Across the County Line

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Well, hello. I’m still testing this.

Across the County Line

"Elsie, are you sure this is worth the trip?" I drove South along a two-lane road. She sat next to me with her map and phone.

"June dear, this will be so much fun," she chirped. "The annual Senior Treasure Hunt in downtown Winchester is our chance to win $750 each and a lifetime subscription to Pure Flix. Who wouldn't want that?"

"Seems like an awful lot of trouble," I grumbled. Though no longer young, I was constantly active, with a house and yard to tend to. Elsie lived in the senior apartments and spent her days finding harebrained activities to join. I was dragged into it because no one else wanted to drive her two counties away for a scavenger hunt. I needed that prize money. Hence, my grudging agreement to this wild goose chase.

At least it was a lovely drive through the early autumn countryside. Tennessee Route 127 runs parallel to a mountain range on the Cumberland plateau, scooting through tiny Viola and crossing the Woods Reservoir land bridge to arrive in Winchester. Nice flat terrain and no traffic.

We arrived at the pavilion downtown and picked up our instructions amid a handful of jabbering old geezers with too much time on their hands. I noticed we were the only female participants.

"We'll show these guys a thing or two," Elsie chuckled. "They think they're the only ones who can read directions!"

The note told us to look for the next note in a "cracker barrel building on the corner, inside the blue cow's short story…" Now, what did that mean? It wasn't talking about Cracker Barrel, I could figure out that much.

"Let's see," I said aloud, "why do they call it Cracker Barrel anyway? What connotations does that bring to mind?"

"Old people, for one," Elsie pointed out. "Sitting out front in rocking chairs by the cracker barrels, talking."

"Joke's on us, I suppose." I was nervously impatient to get it over with. Who wrote these dumb things? "Well, it's confined to the downtown. That helps. A building on a corner, with rocking chairs out front…?"

"The Hammer's!" Elsie exclaimed. "Let's go before everyone else figures that out!" We scurried on foot down the one-way street towards the old family-owned general store. It had been there as long as anyone could remember, shelves overflowing with everything from fabrics and crafts to cheap phone gadgets and vintage reproduction toys and candy—an amusing place for those with excess cash.

Once inside, the musty scent of aged wood enveloping us, I read the riddle again.

"A blue cow's short story sounds like the note is tucked inside a children's book." We approached the bookshelves. The store appeared to be empty. One young lady clerk stared at us without a greeting.

Elsie started searching the kid's board books for one featuring a blue cow. I wondered if the riddle meant something else and studied the shelves of knickknacks. One tacky enameled trinket box caught my eye, shaped like a blue hippo standing on a stack of books. Aren't female hippos called cows?

I opened the trinket box and saw a folded piece of paper.

"Look, I found it!" Waving it in the air. Elsie looked up at me with a wrinkled brow.

"But I just found it this second, right here," she said, holding another folded note and a book with a blue polka-dotted cow on the cover. We held our notes side by side. Elsie's was another nonsensical riddle. Mine, however, was completely different. It read:

The goods are in the trunk marked Not For Sale.

"Now, what does that mean?" Elsie asked. Our instructions told us to leave the riddle where we found it for the next person, so I took a picture of both notes and folded them up again. I doubted the other had any relation to us. Elsie fumbled, dropping the notes on the floor; we almost knocked heads as we slowly bent over to pick them up and even more slowly straightened again. Old age is not your friend.

I had just shut the trinket box with the note inside when the clerk marched over sternly. Her name tag read Susan.

"Excuse me, that box is not for sale." She grabbed it from me and pointed to an orange sticker on the bottom where the price tag should have been. "Decoration only."

"So sorry," I replied politely. Something seemed fishy about this. Susan replaced the box on the shelf and hurried away. Elsie tugged my arm impatiently.

"Let's sit on the porch and figure out the next riddle!"

"Best not advertise our presence to the other treasure seekers," I said. "Let's sit on the indoor furniture instead."

As we headed towards the furniture section, I noticed a fine antique chinoiserie trunk with inlaid mother-of-pearl designs on the lid. A large orange sign hung on it: Not For Sale.

Impulsively, I creaked down on my aching knees and lifted the trunk's lid. Stacked neatly inside were over a dozen sleek white boxes of various sizes.

"What is all that?" Elsie stared blankly down over my shoulder.

"Look, they all have the Apple logo." I picked up the smallest box and examined it. "These are Apple Air Pods—they cost hundreds of dollars. This stuff is worth a fortune!"

"But this old place isn't a licensed Apple retailer," Elsie said, puzzled. "My grandson had to drive to Nashville to get his iPad repaired." I snapped a picture of the box and shut the lid nervously.

"Excuse me!" Susan's voice rang out sharp and angry. She stood behind us, glaring, hands on hips. "The store is closing early for cleaning today. I need to ask you both to leave." We meekly allowed her to shoo us out the door.

"Now, what was that all about?" I wondered as we trudged along the sidewalk. Elsie sighed.

