Paranormal Mystery Boxset Books 1-3: Legends of Treasure

by Lois D. Brown

  “Here you are, Chief Branson.” The uniformed orderly who had been her escort pointed to a door at the end of a particularly quiet hallway. “This is the patient’s room, for now at least.”

  “Thanks.” Fear numbed her hand. Maria wondered if she’d have the strength to turn the metal door knob. Seeing people who were not in their right mind was frightening to her because she knew what it felt like to dread one’s own thoughts. The desire for someone to simply turn off reality and never turn it back on.

  Maria reached for the knob. Her palm found purchase. Turning, she began a deep breathing and mental stabilization exercise. Counting backward was easy enough to do and was sometimes effective. She would start with a high number. Who knew how long she’d be there.

  One thousand. Nine hundred and ninety-nine. Nine hundred and ninety-eight.

  Quite the opposite from the hallway, inside the room everyone was bustling and talking. Maria walked in and caught her breath.

  Nine hundred and eighty-four. Nine hundred and eighty-three.

  Lying in the hospital bed, Rod had the appearance of one of Maria’s sickly ghost hallucinations. Face sunken and pale. No, not pale, translucent. The blue veins bulged in his neck. Lips, once a healthy pinkish color, were now gray. A handful of wires and tubes attached to his body. An IV protruded out of his arm. Wires were attached to into his chest. A catheter collected his urine. A finger clamp monitored his heart rate, which was displayed on a screen behind his bed.

  Nine hundred and sixty-seven. Or was it sixty-six? Counting backward wasn’t working.

  Her heart began to beat more desperately.

  Despite Rod’s condition, he was still considered a murder suspect. A guard was placed in the corner of the room. If Rod got better, he still faced months and months of trial and mental torture. Maybe it would be better for him to slip away? To not have to face the tragic details of Dakota’s death?

  Stop thinking things like that!

  A doctor and nurse were by Rod’s bed. The doctor monitored one of the machines that recorded Rod’s bodily functions, while the nurse checked the wires and monitor.

  How much weight had he lost? Ten pounds? Fifteen? Was that even possible in the five days since he was arrested?

  The nurse glanced up to see Maria. He checked the visitor’s pass around her neck and motioned toward the opposite side of the room, letting her know she could sit down over there.

  Melissa, Tom, Beth, and Grant sat silently. All staring at her. She waved weakly.

  Tom was the first to drop his eyes. His face was still covered with scabbing from the large number of ant bites he’d received. However, for the most part he looked well recovered from his ordeal in the Superstitions. Grant flipped his gaze back to his brother. Beth stood, arms wide, ready to give a welcome hug. Melissa was as rigid as a statue, her eyes fixed on Maria.

  Maria received a quick embrace from Beth, who mouthed the words into her ear, “I haven’t let Rod out of my sight. They’ve got him in a deep sedation—almost like an induced coma.”

  “Thanks.” Maria gave her friend an extra squeeze. She took a long look at Rod again, and shuddered. If Rod looked like that after five days, what had she looked like after being in Tehran for almost a year? She had no idea because she hadn’t let herself look in the mirror for a solid month after she’d been rescued from imprisonment. She’d been too scared of her own reflection. Some cultures believe you can see your soul in a mirror. Maria had feared if she’d looked, she would have known her soul was gone.

  But no longer. Kanab, and especially Rod, had changed that. She’d found herself. And he had helped. He’d brought joy back to her life and made her feel whole again.

  His arms were protective. Safe. Comforting. His smile inviting. His kisses exhilarating.

  He wasn’t perfect. Hardly. But he’d been her sort of perfect—with his prominent Roman nose, car obsession, and clever way of making her laugh.

  They had played like teenagers—hiking in the hills when they should have been at work, sneaking into hotel swimming pools at night, and snapping each other with twisted kitchen towels while doing the dishes after dinners. There had also been the more dignified fancy dinners, upscale plays, and hand-holding during long walks.

  All of it had replaced a part of her that was missing. And now Rod, the one who had helped piece her back together, was a broken mess.

  Life’s ironies were not funny. Not in the slightest.

