The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

I was the one who suggested that we go down in tandem. Since I had done it with Kate, somehow it didn’t seem fair that I not do it with Sylvia.
    She enjoyed this, yelling on the way down. I found myself enjoying it, also. I felt a spark between us, but without the guilt. That was good news. I took her up on the hay bales on the other side of the hayloft and pointed out the fort that Kate and I had made, although I didn’t mention Kate.
    She crawled inside, so I crawled in after her. We snuggled together in the dark and it seemed the right thing to do. Then Sylvia started to talk.
    “I don’t know how I would have gotten through the last ten days without you. Most of my so-called friends seem to have been fair-weather versions.”
    I thought of Natalie but didn’t say anything.
    She talked more about her feelings. Feelings of betrayal and feelings that she must have done something wrong. I could see tears glistening in her eyes in the dark of the fort, even though she was trying to hold them back. She looked so sweet that I kissed her. It felt good, and she was a whole-hearted participant, so we continued to kiss.
    When we paused for a moment, she said, “I hope you’re not just taking pity on me.”
    “I hope you’re not just taking pity on me .”
    We both laughed.
    I needed to say something more. “All seriousness aside, you’ve shown a lot of…courage standing up to everybody.”
    “Thank-you,” she said, softly. Then her tone changed as she said, “You don’t have a girlfriend stashed away back in Atherton, by any chance, do you?”
    I could truthfully reply that I didn’t. We kissed some more. I found myself mentally comparing Sylvia to Kate. They were both good looking, but Sylvia was more mature, a more fully formed person. And she had guts. Kate was a cuddler and a clinger. I had made the right choice.
    After a while, we came out of the fort. I walked over to the northwest corner of the barn to see if there were any gaps in the hay bales.
    I said, “Are you aware that Ed is also my cousin?”
    “No. You’re always keeping secrets from me.”
    That made us laugh. Everything was amusing now.
    “Well, I think he’s my fourth cousin, so he’s not that close, but there’s a legend that involves both of our families. I can’t tell you the details, but I may need assistance from somebody who isn’t a relative.”
    “Does this have some connection to Ralph?”
    “Yes, it does. Anyway, it’s the old story of buried treasure. The treasure is supposed to be in this hayloft, buried underneath these bales. I want to see if there’s a way to get to the bottom.”
    I moved several bales away from the corner. There was a small gap between the next level of bales and the wall. I figured it was over fifteen feet to the floor of the hayloft from there. I went to where the end of the rope that came across the length of the barn, under the peak of the roof, was coiled on top of the bales and dragged a section over to the corner.
    “Gary, are you about to do something dangerous?” Sylvia asked.
    “I just want to see if I can lower myself to the floor. I can use the rope to help me.”
    I snaked the rope down into the crack between the bales and the wall.
    “This is not a good idea,” Sylvia said. “I didn’t sign on with you to watch you kill yourself.”
    “I heard a car drive up a while ago. That means Aunt Dorothy’s home. If I get into trouble, you can go and get her.”
    “Great. That makes me the messenger. And you know what they do to messengers who bring bad news.”
    “Okay, I’ll only go down a little way. I just want to see what it’s like.”
    I took hold of the rope and carefully lowered myself a few feet into the crack. I could see already that it was going to be a tight fit. The roof of the barn slanted, so I wasn’t going straight down, but each layer of bales was offset to utilize the extra space.
    “How are you going to die?” Sylvia said. “Let me count the ways. One, you might suffocate. Two, the bales might shift and crush you. Three, you might get stuck and not be able to get out. How many others do you want?”
    I lowered myself a few more feet until my head was about even with the top of the bales. I started to sweat. I didn’t think of myself as being claustrophobic, but the fear of being trapped almost overwhelmed me. I edged sideways a few inches, with difficulty, to where there appeared to be more room, clinging tightly to the rope. There wasn’t any