Search Me(43)

Maddox laughed. “Hell yeah.”

While he scribbled down Track Rock Gap, I took out the Georgia maps book from my bag. I opened it to one of all the Northern counties and circled Union. “All right, so we’re going south from Track Rock Gap and then somewhere west…”

“Past the talking rocks,” Maddox replied.

“No, ‘where the rocks talk’, not ‘talking rocks’.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Just like ‘where there are tracks’, I bet we have to find it as ‘where the rocks talk’.”

Maddox grunted. “Whatever. It all sounds like someone was toking on the peace pipe when they wrote this!”

I ignored his comment and started reading about the Cherokee place names that could potentially be southeast of Track Rock Gap. I had just dabbed a fry in some ketchup when my eyes landed on the words Talking Rock. “Oh my God. Here it is.” I cried, sliding the book over to Maddox.

He then started reading aloud. “While Talking Rock officially became a town in 1852, it was first a creek in upper Pickens County that flows into the Coosawatee River. There are two theories on how it received its Cherokee name—Nunyu-gunwani’ski, or where the rocks talk. One says that the echoes that played off the rocks made it seem as if someone was talking or the rocks themselves were talking. The other comes from a certain rock near the creek where Cherokee tribes often held council meetings.” He looked up. “Okay then. Talking Rock it is.”

Peering down at the map, I circled Pickens County. “Hey look. It matches the directions too.” I said, bringing my finger south from Track Rock Gap and west over to Talking Rock. “Now we just need to find out where there are caves in Talking Rock.”

“It’s supposed to be where the pretty fawn shed her tears…” Maddox rubbed his chin—his usual quirk when he was thinking pretty hard. “You know the Cherokee’s were like most Native Americans and named people after animals and all. What if this ‘pretty fawn shedding tears’ was a chick?”

“Hmm, let me see what’s in here under the name Pretty Fawn.” As I thumbed over the titles, I asked, “Want some dessert?”

“You’re still hungry?” Maddox asked.

I glanced up from the book long enough to shoot him a nasty look. “Yeah, I am. Do you have a problem with that?”

He shook his head while holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Easy now. Don’t freak out. We’ll get you some chocolate.” He called Tina over again. “Can we get two hot fudge sundaes please?”

“Coming right up.”

He grinned. “Happy now?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you.”

“Got anything yet?”

My eyes scanned over a couple of pages, desperately searching for anything that mentioned a fawn, period. After Tina returned with our sundaes, I finally found something. “There seems to be a legend about a Chief’s daughter named, Pretty Fawn, and the white man she loved.”

“Why do I have the sickening feeling this is going to end up like a soap opera plot?”

“Good call,” I replied.

He sighed. “Fine. Hit me with it.”

“It seems that Pretty Fawn was promised to a great Creek warrior named Grey Eagle as a way to mend the peace between the two tribes. But she didn’t love Grey Eagle —she instead had fallen in love with a farmer named—” I nearly choked on my sundae. “No way.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

“The farmer’s name was Avery Jensen.”

Maddox’s eyes widened. “Jensen? You mean as in the creep out to kill us Jensen?”

I nodded. “When he first came to Maudie’s, he mentioned something about the painting having ties to his family. I had no idea it was something like this.”

“Man, that’s intense.” He spooned in a glob of ice cream. “So what else does it say?”

“It seems that Pretty Fawn took part of the gold dowry that was supposed to be given to Grey Eagle and buried it in the secret cave where she and Avery used to meet up. It was supposed to be the money they could escape with. But then the night that Pretty Fawn and Avery were going to run away, Grey Eagle and some of his Creek warriors caught Avery Jensen and murdered him.”

“That blows,” Maddox replied through a mouthful of ice cream. “What happened to her?”

I shuddered. “When she found out what had happened to Jensen, she jumped off the highest cliff of the waterfalls at their meeting place and drowned.” My appetite was suddenly gone, so I pushed my half-eaten sundae away. “That’s so sad.”

Maddox frowned. “Okay, so if she took a flying leap, how did anyone find out about the gold or make the map?”

“Huh, I hadn’t thought about that one,” I replied, going back to my reading. “Ah, here we go. Pretty Fawn’s father, Onaconah, was so grief-stricken after her suicide that he viewed her dowry as blood money and wanted no part of it. He sent his son, Notley, to the cave to bury the rest of it in the same place Pretty Fawn had once hidden it.”

With a snap of his fingers, Maddox said, “And what do you bet Notley is the one who made the map?”

“And,” I paused, letting all the details fall into place, “He became the chief who was in Maudie’s portrait.”