Paranormal Mystery Boxset Books 1-3: Legends of Treasure

by Lois D. Brown

  “Bossy, maybe. But not dangerous.” Maria laughed.

  Rod sat up, acting like his dignity had been hurt. “I’m really not bossy. I know you think I am, but that is where you are wrong, wrong, wrong.”

  “Now that sounds like something an extremely humble guy would say.” Maria giggled. An actual giggle. Horrified, she turned her head and acted like something was stuck in her throat. “Excuse me.”

  Rod eyed her.

  Keep it casual, Maria told herself. “All right, astronomy geek, show me a few of your favorite constellations. I know some, but it sounds like your stargazing expertise surpasses my talents by far.”

  As excited as a nerd at a Star Trek convention, Rod pointed out constellation after constellation. Some were Greek, some Egyptian, and others were modern, as recent as the 1900s. The green laser was perfect for pointing out which stars she should look at. It was like the sky opened up into a large mosaic of art.

  Once again, Maria was reminded her problems were just a small part of the universe. There was more to life than she could imagine. Right now was just a speck of who she was as a whole. Life contained possibilities. And maybe, just maybe, there was even a future with possibilities for her.

  A life after Tehran.

  As the two of them had been looking at constellations, their positions had changed. It was hard for Maria not to notice the fact that her back was pressed up against his warm chest, and she could feel his steady breathing, in and out.

  “I’ve got to say,” she whispered, looking up into the night, “this is cool. Have you always loved looking at stars?”

  “You have to, growing up in Kanab. I’m mean, the sky is incredible here. No city lights. No pollution. When I was at Arizona State, going to law school, I formed an astronomy club. But the sky there couldn’t even compare.”

  “So you did law at ASU?”

  Rod cleared his throat, scooted back, and grabbed a stick next to the fire. As he stirred the coals, puffs of smoke escaped. A few embers sparked. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Most of it.” Rod moved further away from her.

  Something was up. And Maria was determined to find out what made this attractive, geeky nerd of a Search and Rescue captain tick. “So what part didn’t you like?”

  Rod coughed. “My clerkship. That pretty much sucked.”

  Maria sat up a little straighter, listening.

  Rod waited a second to continue. “My story is kind of … a mess, I guess you’d say. Most everyone knows it. I’m sure you’ll find out one way or another.”

  Maria kept quiet. She couldn’t disagree. As police chief she probably would learn most secrets.

  Rod poked at the fire a little more. “Right after I graduated I did a clerkship in a small Arizona town. I met a girl. Got married … really fast. I was twenty-seven, Dakota was twenty-six. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

  The thought of Rod married twisted Maria’s insides. But, of course, he’d had to have been married at one point. Guys who look like him don’t stay single into their thirties, unless they’re players, which more and more Rod didn’t seem the type.

  Rod picked up a medium-sized log and gently placed it on the smoking embers. He sighed. “We were married for a whopping three months before she left. And when I say left, I mean like completely left. I came home from working late one night and she wasn’t there. Instead, I found a note on the table saying goodbye. It was strange. I didn’t quite believe it until she didn’t come home the next day either. After two days, I reported her as missing to the police, so they opened an investigation and made me their chief suspect.”

  Despite the wood that was slowly catching afire, the air chilled. Maria couldn’t have pegged Rod more incorrectly. She thought he’d been fed with a golden spoon his whole life, but it sounded more like a steak knife—a sharp point and painful edges. A failed marriage was no easy thing to swallow.

  “Anyhow,” he leaned back, “I finally was cleared of all charges. After my clerkship, I moved back here. I’d had enough adventure.”

  That could not be the end of the story. There was no closure. “But,” stammered Maria, “where did she go? I mean, what happened to her?”

  Rod bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head. In a faint whisper he answered, “I don’t know.”

  Disappointment filled Maria. She wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted an answer to Rod’s mystery or if it was because she wondered about his emotional stability. Not that her own mental state was anything but a wreck. But Rod had seemed so put together.

  And then, of course, was the question as to whether or not he was still married. His wife had been missing for six years. In most states a missing person had to be gone for seven years before being declared officially dead. So unless he—

  As if he could read her mind, Rod added, “Arizona granted me a Divorce of Publication three years ago. That’s what they call it when your spouse is missing.”

  “Oh.” Maria wished she’d studied PR like Tara so she could figure out things to say in difficult moments like these. She pulled her hand out from beneath her sleeping bag where she’d been keeping it warm and awkwardly patted Rod’s back—almost like she were burping a baby. Mortified, she pulled her hand away. That hadn’t been the sort of comforting gesture she’d wanted to convey.

  Honestly, why do I even try sometimes, she chided herself.

  “Anyhow, now you know.” The base log had caught fire on one end. Rod balanced another on its side above the flame.

  For a few minutes the two of them sat listening to the pops and bursts of the new wood as moisture was pulled out of it by the heat.

  Maria needed to change the subject, and she needed to do it quickly before she did or said something else stupid.

  “I really did like looking at the stars.” And then, thinking of the possible Aztec pictographs Pete had discovered in the cave, she asked, “Do you know if the Aztecs have any special constellations?”

