Paranormal Mystery Boxset Books 1-3: Legends of Treasure

by Lois D. Brown

  “Who wouldn’t want to help a poor kidnapped boy?” Karla smiled.

  Delores snorted. “Yes, that and dinner for each of us at Le Cirque with tickets to Chippendales,” she added.

  Sheepishly, Ms. Tuttle dropped her eyes. “Yes, well, I did have to give some bonus incentives. But never mind. This is for Beth and her sweet boy. Who wouldn’t?”

  Maria reached out and grabbed Ms. Tuttle’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you so much for everything you do.”

  Ms. Tuttle nodded in appreciation. “Thank you. I knew I’d have your approval. That’s why I felt it was okay to put the tab for their night out in Vegas on the library’s credit card.”

  Maria swallowed hard to stop from choking. “Oh.” She could only solve one problem at a time. She’d deal with Ms. Tuttle’s questionable use of city funds later.

  “In any case, the more Karla and I talked about the riddle, the more we realized the sequence of letters and numbers in the third line were the cards in the opening hand of the ‘south’ player in Bridge. In the riddle when it says, ‘Open the lid,’ it means to start the game. The south player begins bidding, taking into consideration the cards she was dealt, which consist of….” Ms. Tuttle pointed to the wall where Maria could read along with the letters and numbers in the Veil riddle.

  “SA64HQ965DJ52C654”

  “The ‘S’ stand for spades,” explained Ms. Tuttle. “The south player has the ace, six, and four of spades. ‘H’ is for hearts, of which she has the queen, nine, six, and five. Next is diamonds—”

  “—of which she has the jack, five and two as well as the six, five and four of clubs,” interjected Maria, catching on.

  “Exactly.”

  What had seemed like Greek before was now perfectly clear. “So what cards do the other players have?” Maria asked.

  “The riddle doesn’t tell us that. That is what these ladies are doing. They are playing game after game of Bridge, using different hands for the other three players to see what kind of outcomes they arrive at.”

  “And what are they hoping to find? How will it pinpoint the exact location of Justin in Jarbidge?”

  “Well …” Ms. Tuttle’s shoulder sank, “Sadly, I can’t give you an exact answer. Bridge isn’t really a game of chance. In fact, most people who are really good at it are whizzes at mathematical probabilities, even if they don’t know it. Bridge players have their favorite strategies: the way in which they bid, the risks they take, how they lead tricks, and of course, a partnership never knows exactly how the other will respond. Even if we know the cards the south player has, we don’t know exactly how the rest of game will be played or how it will end. There are thousands of possibilities.”

  “So these ladies are playing games of Bridge over and over again, and each time the south player starts with the same cards—”

  “—while the other players have different hands.” Ms. Tuttle finished Maria’s sentence. “Yes. And, as you might guess, each game has a slightly different outcome—”

  “—and all of this is to find some kind of pattern or meaning related to the location of the treasure?” asked Maria, her mind spinning with the task set before these women.

  “Yes. So far they’ve had some interesting terms come up—but it’s all a bit muddled.”

  “What do you mean by interesting terms?” Maria felt stupid for asking so many questions, but she had to understand.

  “Girl, you really don’t know much about Bridge, do you?” said Delores, shaking her head.

  Ms. Tuttle patted Maria’s shoulder. “Over the years, Bridge players have assigned names to different cards, suits, deals, strategies, all sorts of things. For example, the seven of diamonds is the ‘beer card.’”

  “My favorite!” shouted Julia, still holding her metal flask. “At least it used to be.”

  “Well,” continued Ms. Tuttle, “what if the seven of diamonds was the last card played in the particular Bridge game that Steven Veil had in mind? What would that mean? Maybe the treasure is near a beer distillery in Jarbidge. Or what if the last card is an ace? Its slang name is a bullet. Would that mean the treasure is where the infamous last stage robbery went down?”

  “How many slang terms are there in Bridge?” asked Maria. She wished she knew more about the game but could tell it was not something she could learn in a few minutes time.

  “Hundreds,” answered Karla.

  Ms. Tuttle’s enthusiasm waned. “There are a lot, but at least we have a system in place and we’re looking to see which terms come up, and we’re making note of them.”

  “One of my games ended with the ‘Curse of Scotland’ being the last card,” said one of the more calm looking women in the room.

  “And one of our games began with a ‘Phantom Sacrifice’ bid in the beginning,” said another.

  “Delores,” asked Ms. Tuttle, “didn’t one of your games end with a ‘Devil’s Coup?’”

  “Sure did. That’s one of my favorite ways to go out—with the devil at my side.”

  “But how do we know which one of the games Steven Veil was actually thinking of?” Maria was beginning to suffer from Contact Bridge overload.

  “I … I don’t know yet.” Ms. Tuttle wrung her hands. “I’m trying to find more information about Mr. Veil. You know, things about who he is and what makes him tick. But he’s quite the recluse, especially the last few years. Regardless, with the skill of these women, I believe we’ll make sense of it all. I just need time.”

  “Time,” Maria said, letting the air out of her lungs slowly, “is the one thing we don’t have.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fenn estimates that 65,000 people have joined the search for riches that are described as ‘265 gold coins, hundreds of gold nuggets, hundreds of rubies, eight emeralds, two Ceylon sapphires, many diamonds, two ancient Chinese jade carvings, pre-Columbian gold bracelets and fetishes, and more.’ Fenn only has his word to show that the treasure is real.

