Buried Dreams Read Online Free Page A

short-sleeve lime-green polo shirt that exposed his arms and the elaborate tattoos on both limbs.
    "What the hell are you looking at?" he demanded.
    "I haven't the foggiest idea," I said.
    This answer seemed to irritate him, for he reared back and tossed a punch my way. I moved quick but not quick enough, and the punch grazed my shoulder and right ear. I stepped back and swerved, and when he came at me again, I got around his punch, stuck out a foot, and pulled him past me. He fell to the front lawn with a satisfying thump. I was deciding my options when Jon was next to me, looking down at the man, who was breathing hard, face very red, as he rolled over on his back.
    "Ray," Jon said in a soft voice. "That's enough. You get along, right now, or I cut you off totally."
    "The hell with you," he said.
    "No, the hell with you," Jon said, arms folded. "I know you want more coins, more artifacts. But I'm doing what's important for me. Whatever I find extra goes to you. But I won't make a change in the way I work."
    Now Ray's mood changed, as he sat up, dirt and a couple of strands of grass stuck to his back. "Jon, c'mon, you know your stuff moves really well, and you know you've got the nose for finding good stuff, really good stuff that can set the both of us up. And what do you waste your time on? Norsemen! Here, in Tyler Beach!"
    Jon said, "The discussion is over, or I stop giving you anything.
    All right? Now, get up, apologize to my friend Lewis, and please leave."
    Well, two out of three ain't bad. He did get up and he did leave, but not one more word was said to either of us. He got into the Colt, the back of his neck quite red, and slammed the door shut. As he backed out of the driveway, slammed the brakes, and then sped off, I said, "Nice guy."
    "Nope. My brother. Definitely not a nice guy."
    "Well, nice tattoos. I especially liked the flaming skull."
    Jon sighed. "One of the many things he picked up in prison. Come on, let's go in."
    Which is what we did.
     
     
    I followed the short funeral procession from the church to the High Street Cemetery, driving behind a black Lincoln Town Car that was right behind the coach, or the hearse, if one wanted to be more traditional. The Town Car contained the workers from the Tyler Funeral Home, and I could not imagine what was being said in that dark car as we made our way to the burial ground. The rain was lightening up and my headlights were on. The little parade went up Lafayette Road, whore a police officer in an orange raincoat stood at the intersection of Lafayette and High Street, holding up traffic for a moment, and we turned right, heading to Jon's final resting place.
     
     
    The night after meeting his brother, I sat with Jon in his office, as he pulled out a photocopy of an old town map of the beach. He pointed to a little square on the map and said, "Recognize it?"
    "Nope."
    "You should," he said. "It's where you're living."
    He looked around his office and said, with a touch of dismay in his voice, "My house was built in 1953 by the Hanratty Construction Company. It was first sold to Tom Hanratty, the son of Greg Hanratty, the owner of the company. Three other families have owned it since then besides me: the Glynns, the O'Hallorans, and the Peaces. That's the history of this place. Not much, but I know who built it and I know who's lived in it. And you... you've lived in one of the most historical sites in Tyler, and you don't know squat."
    "I know it was a lifeboat station," I said, a little defensiveness creeping into my voice. "And I know it was officers' quarters when Samson Point was a coastal artillery site."
    "Really? Did you know that over time, that lifeboat station was responsible for saving more than two hundred lives from shipwrecks up and down the New Hampshire seacoast? Did you know that one of the officers who resided in your home as an artillery officer became a general in World War I? And did you know that for a while, your house was going to be razed