  With surprise registering in his voice, Rod answered, “Why yes, the Aztecs were very much into astronomy. What makes you interested in them?”

  Perfect. He’d taken the bait. Stargazing was a much safer subject than past marriages and life disasters.

  Not wanting to divulge too much about the recent discovery on the walls of the cave where the mayor was found, Maria replied, “My grandfather was into them. At least, I think so. I’m going through an old box of his stuff.”

  “Really?” asked Rod. “Like what?”

  “My grandpa collected a lot of newspaper and magazine articles. Stuff about Aztec history. Stories about Kanab and Montezuma’s treasure.”

  “Really?” Rod sounded interested. “There are a lot of old timers around here that are into that kind of stuff.”

  “So have you heard the stories about the Aztec burying their treasure around here?”

  “Everyone who has lived here for more than a few years has.” Rod scratched his face. He stared at Maria as if he was about to tell her something important, but then only said, “I’ve even seen a petroglyph around Three Lakes that might be Aztec.”

  “Seriously?” Maria humphed. “But you don’t actually believe Aztecs hid their treasure near Kanab?”

  Rod exhaled long and hard. “Kind of. Actually, yes I do.”

  “Really?” Maria would never have guessed Rod would even remotely believe in stuff like that. “I read about the Three Lakes in one of my grandfather’s newspaper clippings. It seems a little childish; treasure hunting, I mean.”

  Her words came out more condescending than she meant them to be. She’d meant that treasure hunting sounded fun and like something that would remind her of her own childhood. Rod didn’t take it that way.

  He stiffened. “I think I’m actually a little bit sleepy.” A fake yawn. “I think I’ll head back into my tent. Thanks for putting up with me droning on about the constellations.”

  A twinge of regret. Maria hadn’t wanted their conver
sation to end like this. It had been one of the best she’d had with anyone for a long time. “Are you kidding? I loved looking at the stars. I’d do it again, anytime.”

  Yikes. Maybe that’d been a bit too enthusiastic? She didn’t want to sound desperate.

  “I might take you up on that,” Rod said, walking in the direction of his sleeping quarters. “You try to get some rest too, okay?”

  “Absolutely,” she answered. “I’ll head back to bed in a minute.”

  Maria waited for him to get inside his tent and then stood up. She really was out of practice at making friends. Especially guy friends. Especially guy friends who were hunky and cute and who had a side to them she never expected them to have.

  As she shuffled toward her own tent, she heard the faintest sound off to her right. She flipped her head that direction, checking for trespassers. There were none. However, Maria did see the zipper to Tara’s tent slowly move down, an attempt to conceal the fact that it had been open.

  How much had Tara heard of Rod and Maria’s conversation? Shame swept through Maria, until she realized she hadn’t done anything wrong. Two adults talking around a fire was nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing had happened. No gossip could spread from the fact the two of them had looked at stars together.

  Even so, Maria blushed from head to toe. She hoped Tara didn’t think she was trying to make a move on Rod. He was just a nice guy. It wasn’t Maria’s style to move in on another woman’s territory.

  Besides, if Tara had any idea what went on inside of Maria’s messed up head, she’d know there was nothing to worry about from Maria. She was definitely not worthy competition.

  Not at all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The arroyo was like an irregular tear in the mountain’s side, a tear that petered out about six hundred feet from the valley floor. It was soon apparent that the going was tortuous for horses, so the gang finished the climb on foot. At the head of the arroyo, there was a small scaling of slick rock which [they] traversed on hands and knees, and then they were face to face with the chalk-white perpendicular face of the mountain.

  THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. “ANYBODY’S GOLD MINE,” BY MAURINE WHIPPLE, OCTOBER 1949, PAGES 24, 102-108.

  Mayor Hayward’s financial records were waiting on Maria’s desk when she got into the office the next morning. It was perfect timing since she was going to go visit with Emily Hayward later that day. If there were any discrepancies in the records, she could ask Emily about them.

  While Nancy, the police office manager, set up the time and place of several more interviews to conduct, Maria scoured the bank statements, investment fund reports, and anything else that had to do with money and Mayor Hayward. There weren’t just a few discrepancies. There were hoards of them. Large sums of money hopped from one account to another. International transactions that looked anything but legitimate. And the sheer number of accounts the mayor had was suspicious.

  When it was all said and done, the mayor’s financial life had been a yoyo. It spiraled from lots of money to hardly any. It reeked of a gambler’s profile. Of course, she couldn’t make that judgment without a few more facts, but she would get them. She would first request a copy of the mayor’s travel itinerary from his office. If her guess was right, the mayor passed through Las Vegas quite a bit. He probably had been “required” to stay over there a number of nights, even though it was only a three-hour drive from Kanab.

  Emily Hayward must have known her husband was a gambler. In her nothing-out-of-place world, being married to a high roller would have been obvious.

  Before heading to her interview with Emily, Maria took a minute to write an email to her former professor who was a forensic archaeologist. His name was Ryker Jephson, and he’d been one of her all-time favorite professors from George Washington University where she’d received her criminal justice degree. The man was brilliant at all things scientific and had almost convinced her to change her focus from law enforcement to forensics. He also had degrees in sociology and ancient civilizations, making him an historical expert as well.

