The man on the television looked upset, concerned, distraught even. He was a decent actor. Not Broadway level, but if Maria hadn’t known any better, she would have thought he cared. But it was all fake, a way to pull at the heartstrings of the viewer. To vilify Rod. The thing was, Rod had reported her missing. He had cared. So why did it make him look so guilty?
Out loud, Maria commented, “I wish I knew more about how Rod and Dakota met.”
As if he’d heard Maria’s question, the man on the screen explained, “Rod and Dakota were an unlikely couple. They met and eloped all within months, getting married at the bottom of Havasu Falls in the Grand Canyon—with only the priest as their witness. The whirlwind romance begs the question, why so much secrecy? What was Rod Thorton hiding?”
The screen flickered, and the program cut to a commercial. Maria looked at Beth. “Did you know any of this?”
Beth nodded. “Some. But they’re making it sound so much more devious than it really was. Rod is rich, and like any rich kid, his parents were always on the lookout for freeloaders. They’d accused a few of Rod’s former girlfriends of trying to get a piece of the pie, and Rod didn’t want them to do that with Dakota. So the two of them got married without anyone else there. They didn’t do the usual reception, wedding photographer, big dress and ring. It was simple. Outdoors. Quiet. More like . . .”
“More like Rod.” Maria finished Beth’s sentence. It made sense. She couldn’t imagine the Rod she knew having a huge wedding. It would be something simple, except for the car he’d drive to the honeymoon destination. That would be over the top.
Amy brought Maria and Beth some bottled water, and the three of them waited for the show to resume. The next segment was shot on site of the Superstitions. The sparsely vegetated, violently cragged lava rock made the place look like the perfect spot for the evil Rod Thorton to kill his wife. The script was leading—it would have never passed in a court of law. But this was a court constructed by Hollywood, where the T.V. commentator was prosecutor, judge, and jury.
Thankfully, however, there was no mention of Dakota’s journal. When that evidence became public, Rod wouldn’t have a fighting chance.
The show moved to the ranger station at Superstition State Park. Troy Ferlund’s weathered face filled the screen. It was a close-up, one that made the small-boned, ancient looking man look larger than life. He spoke in halting tones, trying his best to cover up his unique accent.
“We recommend visitors to the Superstition Mountains stick to the park’s trail system. The terrain deeper into the mountains is truly inhospitable to humans. Only experienced hikers should attempt it, and even then we suggest they check in at the station to let people know their charted course in case something happens.”
“But what about all those treasure hunters? Isn’t the Dutchman’s Goldmine believed to be hidden in the Superstitions?” asked the onsite reporter.
Ranger Ferlund’s face soured. “Those kind of people need to stay away. I personally have pulled too many dead bodies of treasure hunters out of these hills. It’s a lethal game they’re playing.”
The program returned to the plush studio. The anchor sat behind the news desk, his posture too perfect and the part in his hair too straight. “Could that have been the motive for murder? Was Rod Thorton really looking for treasure and his wife beat him to it?”
“Stupid,” muttered Maria. “If Rod was so rich, why would he have cared about the Dutchman’s goldmine? The guy is an idiot. I’ve heard enough.”
Beth pushed the off button on the TV remote. “Agreed.”
Maria gulped down the last bit of water in her bottle and turned to Amy. “Thanks again for letting us stay here. We really appreciate it. I wanted to let you know, Beth and I are going to be out late tonight—don’t wait up for us.”
A wave of curious concern flashed in Amy’s eyes. “Sure. Okay. Anything I can help you with?”
Maria shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not tonight, anyway.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
No one knows how long it took them to find the old Peralta mine, but apparently through skill or blind luck [Walz and Weiser] did. One day they showed up in the fledgling town of Phoenix leading two mules loaded with pouches filled with gold. They simply bought more provisions, a couple of extra mules, and rode out of town.