"Probably none of our business," she answered. "We have to sit down and analyze the next riddle before… hey, if the store's closed, no one else can find the note!" She grabbed my hand excitedly. "Do you know what this means?"

"It means we could be accused of cheating if we keep going," I grumbled. "And Hammer's wasn't supposed to close early today, or they wouldn't have used it for the treasure hunt. I think she closed because we were meddling in some scheme."

"Like what?"

"Transferring stolen goods, I'll bet. Those Apple products don't belong there."

"That's ridiculous, June. Who would do that?"

"I don't know, but I'm calling the owner." I did a quick Google search, found the owner's contact information, and dialed George Hammer. A conversation with the old man revealed he knew nothing of what could be happening; he had been homebound for two weeks with a broken ankle. He also had no security cameras at the store because he didn't believe in them.

"Let's go back to Hammer's and see if we can spot any suspicious activity," I said. "The other treasure hunters will be there any minute now if they have half a brain, and to be fair, we'll need to share our photo of the next note since it's closed."

"But we'll lose our advantage!" Elsie cried.

"It isn't an advantage if no one else has a chance," I said firmly. "Please just put the treasure hunt out of your head for a minute. That tech gear is worth more than our $1500 prize money."

As we approached the store again, I spotted a silver Honda Civic parallel parked out front. The street was empty when we left. We stepped onto the front porch and sat in the rocking chairs under the white plantation shutters. A large red CLOSED sign hung on the door.

"What are we supposed to be doing?" Elsie asked.

"Shush!" I waved my hand. Under the shutters, the windows must have been open because we could hear loud voices from inside. A man said,

"What kind of tricks are you playing, Susan? Switching out the note for some crazy nonsense—where are the goods?!"

"I didn't do anything!" Susan's high-pitched voice rose clear and high. "Those two batty old hags that came in here must've done it—the tall one was holding the message box, and then she opened the Chinese trunk where your stuff is and looked inside!"

"But this is serious! Don't you realize that means she's on to us? She set a trap!"

"Some trap that is, if no one can figure it out," Susan scoffed. "Listen, Mike, they were too medicated to know what's up. Just go pick up the stolen crap and get out of here!"

They continued to argue. Elsie looked horrified, whether from being called a batty old hag or from having uncovered grand larceny, I couldn't tell. Her mouth opened. I put a finger over her lips and gestured for us to get up and move away from the windows.

"Listen," I whispered tensely. "We have to ensure he can't leave with the stolen property. You stand over there where they can't hear. Call the cops—I'll disable his car."

"What?? How will you do that?!"

I dug through my purse and extracted a tire gauge.

"He can't drive off with a flat tire or two."

Elsie grabbed her phone dialing 911, which wasn't exactly what I'd intended, but was probably quicker than looking up the police non-emergency number and getting past the sleepy desk officer. I bent down by the rinky-dink car and jabbed my gauge into the rear passenger tire valve, letting out a steady stream of air. One of the old guys from the treasure hunt strolled along at that moment.

"You figured out the Hammer's too, huh?" He greeted me, then stopped, staring. "Are you letting the air out of someone's tire?!"

The Hammer's door opened, and a young man came out, holding several brown paper bags with protruding white boxes. He stopped short when he saw us by his car. Within seconds, Elsie's panicked, garbled 911 call brought a Winchester police Charger, a fire truck, and an EMS racing dramatically up to the curb, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

One look at the police vehicle and the man took off running with his bags.

"Oh no, you don't." Elsie stuck out her foot and tripped him up. She lost her balance, and they both fell down in a mad tangle of arms and legs and flying white boxes. Two officers leaped out of the Charger. One ran to assist Elsie and Mike. The other stood, his hand on his gun holster, sizing things up.

"Alright, which one of you is committing a crime here?!" He glowered.

*****

"Now, aren't you glad we drove here today?"

Elsie and I were sitting by the river under the Bradford pear trees, having a picnic and feeding the local seagulls, sandpipers and ducks.

It was late afternoon, and we were tired from the day's activity. The Apple store in Chattanooga had been raided, and their inventory was being "laundered," as it were, through the dusty old general store with an absentee owner, almost no customers, and no security cameras. It was part of a complicated theft ring stretching across the state. Our half-baked efforts had caused the arrest of both Susan and Mike, which would likely lead to more arrests and help break up the ring.

I hardly believed it, but we had somehow managed to win the Annual Senior Treasure Hunt while doing all that. Two checks for $750 were secured in our purses, and we'd learned more about the history of downtown Winchester in the process than I ever cared to know.

"Yes, it was worth it," I agreed. "I should apologize for griping."

"Oh, don't feel bad, June," Elsie patted my shoulder. "We all have hard days."

"George Hammer should install surveillance."

"Plus he needs an employee," Elsie observed. "Say, June, I could work there… would you drive me?"

"What?! You'll have to share some of your salary to get me to drive you across the county line five days a week!"

Actually, that didn't sound like such an awful plan. I smiled and reached for another sandwich.

Author's Note: ▼

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