  In the email, Maria explained to Professor Jephson the situation in the cave, and she attached pictures of the pictographs Pete had found. Hopefully, she’d hear back from him by the end of the day. She wanted that cave excavated, and she wanted it done quickly.

  Packing up a few of her things into her bag, Maria headed out the office door. By the front desk, Nancy and Pete were deep in a discussion.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Maria said. “Nancy, I need you to get me a face-to-face with Senator Cal Emerson as soon as possible. If his office doesn’t respond, tell them we’ll subpoena him into court if necessary. I’m also going to need you to set up an appointment with that journalist in town. Sherrie Mercer is her name, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll get on both right away.” Nancy picked up the phone and dialed.

  Maria had decided it was time to let the snoopy journalist get the human interest story she wanted. There was no way Maria’s classified records could be broken into by a reporter from Kanab. The government had more security than that. Maria would tell her usual lies and be done with it.

  “And Pete, how is your filing of the samples and other evidence we retrieved yesterday?” Maria slipped her bag over her shoulder.

  Coughing, Pete answered, “Mostly done. I’ll go finish it now.”

  Maria purposely softened her facial features. “Listen, I know you’ve been working hard. This pace is probably faster than you’re used to, but stay with me. I have to get to the bottom of this case or . . . well, I just have to.”

  “You’ll get there,” said Pete. “I’m sure of it.”

  Why, thought Maria, is that man so nice?

  Knitting was never something Maria could understand. However, as she watched Emily Hayward make stitch after repetitive stitch as the woman sat on her spotless couch, Maria began to understand its beauty. The constant brainless movement massaged Maria’s over-stimulated senses. It relaxed her thoughts, and soothed her desire to be fast, speedy, always going somewhere.

  “You don’t mind do you?” asked Emily, raising her knitting and gesturing toward Maria. “It relaxes me.”

  “I can see how,” Maria responded. “And no, I don’t mind.”

  The two women sat for a moment together, hearing the needles click against each other, not wanting to talk. Things like this were so heart wrenching. There really was no way to come out of this interview a winner. Emily was either a grieving widow who was about to learn of her husband’s many vices, or she was a murderer trying to cover up the lies and deception.

  Either way, Maria had to begin somewhere. “What type of champagne did your husband take with you on picnics?”

  The question was meant to shock Emily, make her give something up right in the beginning. Always put the interviewee on edge, Maria’s professors at George Washington University used to say. And that is what Maria did. No wonder she had problems making friends.

  Emily dropped the needles into her lap and stared at Maria. Was it from guilt or surprise? The mayor’s wife was quite adept at hiding emotion. Maria knew that from the stoic expression she’d kept the entire day she’d reported him missing.

  Finally Emily answered. “That is a very odd question, but you’re the police chief so I’ll answer it. The last time my husband and I went on a picnic, we weren’t old enough to legally drink champagne. Just soda.”

  The answer had an honest ring to it, but perhaps it was just the honest heartache behind her words that was coming through. So now Maria knew. It had been a loveless marriage. At least it had descended into that.

  “Okay, I need you to tell me minute by minute what happened on the morning the mayor went on his hike. Don’t skip anything and give me approximate times of each detail. Exact times if you know them.”

  If the woman was innocent, she’d most likely been in shock, which would have dampened her ability to think—especially in logical, chronological order. And if th
e woman really had killed her husband, well then, the details would all be lies. Either way, Maria wasn’t expecting much.

  Emily began slowly. She knew the time she woke up and showered, to when she was making eggs and toast for breakfast, all the way to when she’d gone to bed waiting for her husband to get home. Her story was in sync with what she had said the first day Maria met her. But Maria hadn’t expected Emily’s story to change much. What she really wanted to know about were the finance records. How much was Emily aware of her husband’s financial dealings?

  The knitting had resumed, even though Emily’s hands shook significantly more than when Maria had first arrived.

  “How much money did your husband make as mayor?”

  Emily shrugged. “He always told me it wasn’t much. We mostly lived off investments.”

  “What investments?” Maria watched her carefully for any indication she was holding back the truth.

  “Mine.”

  “Yours?” Now that surprised Maria. She had had the impression that Emily was one of these coddled wives that knew nothing about money.

  “What kind of investments do you have?”

  “Oh all sorts. It’s what I do in my free time. Wait one minute. I can give you a quick overview if you’d like.” Emily left the room.

  Maria sat on the chair and looked around. The shelves were dusted. Pictures were straight. It even looked like the carpets had been raked.

  Maria couldn’t imagine ever having the time or desire to do that.

  Emily returned with a portable plastic carrying file. She set it on the ground by Maria and opened the lid. “This is where I keep everything. Go ahead, look through it. I’m sure you could subpoena anything in there anyway.”

  Every report and statement only had Emily’s name on the top. The name of her husband appeared nowhere in all of the records. Maria hadn’t even assumed to ask for financial records only in Emily’s name. She’d seemed like such a traditional sort of woman.

  Note to self, Maria thought, never do that again.