Norman Webber offered his wife a tight smile as he dealt with yet another one of her awful presents. He felt like a fool walking back and forth in this abandoned rail yard. It was a beautiful spring morning, and he wanted to be out on the golf course with his friends. They were already there, but here he was, looking for treasure he would never find. What in the world had he ever said to make Rita think he wanted a metal detector for his birthday? When he’d opened the gift, she’d screeched with joy. If only she’d given him the golf clubs he’d hinted for.
Rita was a good wife, really, but in the thirty years they’d been married, she’d never given him one decent present. He had all kinds of weird things put away in a closet. A singing fish you were supposed to mount on the wall. A police scanner—not something he wanted to listen to when he got home from work. A key chain you could record a message on. He never could figure out what to say. Anyway, why would he want his key chain talking to him? Rita talked enough. He didn’t need another voice telling him what to do.
The weirdest gift might be the antique anvil. He’d once mentioned that his great-great-grandfather was a blacksmith, and then Rita bought the anvil as a tribute to his long-dead relative. A sweet gesture, but who in the world needs an anvil? Where do you put it? Finally, he sat it on the floor next to his recliner. It took only three trips to the chiropractor to work out the strain he’d caused his back moving that blasted thing. At least now he had a place to set his beer can while he watched TV. Living with Rita was definitely made better with alcohol. Frankly, he might do better joining AA than the gym she got him a membership to for his last birthday.
The detector beeped, and he leaned down to dig in the dirt with a small folding shovel. Rita ran over to see what he’d found.
“What is it, honey?” she asked, a little breathless. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. He held up the fourth pop can of the morning. “Another one of these.”
She took it from him and put it in the trash bag she’d brought with her. “A lot of people used to work here. I know we’ll find something really valuable if we just don’t give up.”
Norman wanted to point out that they might do better at an abandoned casino than a rail yard, but Rita had her hopes up, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. He sighed. He really loved this crazy woman. At least life with her was never dull.
“I just know we’ll find a diamond ring or something,” Rita said in her high, childlike voice.
He turned to look at her. “If you want a diamond ring, I’ll buy it for you. We don’t need to be digging around in the dirt, honey.”
She frowned. “But this is hidden treasure. We have no idea what we might find. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
Norman looked at the bag with the pop cans. “Sure. Very exciting.”
He squared his shoulders and went back to walking back and forth across the rail yard. As he reached the fence that encircled it, the detector went off again. Rita had finally quit following him, and she stood a few yards back. He lowered the metal detector to the ground and then pulled the small shovel out of his jacket pocket. When he knelt and began to dig, he was certain he was about to add to their growing pop can collection.
A few minutes later, he stood and turned to look at his wife. “I found that diamond ring you wanted,” he said, feeling as if he was going to lose his breakfast right there.
Rita squealed and clapped as she started toward him.
Norman held up his hand. “Stay there, Rita. And call the police.”
She came to a halt and stared at him with a look of confusion. “But there’s nothing illegal about keeping that ring.”
He sighed and dropped the shovel. “There is if it’s still attached to someone’s hand.”
One
Chief of Police Everett Sawyer stood over the body they’d just dug up in the old rail yard north of the city. The medical examiner, Jim Arndt, knelt next to the dead woman, his gloved hands carefully inspecting the evidence.