Paranormal Mystery Boxset Books 1-3: Legends of Treasure

by Lois D. Brown

  “Cocoa Puffs likes it when you purr at her.” Adelaide waved at her pet and cooed.

  All around Maria, bodies long past their prime extricated themselves from their earthly graves. Each one walked toward her. They didn’t float. At least Maria’s ghosts never did. Instead, they glided with feet touching the ground.

  The good thing, the very, very, very good thing, was that Maria’s ghosts couldn’t fly. And she highly doubted they could climb trees either. Without a word to the old woman, Maria jumped from a standing position straight into the air, catching a low hanging branch that was at least ten feet from the ground. With one jerk she pulled her body up and scrambled into the leaves, finally straddling a limb twenty feet in the air. If sanity hadn’t left her, she would have been amazed at what her body was capable of doing in less than ten seconds.

  The dead forms beneath her wailed in muted, pitiful frustration. Perspiration rolled off Maria’s chin. A sharp pain on her forearm forced her to look forward instead of down. A furry creature—a cat—pawed at her. Its wail echoed the tormented souls below. Interestingly, as the cat rubbed against Maria’s thigh, purring, the ghosts stopped wailing and began to purr as well. An evil, deadly sort of sound. One meant to tease its victims before the pounce.

  “Oh, wonderful.” Adelaide called up into the tree. “Cocoa Puffs seems to like you.”

  Her cheerful voice mocked the terror that pounded inside Maria’s head.

  The entire scene unfolded itself like a movie. Maria watched herself in the tree. The cat was by her side. Adelaide encouraged her from the ground. Next to the old woman were ten, no twenty, ghastly beings that scratched at the trunk. Their fingernails tore off their fingers, dropping to the ground like a spilled box of cornflakes. Still, they didn’t stop.

  What had Maria’s therapist called this? When she left her body? Realization? No. Deprivation? Maria shook her head. No, that wasn’t it either. Depersonalization. That was right! Unfortunately, simply remembering its name didn’t make it stop. She couldn’t force her body to move. She could never leave this place of safety.

  Away from her captors.

  Maria’s cell phone buzzed inside her exercise bra. She saw herself answer it automatically. Habits were hard to break, even in the midst of being consumed by the undead.

  “Chief Branson?”

  The voice was familiar, but Maria’s mind couldn’t stop racing enough to identify who it was. What should she say? What did normal people say when they answered the phone?

  The silence had gone too long. The person on the other end knew something was wrong.

  “Maria? Are you there? It’s Pete. Pete Richins.”

  The assistant chief of police.

  “Oh.” That was all Maria could get out. She was proud of even that little bit.

  “Listen, something has happened. We need you at the station, pronto.”

  “What?” Maria’s hands shook so hard she nearly dropped the phone. The encouraging sounds from Adelaide had turned into frustrated shouts.

  “It’s the mayor. He’s missing. His wife says he’s been gone for nearly twenty-four hours. I think it’s time to file a missing person report.”

  Power flowed back into Maria’s body. All of her unwanted adrenaline had somewhere to go, something to do.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” Maria responded. She shoved her phone back inside her shirt and descended branch to branch, Cocoa Puffs wrapped around her shoulders. The cat’s claws scratched her neck. Wooden bark poked the underside of her legs. The ghosts were still there, but they were opaque now. And quiet.

  Quiet was good.

  Slithering down the trunk, Maria handed over the feline and said, “Mrs. Wolfgramm, I think she belongs to you.”

  As the woman gushed her thanks, Maria took one large step forward and then sprinted past the ghosts, through the disturbed earth by the graves, and out the cemetery’s metal gates.

  She had work to do.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In March, 1519, Hernando Cortez, one of the most daring and able of the adventurous Spaniards, landed on the coast of Mexico with ten vessels, six to seven hundred soldiers, eighteen horsemen, and some cannon. He burnt his ships, thus cutting off all retreat, and then marched toward the city of Mexico … where he was received with great pomp by Montezuma.

  THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE. “THE CONQUESTS OF PERU AND MEXICO” BY GARDINER G. HUBBARD, VOLUME 5, 1893.

  The Kanab Police Department was located in one of the newer buildings in town. It had a fresh coat of eggshell-colored paint. There were no pictures on the walls. No welcome mat or flowery wreaths. The front office appeared like an unused whiteboard. Its lack of decor gave the place a serious feel. Maria liked that.

  “Yesterday I was gone for most of the day in St. George, shopping.” The mayor’s wife, Emily Hayward, spoke in rhythmic tones.

  “By yourself?”

  “No, a friend of mine came with me,” Emily answered. “We returned home quite late, about 11 p.m. or so, and Darrin still wasn’t back. I thought he must have decided to stay overnight in the mountains. He did that once before when he couldn’t find the drop-in to the canyon in the dark. That time he slept under a juniper tree and found his way back as soon as it got light.”

  Emily was a pretty woman. Even in her fifties, her highlighted blond hair and soft blue eyes gave her an approachable style Maria had always wanted, especially when she was younger. Maria’s features were the exact opposite. She had mocha-colored hair, the very same shade as her eyes. Combined with a strong jaw-line and deep olive skin, it was no wonder people thought she was from another country. Her ancestors must have been—somewhere back in the family tree. But Maria herself was born and raised American.

  Emily’s voice elevated. “But when my husband didn’t get back after daybreak this morning, I realized something was wrong.” Her mouth clenched shut. Either she was trying to keep her composure or she was done talking.

  “Officer Richins,” Maria said, “get Search and Rescue on the phone. We’re going to need them to meet us here as soon as possible.”

  Pete, with his burly arms and curly reddish hair, nodded and lumbered out of the room. As Maria watched him leave, she was struck by how much he reminded her of Smokey the Bear. A man of few words.

  Turning back to Emily, she asked, “Can you tell me exactly what your husband was wearing, particularly what brand his shoes are?”

  “Ecco, I believe. He got a new pair last month.”

  As Maria asked her next question, she’d already gotten on the internet looking up shoe tread patterns. “And his clothes?”

  “Just the usual t-shirt and green pants. I don’t remember which ones. Is … is that important?”

  Maria clicked the print screen button and looked up from the computer. “Everything’s important. And you’re doing great. Better than most, in fact. Now, can you tell me what he took with him? Guns, maybe? Any medical conditions? And where are his favorite places to hike?”

  Emily flushed, cleared her throat, and started talking. Maria took meticulous notes. Mayor Hayward was not a gun owner, and surprisingly, he was in pretty good shape, for being in politics at least. He exercised three times a week, spent time outdoors, and wasn’t on any kind of medication—a rarity for most fifty-year-olds these days.

  “Did he mention where he was going?” asked Maria.

  Emily shook her head. “No. In fact, he decided he was going hiking at the last moment. Usually he plans more in advance. I’m not sure what got into him.”

  Maria made note of the last comment. A person never knew what random thing would be the ultimate clue for solving a case. “And was your husband experiencing any prolonged mental or emotional distress?” It was a question she hated asking. First of all, it made her feel like such a hypocrite. Second of all, people got bent out of shape when forced to answer it. No one liked to admit someone they loved was having mental problems—it was like exposing the “dirty family secret.”

&nbs
p; Maria knew that all too well. Her father hardly talked to her since she’d left the CIA. He couldn’t understand why she couldn’t just get over it. So what if she’d been locked up for ten months by herself and seen horrible atrocities. It was all in a day’s work, right?

  Heat raced up Maria’s arms into her neck. This was not the time to think about that. It was her job to find the mayor. The first real “thing” she’d had to do since arriving in Kanab—except for saving the cat that morning, which had teetered on being a complete disaster. She hoped this assignment would go better.

  As she scribbled down the rest of what Emily was saying, Maria flipped through logical scenarios in her mind. Most missing person cases in the wilderness followed a similar pattern.