“MYSTERIES & MIRACLES OF ARIZONA” BY JACK KUTZ. RHOMBUS PUBLISHING COMPANY, 1992, PAGE 26.
It took Maria and Beth several hours and a visit to a hardware store, survivalist supply shop, and pharmacy to round up the supplies Maria felt she needed to execute their plans for that night. Breaking and entering was illegal, even if it was into the downtrodden headquarters of some crazy fanatical group called the Keepers. Maria had no desire to get caught. And even though the “lodge,” as Derrick had called it, looked about as secure as a hamster cage, looks could always be deceiving.
The drive to Apache Junction was quiet. Beth snoozed in the passenger side of the car, while Maria’s mind stewed on the strange visit she’d had with Rod earlier that day. What had been wrong with him? And why hadn’t Melissa been answering any of Maria’s texts?
Around midnight, Maria parked Beth’s car in a secluded spot about a block away from the Keepers’ lodge. Dressed in black, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, preparing to sneak up on some dilapidated house built fifty years ago, Maria felt like the star of some cheesy 1970s detective show.
Except it was real. And risky. And dangerous.
And above all, Maria felt horribly guilty about involving Beth at all, but her friend wouldn’t leave her side. She’d insisted on coming. So here they were together.
“Do you think the old Mexican woman we met the other day at the lodge actually lives there?” asked Beth in a hushed tone. The two were walking, arms interlocked, in the dark through an abandoned lot Maria had seen online while she was mapping out her plan. By cutting through the field, they would end up next to the backyard of the lodge.
“I hope she doesn’t,” answered Maria. “But if she does, it will be like the time we sneaked into Trevor Miller’s house the summer before our junior year. Remember?”
Beth snorted. “Oh my gosh, that was so long ago. I had completely forgotten about it. Why did we do that, anyway?”
To Maria, the memory was as clear as day. It was probably one of her favorite things she did during her summer stays in Kanab. “You thought Trevor was two-timing you with Alisha Cox, but you wanted proof before confronting him. I told you we needed to get into his bedroom and look for incriminating notes. I pretty much had to talk you into doing it. It took me a solid week.”
“I was such an idiot.” Beth held Maria’s arm tighter. “I mean Trevor Miller? What was I thinking? Do you know he now lives on the outskirts of town and works as a plumber? Nothing against plumbers, but he used to brag how he was going to move away from Kanab, become a brain surgeon, and never set foot in a small town again.”
“Yeah, he had an attitude.” Maria laughed softy. “Do you remember sneaking into the house and going up the stairs to his bedroom while he and his family watched Touched by an Angel in the living room?”
Beth shuddered. “Kind of. I mostly remember I peed my pants.”
“Oh.” Maria stopped walking. “You’re right. I’d forgotten that. By chance, have you used the bathroom recently?”
Beth slugged her. “I’m fine. Besides, I only wet myself because we were giggling so much. I think we’re going to be acting a little more mature than that tonight.”
In the moonlight, the metal doorknob to the back door of the lodge glimmered. Maria breathed in deeply. The calm of an impending stressful situation settled into her bones. Deep into her gut. She never felt better than right before she was about to do something dangerous.
“Yes, we will be more mature tonight. But, if memory serves me, besides your wet underpants, our last illegal break-in was actually quite successful. We found enough evidence to prove Trevor was actually playing four gi
rls at once.”
“And,” Beth added, “don’t forget that we slathered the inside of his slippers with mayonnaise.”
“Yes. That was a brilliant, strategic move on your part.” Maria grinned. “I’m positive things are going to go equally as well tonight. Let’s keep our eyes out for any paperwork that mentions any of Rod’s old friends. Or anything that looks illegal. Or even if something looks iffy, take a picture of it with your camera”
“Will do.” Beth saluted her.
Maria rolled her eyes. “If we can get anything suspicious, at the very least we can use it to leverage more information out of them later. Ready to get this done?” She motioned to the house.