  Melissa, Tom, and Maria had congregated in the hall outside Rod’s room. They’d been kicked out by the doctor, who felt their whispers were too much of a disturbance. On the door to Rod’s room hung a patient chart attached to a clipboard. The word “schizophrenia” appeared on the paper several times.

  Maria attempted a moment of small talk. Turning to Tom she said, “You’re looking better. Recovery been okay?”

  Tom, who’d been visibly embarrassed since the minute he’d seen Maria, grimaced. “Yeah, doing better. I pretty much slept the last two days. The antihistamines they gave me knocked me out cold.”

  “I’m so glad.” And she truly was. Seeing Tom swollen and blistered after his reaction to the ant bites was horrific. No one should die that way.

  Switching her focus to Melissa, Maria struggled not to grab her by the neck and shake her until she confessed to having killed Dakota with her own hands. But that would be rash and stupid. One picture stolen from a safe inside the Keepers’ lodge did not prove much. All the same, Maria was certain Melissa knew more than she let on.

  “Can you tell me what’s going on with Rod?” Maria asked, not letting her gaze flicker to Rod’s patient chart. She knew what it said there, but she wanted Melissa’s take on the situation.

  “They say the stress of the last few days must have triggered a massive psychosis. They’ve been questioning Grant, his brother.” Melissa was all business with a hint of compassion. She played her lawyer roll well.

  “Why question Grant?” Maria noticed Tom shift uncomfortably.

  “To see if there’s a history of schizophrenia in his family. He can’t think of anyone, but doctors say it can still manifest itself at this age without warning.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” snorted Maria. “Rod’s not crazy. He’s sick. I think someone is making him sick. Maybe infecting or poisoning him. Didn’t they take his temperature? He was warm and all sweaty when I visited him in the jail.”

  With every exchange between the two women, Tom distanced himself a little further.

  “Doctors did say they detected a low-grade fever, but it wasn’t severe enough to cause the kind of neurosis he is experiencing. His delusions and hallucinations are completely detached from reality. He’s become dangerous to himself and others. They say his fever is irrelevant.”

  Maria frowned. She couldn’t help herself. She’d had enough personal run-ins with “experts” to know they didn’t always know everything. Especially about Rod. They assumed he was one of those people you expected at any moment to turn volatile. Not true. The truth was, she was that sort of person. Not Rod. He was a rock.

  “If you guys don’t mind, I think I’ll go grab something to drink,” said Tom, who continued to inch away. Apparently his desire to flirt with Maria had been muted by his near-death experience.

  Good riddance. “Okay,” said Maria. “I have a few more questions for Melissa.”

  As Tom scurried away, Maria concentrated on displaying her I’m-not-suspicious-of-you-one-little-bit face to Melissa.

  “Why are you looking at me so funny?” asked Melissa.

  Dang. Apparently that look needed a little more practice.

  “You can’t blame me that Rod picked a crappy time to go looney tunes.” Melissa gave an exasperated grunt. “I don’t mean to sound callous, it’s just that every case I take reflects my professional abilities, whether or not it was a friend in desperate need. I don’t like losing.”

  “And that’s what you think is going to happen? Rod will be convicted of Dakota’s death
?” Stay calm, Maria told herself.

  “N-n-no. Not necessarily.” Melissa folded her arms, in defensive mode. “But there is some pretty solid evidence pointing to him. I mean, Dakota’s journal is a testimony against Rod from the grave. And he’s been out of his mind for forty-eight hours. I don’t stand much of a chance at this point.”

  “But that writing in the journal hasn’t been proven to be Dakota’s yet. You need to—”

  “Yes it has been,” Melissa interrupted. She held up her phone. I got the message this morning. Handwriting experts confirmed it’s a match with the writing on all legal documents they found in Dakota’s name. She wrote those things about Rod, Maria. I know it’s hard to hear, but it’s true.”

  With no attempt to hide her contempt, Maria shot back. “Then someone made Dakota write those lies. Someone else who was with her in the Superstitions that day. Did you ever go hiking with her, Melissa? What were you doing on October 22, 2010? What’s your alibi?”

