MESSAGE IN THE SAND, by John L. FrenchThey wait until just before the sun goes down, when most of the swimmers and sunbathers have gone in and all that’s left on the beach are a few surfers hoping to catch a decent wave or two. It’s then they come out, old men mostly, equipped with sand pail shovels and plastic cups, a hip pack around their waist, and most importantly, a metal detector, the magic wand with which they hope to find buried treasure.
For some it’s exercise, a way of taking a walk without it seeming a waste of time. For others it’s a way out of the condo, their time alone without the bother of the wife and grandkids, a peaceful time between the activities of the day and yet another round of miniature golf. But some have bought into the dream, the fantasy that somewhere buried
