Hidden Secrets

Carson clutched the small notebook in his hand. After years of gathering dust and mold in a steamer trunk in his grandfather’s basement, it now saw the light of day for the first time in fifty years. He blew away the dust and thumbed through the brittle pages. The notebook, once owned by a bank robber in the 1950’s, found its way into his grandfather’s possession. His grandpa frequented auctions and estate sales and Carson guessed Pap picked it up with other boxes of junk he toted home on a regular basis. Over the years, Carson’s grandfather shared stories scribbled in the little black notebook, including an entry about a bank heist and the thieves burying a sizable sum of money in the Blue Ridge Mountains, of Tar Heel Country. Law enforcement records reported Highway Patrolmen nabbed Jeb Johnson and his brother Jeremiah shortly after the theft. A third suspect eluded capture and remained on the lam. Federal authorities plastered “Wanted” posters in every post office all along the Eastern Seaboard with the picture of a silhouette. The posting urged the population to come forward with information, any tidbit to identity the third perpetrator. Decades later, the likelihood of the criminal still living was slim. No one knew if the money ever surfaced. Possibly, no one ever would. As a child, Carson begged to read the notebook himself, but his grandpa kept it in hiding until his grandson was older.

Carson tapped on the door and slipped quietly into his grandfather’s bedroom. “I found the notebook, Pap.”

Carson’s grandfather opened his eyes and beckoned his grandson closer. Pap groaned to a seated position, leaning back against the headboard. He switched on the lamp and light flooded the room. “Let me see it,” he said hoarsely. Thumbing through the yellowed pages, he stopped and handed the notebook to his grandson.

Carson noted the date of the journal entry, “April 21st, 1952” and several squiggly lines and scribbles forming a crude map. A faint letter “X” marked a spot under something resembling a tree. “What’s this?”

A wheezing cough wracked Pap’s body. He signaled for a glass of water; Carson quickly obliged. “Pap, are you okay?” Carson touched his grandfather’s forehead checking for fever.

Pap winced and nodded, waiting for the coughing fit to pass. Then, he spoke solemnly. “Carson, that’s a treasure map.”

Carson stared at the image. “What kind of treasure?”

“Cash. Bundles of it,” he whispered. Pap closed his eyes as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong Pap? What are you saying?” Carson asked, unsure he wanted the answer.

“Do you remember the story I told you as a child about the bank robbery, how the brothers were caught, but that a third man escaped and was never found?” Pap’s breathing became labored. “I’m the third man.”

Carson’s head drooped as the air seemed to be sucked from the room. “You? You were the third man? But why are you telling me now?”

“I’m dying, Carson. I need to clear my conscience…”

“I’m not a priest, grandpa,” Carson said without looking his grandfather in the eye. “Why couldn’t you take this to your grave?”

Pap grimaced in agony. “I don’t need a priest, Car. I made my peace with God many years ago, but I wanted to let someone else know besides Him.” Pap paused for a moment, choking back tears. “When your parents died and your grandma and I took you in, I determined I would never do something so stupid again. I've dealt with the guilt for years and considered turning myself in, but I needed to take care of you and Grams. I never touched that money. Oh, I was tempted at times…but I didn’t go and dig it up. I guess it’s still hidden out there in the mountains…” His voice trailed off as another wave of pain ravaged his body.

Carson stood and walked to the window. He stared into the cold dark night, disappointment niggling his thoughts. Small pebbles of ice pecked against the window as the winter storm intensified. A cold chill rippled through Carson’s body. “But Grandpa, why?”

“When your Daddy was a little boy, he was sick all the time. He had to have his tonsils removed at five, and at seven he had his appendix taken out. I worked extra hours at the factory and your grandma took in laundry and did some seamstress work, but we just couldn’t make ends meet. I was afraid we were gonna lose everything.” Pap took another sip of water. “One night I was out wandering the streets and popped into Barlow’s Tavern to drown my sorrows…”

“Pap, you drank?” Carson said, surprised. “You don’t touch the stuff.”

“I used to drink. A lot changed when your grandmother started dragging me to church and then a few years later, you came into our lives.”

“So, what happened at the tavern?” Carson asked.

“I met the Johnson Brothers…they asked if I was a good driver and wanted to make some money. When I walked into that bar, I was considering suicide and letting your grandmother cash in my life insurance policy. I didn’t want to die, but I was desperate. So, instead of suicide, I agreed to be their wheel man.”

“You drove the get-away car?” Carson asked, incredulous at the thought.

Pap nodded and labored on. “On April 17th, 1952, the Johnsons knocked off a small community bank in Raleigh, NC. I drove off with the brothers and $20,000 in cash. Three days later we ended up back here...my old stomping grounds and hid out in a hunter’s cabin up in the mountains. We listened to breaking news on the radio and knew the authorities were closing in. Since I was familiar with the area, the Johnson’s told me to bury the cash and we’d join back up when the heat was off. I buried the loot; the brothers got caught. They might’ve been crooks, but they were loyal. They never ratted me out and somehow I remained a free man…at least physically.”

Carson turned to look at his grandfather. “What happened to the brothers?”

“They served ten years and were let out on good behavior. They both have since passed and gone on to meet their Maker.”

Pap broke into another coughing fit and Carson filled his grandfather’s glass. After a few moments, the coughing eased, and Pap’s body calmed. Pap stared at the ceiling for a moment and then forged on. “I never told your grandmother what I’d done. I never touched the money. But I’ve regretted that decision all my life.”

Carson moved to sit on the edge of his grandfather’s bed and held Pap’s calloused hand. “That must have been quite a burden to bear.”

Pap nodded, saying nothing. The confession drained the life from his feeble body. With his eyes closed, Pap whispered, “I wanted you to know, so you could do the right thing. The map will take you to the old tree up on Sugar Mountain where we hung the tire swing…it’s buried there by the base of that Oak, about two feet deep. It’s sealed up in a bag and buried in a metal box.”

“That’s resort Country, now…” Carson commented. Pap lay unresponsive, his breathing slowed. Pap fell into a deep peaceful sleep. Two weeks later, Carson laid his grandfather to rest.

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A few weeks after the funeral, Carson boarded a ski lift with one mission in mind, visiting the tree. At the top of Sugar Mountain, he chose the Green Slopes, his skis carving a path in the fresh powder. Half-way down, he veered into the woods at the spot he remembered so well.

The old tree looked as it did years before. Only a small bit of frayed rope hung on the limb that once held a tire swing. Carson pulled a metal detector from his backpack and swung the machine around the trunk of the tree gnarled by age. Within moments, a signal blasted in his headphones. Carson’s pulse quickened. He thrust the shovel into the earth and within minutes, he heard metal scraping metal. Crouching to get a closer look, Carson brushed away the dirt and pried the box loose from its frozen grave. He reached into the hole and pulled out a rectangular shaped lock box. Rusted with age, the lid popped open with some elbow grease and a screwdriver. Just as his grandfather described, a plastic bag rested inside holding stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

Carson remembered his grandfather’s dying wish, “Do the right thing.” Carson stashed the metal box into his backpack and skied down the mountain.

By the right thing, did his grandfather want him to pay his tuition or purchase a new car? No. Even though Pap made a poor decision in his younger years, Carson knew his grandfather to be a man of integrity later in life. Pap wanted the money turned in to the authorities. Carson smiled at the thought of making his grandfather proud.

The Raleigh, Carolina Police Department was Carson’s next stop.