  The way Melissa recoiled, Maria might as well have punched her in the gut.

  “What are you talking about? Are you going insane too? Where on earth do you get off claiming I could have had something to do with Dakota’s death? I got involved with this case as a favor to an old friend. Someone I’ve known a lot longer than you, by the way.”

  A lanky male orderly walked by, head turned the other direction, trying to give the women their privacy.

  “If you’ve known him so long,” said Maria through terse lips, “then you should know he’s not a killer.”

  Maria’s words hung in the air as neither woman said a word. The door to Rod’s room opened and the doctor poked his head out. “Ma’am, you mentioned you wanted to speak with me?”

  Maria scrunched her toes and tried to shove all her anger downward to them. “Yes, I did. Thanks.”

  “Well, I’m about to leave. What did you want to ask me?”

  “Excuse me,” said Melissa as she abruptly turned. “I have another appointment I need to get to.” With that she strode down the hall to the exit sign.

  Maria turned to the doctor. “I wanted to ask you—”

  “Come in the room please. All conversations must be kept confidential because of the, uh, subject matter.”

  “Gotcha.” Maria walked back into the room and saw that Grant and Beth hadn’t moved from the corner of the room. “So,” began Maria, “I wondered what other diagnoses have been explored here. I know someone mentioned schizophrenia, but I keep thinking Rod is more physically sick than mentally sick. Could his mind be reacting to the condition of his body?”

  Without even taking a second to pretend that he considered her opinion valid, the doctor answered, “No, he’s schizophrenic.”

  Maria felt a wave of frustration. This “professional,” and most likely all the others in this place, had decided Rod was crazy. Unsalvageable. Too far gone. But many doctors had said the same thing about her.

  And they’d been wrong. Dead wrong.

  Thanks goodness for Dr. Roberts and a few of his well-trained colleagues. They had understood PTSD. Knew how it worked. They hadn’t jumped to conclusions about her future. Because of them, Maria had been given a second chance in life. She got the job as police chief in Kanab. She’d met Rod. She fallen in—

  She’d fallen for him.

  “Listen,” said Maria, “I want to make sure no one is jumping to—”

  He didn’t let her finish her sentence. “The signs are classic. He is displaying every peremptory symptom of schizophrenia.” The doctor said it like it was another day on the job, which it was for him it.

  But not for Maria. “And what sort of peremptory symptoms are we talking about?”

  If condescension could be measured and weighed, the doctor might as well have handed Maria a hundred pound bag of bad attitude. His shoulders reared back, nostrils flared. “I highly doubt it would be worth my time to explain them all to you. Suffice it to say he’s mentally not well. Schizophrenia has most likely been simmering for—”

  “Stop.” Maria held up her hand. “Let me describe his symptoms to you.” Maria flexed her own shoulders back and subtly pushed herself onto her toes to appear taller. “It started with agitation, insomnia, and a sudden distrust of everything and everyone. He became easily distracted and exhibited physical and verbal aggression. Mood was dysphoric with pseudobulbar affection. Then came the paranoid, delusional, poorly structured, grandiose hallucinations. In the end, he had a complete disrupted awareness of the boundaries of his own existence. Did I get it about right?”

  A slow nod from the doctor.

  Maria continued, “My concern is that the presence of a low-grade fever during an acute psychotic manifestation suggests the need for a completely differential diagnosis. I shouldn’t have to remind you that a first-time neurological manifestation has up to a twenty percent chance of being a secondary induced psychosis state influenced by the presence of an organic psychiatric factor. An examination to account for physical trauma, drugs and toxins, renal failure, structural lesions, infections, and nutritional deficiencies needs to happen immediately. The last thing this patient needs is an erroneous non-organic psychiatric diagnosis and consequential over sedation. For pity’s sake. Do you even know what his vitamin B12 levels are?”

  The doctor blinked.

  Twice.

  “Nurse Madison?” The doctor looked around the room and found the nurse waiting in the corner by the prison guard.

  “Yes, doctor?” the nurse answered, glancing at Maria.