“O-kay.” Beth’s voice wobbled a little. “I’m ready.”
While it wasn’t exactly Fort Knox, two shiny deadbolts decorated the back door of the decrepit old home. Beth looked at them warily. “I’m assuming you have a plan for those?”
“Of course,” said Maria. She slipped the backpack off of her shoulders and held it in front of her. It was a sleek design and had about twenty different pockets to stash stuff inside. Instinctively, Maria opened one of the pockets on the side and slipped out her lock pick set stored in a leather pouch with multiple slots for each individual tool.
“What’s that?” Beth asked.
Maria rolled open the bundle in her left hand. Beth stared at the collection of picks. “Those look like something you’d see in the dentist office.” ’
“Close. I use them to break into locks.”
“I didn’t see you buy them tonight.”
“Nope.” Maria combed her finger through the various metal instruments. “You wouldn’t have because I brought them with me from Kanab.”
“Like in your purse or something?”
Maria shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t have a purse. I use a backpack.”
“You know, most women carry fingernail clippers with them. Not a set of lock picks.”
“I can use a pick to cut my nails … in a pinch.” Maria smiled. “Okay, so not really. But I can’t tell you how many times these picks have saved me.”
“I guess I’d better get me a set then.”
Maria shot Beth a grin but then her face turned serious. Something stirred faintly inside the house. It didn’t seem loud enough to be human. Maybe a swamp cooler was running. Maria raised her index finger to her lips to indicate silence.
Beth pursed her lips and mimed zipping them together.
Maria pointed to the first of the deadbolts and then to Beth’s flashlight. Seconds later, a beam of yellow lit up the lock and Maria went to work on it with several of her instruments. It took less than a minute for the lock to click open. Proudly, Maria noted the click had been the only sound she’d made.
Beth moved her light down to the next deadbolt, and Maria began to poke and prod the opening. A minute later and it too was rendered useless. Maria stuffed her tools into her backpack, grabbed her six-inch Kubotan fighting stick out of a different pocket, and opened the door. She slipped into the darkened room. A quick intake of air from behind her reminded Maria that her friend was not used to this sort of stuff.
The first thing to greet Maria’s ears in the dark was a slow drip of water. Maria would recognize that sound anywhere. She’d spent many dark nights in her cell in Tehran listening to the slow drip of a water leak from a crack in the ceiling, She loathed the familiar plop when the droplet splayed itself on the solid surface.
Groping around, she found a ledge at waist height. A counter. She followed it with her hands and soon felt the shape of a kitchen sink. The drip was louder. Staying absolutely still and listening for a good five seconds, Maria could hear nothing else stirring. Time for a flashlight.
As her low-beam light flickered on, she saw Beth still in the doorway, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face. Maria waved her in. Beth shook her head and mouthed “no.”
Maria lifted her upturned hands and hoisted her shoulders. “Why not?” she mouthed.
Beth pointed down. Even in the dim light Maria could see a wet spot forming around Beth’s crotch.
Had she seriously wet her pants … again?
A belly laughed begged to burst from Maria’s lungs, but she shoved it back down. She mouthed the phrase “meet me at the car.”
Beth nodded sheepishly and slowly backed away from the door.
For their next escapade, Maria was going to have to buy her friend adult diapers. Good grief. They hadn’t even been giggling. Frankly, Maria was glad Beth had returned to the car. She hadn’t wanted her friend here in the first place. Too dangerous. But it also meant Maria would need to move twice as fast. She only had one set of eyes now instead of two.
Feeling for the sink faucet, she tried turning the knobs to stop the tortuous dripping noise. But the knobs were already turned tightly off. She’d have to do her best to ignore the sound. The day-old garbage smell wafting from one corner of the room would probably do the trick to distract her. She wrinkled her nose and began breathing exclusively through her mouth.
