Page 71 of The Catcher
“Why is he going to all this trouble?” Callie asked.
“You’re asking why the sky is blue. It just is.”
“No, I mean, playing these games, taking us to these locations?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” he said, pacing across the grass and then the road to a gated area holding John Brown’s grave.
Noah and Callie stepped into the grave area, enclosed by the black wrought iron that lent an air of solemnity to the space. Their eyes were drawn to the three gravestones, each bearing silent testimony to the lives and legacies of those buried beneath.
John Brown’s gravestone was behind glass, a measure taken to protect it from the elements or curious visitors. Its inscription remained obscured.
The other two belonged to his sons.
Their gaze then shifted to the massive stone beyond, adorned with two more headstones embedded within its surface. Those were the remains of his followers. The weathered stone bore the weight of history, its rough surface a testament to the passage of time and the enduring significance of those it memorialized.
As they stood in quiet contemplation amidst the graves, Noah felt a sense of reverence wash over them. The air was heavy with the weight of the past, and he couldn’t help but wonder about the lives and stories of those beneath the earth.
“Okay, so the coordinates are meant to be here. Look around. The last few places have had them hidden. Look under, over, or behind; it could be in plain sight.”
Noah and Callie exchanged determined glances asthey took in the surroundings of the grave area. With a shared sense of purpose, they began their search.
Noah bent down to examine the ground, running his hand around the gravestones and carefully inspecting the earth for any signs of hidden clues. Meanwhile, Callie scanned the area above, her eyes tracing the contours of the iron-girded enclosure, searching for any unusual markings or symbols that might indicate the presence of the hidden coordinates or a hidden cache.
They moved with quiet determination, methodically exploring every nook and cranny of the grave area. Noah reached out to touch the smooth surface of the glass-encased gravestone, running his fingers along its edges in search of any hidden compartments or markings.
Callie stood on tiptoes, stretching her arms upward to inspect the tops of the headstones embedded in the large stone beyond. She carefully examined the surface, her fingers tracing the grooves and crevices in search of hidden compartments or inscriptions.
As they continued their search, Noah and Callie exchanged occasional glances, silently communicating their determination to uncover the hidden coordinates.
“Each time, our perp never gave us the exact coordinates of the body’s location. At the summit, it was a riddle seen through the coin-operated binoculars; at the phone booth, it was another riddle.”
Noah checked the riddle they’d been given on the description page and reread it. “I am a number, a year of might when Brown’s brave raid took flight. Divide me by 5, a number you’ll see; that’s the clue to set them free. Takethe number of paces south, and there the marker lies, revealing history’s truth under open skies.” He paused for a second and then read the last part. “A marker, revealing history’s truth under open skies.”
They continued their search for another five minutes.
Callie called out as Noah clambered up on top of the boulder at the center of the grave area. “Noah!”
He climbed down to find her holding a round vintage pin.
“It has a magnet on the back. I found it attached to one of the posts.”
On the front was 1980 HIGH PEAKS. Its mascot was Roni the racoon, an animal from the mountains of the Adirondacks, where High Peaks was situated. Holding it in his hands, he repeated the last line of the riddle.
“A marker, revealing history’s truth under open skies.” He paused. “Of course. Where was history made under open skies?”
“At the 1980 Winter Olympics. But our entire town has multiple locations that were used for that.”
He held up the pin. “Right. But there’s only one place you can buy these. The Olympic Museum.”
24
It was pure pandemonium. Half a dozen High Peaks Police officers descended upon the Olympic Museum, their vehicles parked outside the mammoth-sized building. The scene was urgent. Sirens wailed, lights flashed, and the presence of law enforcement lent an air of tension to the otherwise serene Sunday surroundings.
The Olympic Museum stood as a beacon of history and athleticism, its imposing structure crafted from a blend of glass and brick. The building’s sleek, modern design was punctuated by large windows that offered glimpses into the exhibits. Nearby, flags of the world fluttered in the breeze, a colorful representation of the global spirit of the Olympic Games.
As Noah’s brother Ray led the charge, the officers moved with purpose, their expressions determined as they prepared to enter the museum. Ray turned to Noah with a hint of skepticism in his voice.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