  Person goes out. Overextends. Runs out of water. Holes up somewhere. Gets too cold. Or too hot. Goes a little delirious. Is disoriented. Panics. Dies. It really didn’t matter if he or she was someone in tiptop shape or not. Hiking solo was a stupid idea. But it wasn’t her job to judge. The goal now was finding Mayor Hayward before his water ran out and dehydration set in.

  Maria finished writing the last of her notes and was about to ask Emily another question, when a man walked into Maria’s office. The kind of man who managed to suck everyone’s attention toward him. His shoulders held themselves up without effort. It wasn’t that he had good posture. He was posture. His trimmed crew cut neatly tapered his brown hair around his ears. Every follicle seemed to know its place. And a pronounced Roman nose, not quite Tom Cruise-size” but almost, screamed for everyone to look at him. Maria knew his type in a second. Bossy, opinionated, aggressive—

  “Hello,” he said, holding his hand out to Maria, “I’m Rod Thorton. Head of Search and Rescue. Pete called me.”

  Maria looked at the clock on her office wall. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Pete had left the room, and this guy was already dressed in his Search and Rescue gear. She mentally added another trait to the list of characteristics she’d already assigned to him: militant.

  “Hi, Rod. I’m Chief Branson.” Not using her first name in situations like these kept her in charge. At least she hoped it would.

  “Emily,” he turned to the mayor’s wife, “we’re going to find Darrin. Don’t you worry, okay? We’ll not stop until we find him. Can I ask you a few things?”

  Before Emily could answer, Rod rattled off the exact list of questions Maria and Emily had just covered, ending with, “And do you remember what kind of shoes he was wearing? That’s really important.”

  Emily gently coughed into her hand and looked at Maria. Her demeanor asked if she really had to answer everything a second time.

  The printer on Maria’s desk spit out a piece of paper with black markings on it. Maria held it out to Rod. “Here’s the mayor’s shoe tread pattern. Make at least fifty copies. I want every volunteer you’ve got combing this town and its nearby trailheads for the mayor’s car. Once we find it, we cover an initial ten-mile radius. Nothing beyond that for today. Got it?”

  The skin underneath Rod’s stylish three-day growth of facial hair reddened. He took the paper from Maria, who couldn’t help but notice his defined upper arm under his Search and Rescue t-shirt. The man might have big muscles, but he had the ego to match.

  “Sure, I got it.” He turned to leave but then stopped. He rested his hand on Emily’s shoulder and bent down so he could see right into her eyes. “I’m really sorry about Darrin. You know I’ll do everything I can. You need to let me know if you need anything, okay? You’ve got friends.”

  Surprisingly, his words were comforting and encouraging to Emily.

  Something, Maria realized, she hadn’t been.

  Out of everyone in Search and Rescue, Maria was the least familiar with the area. She decided the best thing for her to do while others looked for the mayor’s car was to go to the Hayward’s house and look for clues of where he might have gone.

  Driving her own car, Maria followed Emily, who drove a shiny new BMW that was well suited for a politician’s family. The woman seemed strong willed. She still hadn’t shed a tear in front of Maria. Most likely she was one of those people who remained stone-faced in public but who deteriorated into a sobbing mess in private. Maria knew the personality type well. She was one.

  Or perhaps the mayor’s wife wasn’t that upset about her husband’s disappearance because she already knew where he was? Maybe she’d even played a part in it?

  Knock it off, Maria told herself. The mayor was simply lost in the wilderness, something that happened to many people each year in this rough part of the country. There was no reason for Maria to jump to the conclusion of foul play.

  On the way to the Hayward’s home, Maria saw the old, single-story, red brick rambler where Maria’s grandparents had lived. As her police jeep passed in front of the house, a shiver ran up her arms. Both of her grandparents had died last year. Thinking of them cold and lonely in their graves disturbed her. In life, they had always been so full of energy—the epitome of what grandparents should be.

  A few months ago, the home had sold to a young family transplanted from up north. The husband had called Maria a few days ago, informing her that he’d found an old box of her grandfather’s stuff and she was welcome to it. She’d stop by to get it after going to the Haywards. Seeing something of her grandfather’s would do her good.

