She read on down the page.
 
“Albert you blockhead. All is forgiven. I love you. I need you. Come home soon. The toilet is plugged.”
 
She looked back at the first ad. Then suddenly, “Er ya yy? Yy… wise? Am I wise?” She thought. “No not very. …Why …why the capital letters spell… “The Beale.” Just the most famous buried treasure in America. And that could mean 14 million dollars to some lucky body.
She read it again, considered then added. “And that’s just what it says. With a little luck…..”
Now no one in his or her wildest imaginings could consider Marnie unlucky and she knew it. She scurried to shower and dress.
 
Chapter 2  
 
Slowly she resurfaced to her present situation. The lack of punctuation and odd wording of the ad always blurred the letters in her mind and she read it over again.
Yes, that was what it said.
And what had Lt. Sylvester Madigan, S.D.P.D. told her?
“No Marnie, no, no, no. We can’t chouse out after every ad some low forehead puts in the Local Rag. It might be some new kind of sin; I can’t keep up with them all, but it’s no crime. And we do not ever recommend Private Investigators. Especially we do not recommend Dolly Dimple, chrome plated, tinker toys, like Elwin Timothy Rangerod to anyone, even an enemy. Say ‘hi’ to your Ma.”
“But Uncle Slip….” He had hung up.
Still here she was looking up at a new sign saying ‘Investigations’, nothing more. The sign was professional and neat enough if perfunctory. Beneath was painted in a scrawling hand ‘Not very good, and very expensive.’
She pushed the feather away from her eye and considered. With the decision that was reflected in the Albertson family jaw, she DECIDED and began to mount the steps as the tan sign indicated.
She stopped as she saw another tan sign at the top step of the outside balcony of the second floor of the building. “Inves” it said and pointed to the other corner of the building. And looking further she saw an even smaller sign there that said ‘In’ and a smaller arrow pointed down. At the foot of those stairs a tan sign said only “I” and pointed back to where she now stood.
If she followed the signs she would end up where she was now and if she continued she would circle the building indefinitely.
“I have heard he was hard to catch but what is this, a some kind of obstacle course?”
The name was not on the building register, and she looked around confused.
“Playing hard to get, I guess.”
There seemed no place to search except that she noticed the corner of a cement block outbuilding on her left.
She followed her nose and found a gate partly open. Here there was just an arrow in chalk on the sidewalk.
On the gate door was a hand written sign.
“Beware of vicious Tabby!”
Marnie hesitated at this, then felt a rubbing on her leg. Looking down she saw a tiny, fluffy kitten rubbing her ankle for attention. She bent to pick up the kitten, which closed its eyes and began a contented purring at her petting. “You’re the vicious tabby? Oh I get it. You’re on lunch break.” She decided.
Even more determined now she pushed the door open and looked inside. There was no one to be seen. She placed the kitten in the out basket on the nearby desk where it curled up and fell asleep.
She called “Hello?”
There was no answer but from the back of the hidden portion of the room there was a mumbling and the creak of a chair.
No one appeared so she entered. The office was minuscule but neat and nicely furnished. A desk with typing chair was in the front corner for a secretary, a small aisle led to the back which was shielded by a planter-divider. The rest of the room was over decorated with potted plants everywhere, badly needing cutting back she noted.
Tipping up on tip toes she could just see over the divider and looking down noted a large, very broad shouldered, young man seated facing away from her. He wore a starched chino shirt that was far too tight across the shoulders and the sleeves strained at the biceps, the back of the head was shapely, the blonde hair cut short, but still long enough to make a little duck’s tail at the nape of the neck.
He was writing busily then tapping his fingers, muttering something then writing again.
“I am very sorry to bother you.” Marnie began in her Miss Chumley’s Charm Class voice, “The Pleasant Introduction”.
The young man didn’t look up.
“If you don’t mind…” from the “Pleasant Introduction Sustained.”
There was no response. Now if the truth must be known, behind the glow, the Albertson chin and the charm school voice was the very short fuse of the O’Duffy clan. Carefully concealed at most times, of course, as befitted a nice girl from the nicest part of town but still very short.
“Hey you!” She yelled.
The young man jerked erect, looked wildl