Blood Relations by Rett MacPherson

porch next to me. He was a good-looking chap. Probably about twenty-eight, fairly tall, with green eyes and a military-looking haircut. “I’m Jacob Lahrs,” he said, extending a hand.
    â€œOh, yes, Mr. Lahrs,” I said, and shook his hand. No surprise that he had an extremely firm handshake. I had taken his phone-call several years back when he had inquired about water levels and the wreckage. I wondered, momentarily, who had contacted him. “I’m sorry, but I forgot to call you.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” he said. “I happened to be down here last week with my mother. It was her birthday, and we came down here to shop and have dinner. When I saw how low the river was, I had a feeling that it would be getting low enough for the wreckage to be visible.”
    â€œSo,” I began. “Why didn’t you just dive down there before now?”
    â€œThe river is so polluted, you can’t see a foot in front of your face,” he said. “You also can’t see when you’re getting tangled up in anything. And believe me, there’re tons of things to get tangled up in. You ever been out on the Mississippi?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œI got snagged on a ’57 Chevy once. There are cars out there, refrigerators, you name it. I’d just as soon wait until it’s shallower.”
    â€œAnd what exactly are you diving for?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know. But he surprised me with his answer.
    â€œI want to try to determine what caused the steamer to sink.”
    â€œOh,” I said.
    â€œNo, I’m not after any diamonds,” he said. “I don’t believe there were any on board anyway.”
    Finally, somebody with common sense. “Why’s that?”
    â€œThe entire diamond myth came from one source only. A woman who survived the wreck,” he said.
    Professor Lahrs had a military build, too. He wore an olive green sweater under one of those winter windbreakers. Large, broad shoulders made one think that he worked out on a regular basis, and he just held himself like a lot of military people do—shoulders back, chin up. He was teaching at one of the local colleges, if I remembered correctly. Biology, I think.
    â€œAre you sure?” I asked. “I thought there were many accounts of people saying—”
    â€œPeople saying they heard about the diamonds. But only one woman said she actually saw diamonds. I just don’t believe her,” he said. “She was a woman of a questionable reputation, if ya know what I mean.”
    Prostitute. Showgirl. Something along those lines.
    â€œI see,” I said. “You sure know a lot about the steamer.”
    â€œI’ve read everything your Historical Society has on it. Plus, I’ve read the material at the library in Wisteria, and even some of the holdings up in St. Louis. It did make the St. Louis papers at the time, and even Chicago and Memphis mentioned it,” he said.
    If there were uncut diamonds from a diamond mine in Arkansas on board, I would think that the Arkansas papers might have carried the news, as well. And the New York papers probably carried the news, too, what with the Huntleigh heiress being from New York.
    â€œDid the Chicago and Memphis papers mention diamonds?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “I believe they called it an ‘ungrounded and unsubstantiated claim.’”
    â€œWell,” I said, “I wish you the best of luck in finding out what happened. The town would be grateful to you if we finally knew what happened to the steamer. Maybe we could even put up a plaque at the site.”
    Professor Lahrs’s eyes lighted up. “Oh, would you?”
    â€œI don’t see why not. Sylvia’s really good about spending money on that type of thing,” I said. “We just never considered it before because we really didn’t know what had happened. So, if you find out why the steamer