  A few minutes later, Emily greeted Maria on the sidewalk in front of her home. The Hayward’s lawn was immaculately manicured—a deep, lush shade of green. No easy feat in this desert climate.

  “I can’t imagine what you’ll find in the house,” said Emily, who looked paler by the second. “We don’t have much. No children. No big secrets.”

  “Oh, I’m not looking to uncover any secrets,” said Maria, attempting to sound kind. She was trying to make up for the fact that Mr. Head-of-Search-and-Rescue Rod Thorton had been compassionate when she hadn’t. “I’m just looking for a scribbled note by the phone or on the counter mentioning where he wanted to go hiking. It would save Search and Rescue a lot of time if they knew a destination.”

  The answer seemed to appease some of Emily’s worries, evident by a lessening of the wrinkles on her forehead. “I see what you mean. In that case, let’s get started.”

  The house was as properly put together as the yard outside was. There were no notes strewn about the computer desk, no doodling on sticky pads. Everything passed the white glove test. Just the type of place detectives hated. No wonder Emily thought the idea was futile.

  “Does he keep a journal of any kind? Also, could you show me the clothing he was wearing yesterday, before he went hiking? They might turn up something. We haven’t had any luck pinging his cell phone. Do you think he left it turned off at the house?”

  Emily stared at her, a little confused.

  Maria mentally slapped herself. She’d forgotten that someone experiencing trauma, emotional or physical, could only remember at the maximum, lists of two things or less. She needed to slow down.

  “Let me start over,” she said. “Could you show me your husband’s journal?”

  Nodding, Emily headed to the bedroom. A royal blue bedspread sat atop a four-poster bed raised precariously high off the ground. Next to the bedside was a night stand. Emily opened the top drawer and pulled out a tan notebook. Handing it to Maria, she said, “This is all he has. I haven’t seen him write in it in months.”

  Maria flipped it open. The last entry was three months earlier. All the same, she thumbed through the last year while Emily nervously watched. His writings consisted mainly of complaining how tired he was of work. Maria noted the names that appeared more frequently than the others. One was obviously his mother’s. Another one, however, which cropped up often, was that of “Cal Emerson.” It sounded familiar, but Maria couldn’t place it right off. She’d have to check it out later.

  “I don’t think there’s anything here,” Maria said.

  Emily let out a sigh of relief and took the journal b
ack, shoving it into the drawer. “Now, did you say something before about clothes?”

  “Yes.” Maria was surprised that Emily recalled the long list she’d spouted off earlier. “I’d like to see the clothes he wore yesterday morning.”

  “Come with me.” Emily motioned out of the bedroom. “They’re in the laundry room.”

  Maria left the Hayward’s house empty handed. Besides the journal, she hadn’t seen a shred of paper anywhere. In fact, now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure there had even been a pen or pencil. It was too bad pinging the mayor’s cell phone hadn’t turned up anything. It seemed he must live in the digital age. How else could a mayor function without any notes or a schedule?

  As she pulled her car into the cement driveway of her grandparents’ home, Maria saw the television in the living room flicker through the open front window. Colorful, big-headed cartoon characters argued on the screen. The kids inside the house giggled loudly.

  Maria rang the doorbell and waited. At last, a tall woman answered. She had her hair pulled up and a stained apron covered her t-shirt and skinny jeans.

  “Uh, Mrs. Thatcher?” asked Maria, tentatively. She’d written the family’s last name down on a notepad when the husband had originally called her, but then Maria had promptly lost it. But Thatcher sounded about right.

  “Yes?” the woman responded, questioningly. She looked like she’d been up for hours.

  “I’m Maria Branson, Margie and Paul’s granddaughter.” Maria realized this was probably a horrible time to drop in on a mom with little kids. She should have been more thoughtful, but espionage training hadn’t made her very sensitive to others’ needs. “I didn’t mean to come at a bad time—”

  “Oh, come in. I didn’t recognize your name at first. But yes, you’re the one whose parents owned the house?”