Now, if she were the Materfamilias of the Keepers, where would she keep her important records? A computer was the obvious answer, but Maria was not a computer forensics expert. She was hoping there might be some old-fashioned paperwork as well, especially since the whole place seemed to be a retro 70s gang hideout.
When she’d been there with Derrick, the living room had been devoid of any kind of filing cabinets. Maybe one of the bedrooms was being used as an office. She swept her light across the rest of the kitchen. No tables or chairs. Then again, if Maria remembered correctly, the entire living room had been full of picnic tables. In the middle of the kitchen there was a large dog house—the plastic igloo kind that attempted to look like an Alaskan habitat. The only other item in the kitchen, beside a fridge, oven, and microwave, was a Native American woven rug that hung on the wall.
A dog house the size of a Smart car was a pretty good indicator that she might bump into a pet. Maria pulled out the sleeping pill-laced premium can of dog food and set it by the opening of the igloo. Sliding through the kitchen door into a hallway, Maria bumped into the four-legged owner of the prime kitchen real estate. A wrinkled-faced mastiff stood looking up at Maria. Its black nose glistened. The skin around its teeth sagged, revealing gums that should have been pink but had faded to practically white. The dog hobbled closer to Maria. She hoped the canine’s teeth were in good enough shape to eat the dog food she’d left it. From the look and smell of the animal, a can of vanilla-flavored Ensure might have been a better choice.
The dog blinked, yawned violently, and half trotted, half stumbled into the kitchen.
No threat there. Maria needed to stick to the task of finding an office with papers—preferably something that would shed light on Derrick’s situation with the Keepers. And maybe what sort of relationship Rep. Lankin had with them, as well.
The first bedroom door down the hallway was slightly open. Maria poked her head inside.
Bingo!
Several filing cabinets, stacks of papers, a desk and chair adorned the room. This was definitely what she was looking for.
She increased the brightness of her flashlight and went straight for the filing cabinets. Alphabetical order was always a good thing.
The files, however, were a mess. Nothing was in order. Very little was marked with any sort of identification, and most things had been shoved in any which direction.
A silent wish for Beth’s help penetrated Maria’s thoughts. She pushed it away. It was better for her to be doing this alone, in case something did happen. But so far, tonight had been as easy as buying a Slurpee from 7-Eleven.
Her eyes scanned the papers in the drawer. Bank statements? Contracts? Titles? Deeds? Nothing.
There were more hand-drawn maps of the Superstition Mountains. But these were stamped with red ink that spelled out “Unauthorized.”
The contents of the next drawer were as useless, but the bottom drawer yielded something diff
erent. It contained stacks of manila envelopes that were dated on the outside with a black permanent marker. Maria opened one and found photos of hikers that were all taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. Spy photos. So the Keepers really did have people that watched the mountains.
The pictures were of different people, but from the lighting and background, all seemed to have been taken on the same day. Maria wondered if she could find photos of her and Beth’s ill-fated trip into the Superstitions, but that was too recent. But what about the day Dakota was killed? Would they have pictures from that day?
A quick search on her phone gave Maria the exact day of Dakota’s disappearance— Oct 22, 2010. Thumbing through the envelopes, Maria couldn’t find anything even close to the date. Everything in the drawer was at least fifteen years old. How long had the Keepers been spying in the Superstitions?
Darting to the next cabinet, she searched its drawers. The photos in these were somewhat newer. Ten years old. Nine. Eight. Seven.
The last filing drawer held envelopes marked from six years ago—the year Dakota disappeared. Frantically, Maria sorted through the photos. She scanned the scribbled writing on the envelopes and realized they weren’t in order by day, but they did seem to be grouped into months.
Putting her secretarial skills on high alert, she systematically gathered every envelope from the month of October. Next, she put those in chronological order. The first, second, third, etc. All the days were there except for when she got to twenty-two. It was gone. The day Dakota had supposedly been killed in the Superstitions was missing.
Paranormal Mystery Boxset Books 1-3: Legends of Treasure Page 40