  “Please inform the orderly it’s time for these visitors to be escorted from the room. The patient needs his rest.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  In the year 1872, a great disaster befell the Apaches of the Superstition Mountains. It is a tale of horror and death and is responsible for many of the other stories of death that have come out of the Superstitions. It was in that year the first organized effort was made to drive the Apaches from the mountains.

  “FOOL’S GOLD,” BY ROBERT SIKORSKY, GOLDEN WEST PUBLISHERS, 1983, PAGE 48.

  Maria absentmindedly flipped the phone in her lap back and forth. She had called Ms. Tuttle at the Kanab library and asked her if she wouldn’t mind doing some research on possible infections or poisons that mimicked the neurotic symptoms of schizophrenia. She also asked her to look up anything she could find about the Keepers. Ms. Tuttle had, of course, readily agreed.

  You know,” Maria announced to Beth and Grant who were in the car with her, “I’ve come to a conclusion.”

  Beth, who was driving to Brian’s house where they would freshen up before going to Rep. Lankin’s for dinner that night, was the first to respond. “Yeah? What is it?”

  “I seriously need to work on my people skills,” Maria answered. “I mean, I’m great when I talk to reasonable people, like Ms. Tuttle and you guys. But with Melissa? And that doctor?” Maria flinched. “Not so good.”

  “I have to admit that you’d never make in the world of hair dressing.” Beth popped a piece of mint gum into her mouth.

  “I completely agree.” Maria pulled down on her head, touching her chin to her collar bone. It was the best stretch she knew to release the tension in the back of her neck. “I’d be a complete failure if I tried to do what you do, Beth.”

  “I’m glad you told both of them off,” said Grant from the back seat. “They needed it. I kept telling them this wasn’t the Rod I’d known for my whole life. But they wouldn’t listen to me. How did you know all that medical detail, anyway?”

  Maria’s embarrassment over her own mental condition had come a long way since she’d first arrived in Kanab. “Everything I said in Rod’s room was said about me at least a dozen times. There’s not a whole lot in life I’m really good at except for two things. First, how to shoot a gun, which I’m actually quite skilled at, and second, how to talk to doctors about neuroses.”

  Beth slapped Maria’s arm teasingly. “Come on. I’m sure there’s a third thing in there somewhere.”


  Grant spoke. “Seriously, I’m so glad Rod found you. If there’s anyone who can help him through this, it’s you.”

  That had to be one of the nicest thing anyone had ever said to Maria. Was it true? Deep down she’d always felt she wasn’t the kind of person anyone really wanted their brother or sister to hang with, let alone date. She had too much baggage. “Thanks, Grant. Tha-that means a lot.”

  He piped up again from the back seat. “You really are so different from Dakota. I think he was more in love with the idea of being married to her than he was actually in love with her. This time is different. He talks about you constantly. And the fact that you went hunting with the two of us? I mean, seriously, how awesome was that? Dakota would have been much too dainty for that.”

  Maria hoped that was a good thing. Was being the gun expert in a relationship too unfeminine?

  “You know,” said Grant, “I’m to thank for you two getting together.”

  “That’s funny,” said Beth, “because I thought that was my claim to fame.”

  “Nope, it’s me,” said the taller but younger version of Rod. “In high school, I was the one who first said how hot you were. And when you moved back to town, I told Rod I was going to ask you out.”

  “And what did Rod say when you told him that?” asked Beth.

  “Nothing.” Grant smirked. “He slugged me in the gut.”

  “Brothers,” said Beth, shaking her head. “I think my two youngest boys are going to be like that. I swear, they’re always wrestling over the same toy—not that you’re a toy, Maria. I didn’t mean to suggest that.”

  Maria smiled. Inside, she was still anxious over the fact that Dakota was too dainty to have gone camping.

  “Well,” continued Grant, “I deserved the punch. I knew Rod had been crushing on you for a while. Beth, did you tell Maria that you and Rod used to stalk her on Facebook?”

  “I did,” said Beth. “I have revealed all of the underhanded and conspiratorial actions I resorted to in order to get my two friends together.”