Internet search on her Smart Phone. She found a single listing for JAMESVILLE SPELUNKERS—GUIDES . The service operated out of Miller’s Sporting Goods on the northwest corner of the square.
We biked the short distance into town.
The manager of Miller’s Sporting Goods was a man in his early 30s named Barry Short. Although Barry’s aftershave lotion was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes, he did seem to know the business of spelunking, and he got right to the point.
“My rates are $40 an hour, or 300 a day, whichever is greater,” Barry said as he bent to restock a shelf with fishing lures. “I assume no liability for accidents, and I furnish none of your gear. The group cannot exceed five, counting myself, and I don’t do overnighters.”
Overnighters? It suddenly occurred to me that we might be in the cave—if we ever found the cave—overnight. That changed everything.
Barry dropped to one knee and paused to read the bar code on a new carton of JAKE’S LURES. He stuffed the box onto a shelf with other fishing products, then looked up at me and picked up where he’d left off.
“The length of the hike cannot exceed 4,000 yards horizontally or 200 yards vertically. And I never guide during a rainstorm or during the 24-hour period following a rainstorm.” He looked at me like I was the dumbest person in the world. “Caves flood.”
“Yeah, caves flood,” I agreed, glancing at Kiki, who stood next to me giving impatient, too-much-data sighs. Pia was poking around in the camping equipment on the other side of the store.
“One other thing,” Barry said. “I guide only in caves that have been charted by the state.”
Kiki and I exchanged another telling glance. We seemed to be thinking the same thing—Barry Short was too finicky.
“There are a couple of other guides in the area, but we all work pretty much the same,” Barry said. “Except for Sam Rozard. He’s cheaper, but he’s also been lost twice in the past year—once in Crystal Cave and another time in Wildcat Cave.” Barry snorted. “He’s a real amateur, if you want my opinion, but he is cheaper.”
“Ever heard of a man named Monroe Huff?” Kiki asked.
Barry got to his feet. The whites in his eyes grew wide and he turned pale. “Yeah, I heard of him,” he said, grimace in his voice. “He’s like a, uh, like a freaking animal .”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He lived in Bluff Dwellers Cave for two years,” Barry said. “People say he ate frogs—live ones.” Barry’s face scrunched up into a frown. “Can you imagine that?”
“No, thanks,” Kiki said with a small smile.
I grinned inwardly. Having met Monroe, the story didn’t surprise me.
The three of us left the store and went outside.
I was worried about how I would pay for a cave guide—it hadn’t occurred to me until now—but Kiki made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, as the saying goes.
“Don’t sweat the money,” Kiki said, almost like she was reading my mind. “I’ve got all my summer money—$200—and it’s my treat.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said.
“You and Pia can pay me back after we find a treasure.” Kiki’s face was shining like a new penny. “Consider it a loan.”
“What if we don’t find the treasure?” I asked.
“Hmmm, then I guess I’ll have to sue you,” Kiki said, her eyes twinkling.
I nodded. “Deal.”
“But I vote against Barry Short.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I said. “Monroe Huff is looking better all the time.”
“Despite a few character flaws.”
“What’s a character flaw?” Pia asked. She had spent her last dime on a piece of rock candy, and she was talking through the clatter against her teeth.
“It’s a personality trait you overlook if you want something bad enough,” I said.
Kiki laughed. “Good one, primo !”
“When you enter a hotel,” I said, “you’re in the hotel lobby. That’s the first thing you come to.” I laid a finger on the map’s designation
We biked the short distance into town.
The manager of Miller’s Sporting Goods was a man in his early 30s named Barry Short. Although Barry’s aftershave lotion was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes, he did seem to know the business of spelunking, and he got right to the point.
“My rates are $40 an hour, or 300 a day, whichever is greater,” Barry said as he bent to restock a shelf with fishing lures. “I assume no liability for accidents, and I furnish none of your gear. The group cannot exceed five, counting myself, and I don’t do overnighters.”
Overnighters? It suddenly occurred to me that we might be in the cave—if we ever found the cave—overnight. That changed everything.
Barry dropped to one knee and paused to read the bar code on a new carton of JAKE’S LURES. He stuffed the box onto a shelf with other fishing products, then looked up at me and picked up where he’d left off.
“The length of the hike cannot exceed 4,000 yards horizontally or 200 yards vertically. And I never guide during a rainstorm or during the 24-hour period following a rainstorm.” He looked at me like I was the dumbest person in the world. “Caves flood.”
“Yeah, caves flood,” I agreed, glancing at Kiki, who stood next to me giving impatient, too-much-data sighs. Pia was poking around in the camping equipment on the other side of the store.
“One other thing,” Barry said. “I guide only in caves that have been charted by the state.”
Kiki and I exchanged another telling glance. We seemed to be thinking the same thing—Barry Short was too finicky.
“There are a couple of other guides in the area, but we all work pretty much the same,” Barry said. “Except for Sam Rozard. He’s cheaper, but he’s also been lost twice in the past year—once in Crystal Cave and another time in Wildcat Cave.” Barry snorted. “He’s a real amateur, if you want my opinion, but he is cheaper.”
“Ever heard of a man named Monroe Huff?” Kiki asked.
Barry got to his feet. The whites in his eyes grew wide and he turned pale. “Yeah, I heard of him,” he said, grimace in his voice. “He’s like a, uh, like a freaking animal .”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He lived in Bluff Dwellers Cave for two years,” Barry said. “People say he ate frogs—live ones.” Barry’s face scrunched up into a frown. “Can you imagine that?”
“No, thanks,” Kiki said with a small smile.
I grinned inwardly. Having met Monroe, the story didn’t surprise me.
The three of us left the store and went outside.
I was worried about how I would pay for a cave guide—it hadn’t occurred to me until now—but Kiki made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, as the saying goes.
“Don’t sweat the money,” Kiki said, almost like she was reading my mind. “I’ve got all my summer money—$200—and it’s my treat.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said.
“You and Pia can pay me back after we find a treasure.” Kiki’s face was shining like a new penny. “Consider it a loan.”
“What if we don’t find the treasure?” I asked.
“Hmmm, then I guess I’ll have to sue you,” Kiki said, her eyes twinkling.
I nodded. “Deal.”
“But I vote against Barry Short.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I said. “Monroe Huff is looking better all the time.”
“Despite a few character flaws.”
“What’s a character flaw?” Pia asked. She had spent her last dime on a piece of rock candy, and she was talking through the clatter against her teeth.
“It’s a personality trait you overlook if you want something bad enough,” I said.
Kiki laughed. “Good one, primo !”
“When you enter a hotel,” I said, “you’re in the hotel lobby. That’s the first thing you come to.” I laid a finger on the map’s designation
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