  “ON THE HUNT, ‘WHERE WARM WATERS HALT,’ FOR A $2 MILLION TREASURE” BY FERNANDA SANTOS, THE NEW YORK TIMES, JULY 5, 2016

  Back in her car with the terms of Bridge spinning around her head, Maria was grateful when her police radio beeped and a voice came through the receiver.

  “Chief Branson? You there?”

  Maria picked up the radio and pushed the talk button. “I’m here, Pete. What’s going on? It’s late. Are you still at the office?”

  “Do you remember Karl Fossum, the man we apprehended at the creek?”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s just been spotted out by the reservoir. The FBI is going there now.”

  “On my way.”

  Maria turned both her siren and lights off before pulling onto the dirt road that led to the reservoir. She didn’t want to spook Fossum. The makeshift construction parking lot had several parked trailers in it. Maria pulled her car up to one of them. Quietly getting out, she looked around, unsure of who and when the tip had been called in. There was no sign of the FBI yet. Either they were hiding or she’d managed to beat them here, which she probably had considering how fast she’d been going.

  Several workers were gathering picket signs that had been left leaning against dirt piles and cement blocks from the week’s earlier protests. They didn’t see Maria get out of her car.

  Maria looked over the portion of the reservoir that had been filled and was now drained. It resembled the Sahara. Not a drop of water in sight. Nor Fossum.

  Was it the cleanup crew who had called in the tip? Hopefully it wasn’t pretend. There was no time for practical jokes. Or maybe she was too late. It was after eight in the evening. The sun would be setting soon.

  Maria pulled out her cell phone to make a quick call to Pete when from down the road she heard sirens. Apparently stealth wasn’t top priority for the FBI. A gray Tahoe pulled into the parking lot headed straight for Maria. She stopped and waved, assuming this wasn’t an attack on her life.

  Agent Carter pulled up next to her an
d the driver window lowered. “Have you seen anyone?” he asked.

  “Not much going on here,” said Maria. “Who called in the tip? You don’t suppose it was a fake—”

  A motorcycle engine roared to life.

  Maria spun around to see where the noise was coming from. A figure on a dirt bike appeared from around a temporary utility shed used to hold the contractor’s equipment.

  “That might be him.” Maria reached for the car handle of the Tahoe. “Let me in!”

  There was a click to unlock the doors, and Maria flung herself into the back seat of the SUV. “Go, go, go!”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” The car lunged forward as Agent Carter pushed on the accelerator.

  Maria grabbed her seatbelt and snapped it into place as she watched the figure on the motorbike make a one eighty and drive onto a dirt access road with two strips of visible earth separated and surrounded by green, pokey weeds. This was going to be a bumpy ride.

  Agent Carter didn’t hesitate as he drove his Tahoe up the bank and onto the road. He gunned the Tahoe’s motor and followed a dust cloud of red dirt the bike left in its wake.

  “Any idea where this road heads?” asked Agent Carter.

  “No idea.” Maria inched her way forward on the seat, making the seatbelt tight over her shoulder. “There are so many of these roads around the county. Sometimes they can go on for miles.”

  “Get on my radio. Let your station know our present location.”

  As Maria spoke to dispatch, Agent Carter continued his hot pursuit of the bike. The further they went up the access road, the sandier it became until there was hardly any vegetation on it at all. Just a thick trail of fine-grained sand. The tires slid sideways on the slick surface. Agent Carter tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

  A coyote came out of nowhere and dashed in front of the car.

  “Watch out—” Maria began.

  Agent Carter attempted to swerve, but his control of the car was spotty.

  A dense thud on the right side of the front bumper elicited a wince from both Maria and the FBI agent.

  “It’s okay. Keep going. We can’t let him get away.” Maria was desperate.

  Agent Carter pushed forward. The car vacillated between an uncontrolled gliding on top of the shallow sand to periodic stalling when its wheels sank into deeper sections of the soft road.

  “Come on! Come on!” Maria was sure she was bothering the agent, but she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

  Agent Carter grimaced, eyes glued to the path ahead. He growled his frustration at the Tahoe. “What’s wrong with this thing? It’s all wheel drive and has great tires.”

  “It’s been so dry the last couple of weeks. It’s not your car’s fault. Whatever you do, don’t stop. You have to keep your momentum going on this kind of road.” Maria tried to calm him. They needed to keep going. They had to catch Fossum at all costs.

  The trail of dust was getting lighter and lighter.

  “Don’t worry,” Agent Carter said. “Nothing can make me stop.”

  Floovb, floovb, vwomp, vwomp, vrrrrnnnnn.

  The car had sunk into the sand.

  Agent Carter hit the steering with both palms open. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “Give me your tire pressure gauge, now!” Maria barked the order.

  “My what?”

  “Tire pressure gauge.” Maria had unbuckled her seatbelt and had the car door open.

  “Hold on.”

  A moment later Agent Carter shoved the metal tool into Maria’s hand. She jumped out of the back seat, her feet sinking into the sand when she landed. Her shoes filled with the fine grains, making walking feel like roller skating barefoot on sandpaper.

  Kneeling down by the back tire, she unscrewed the top plastic lid of the tire’s valve stem and immediately pushed in the pin in the center of the metal tip of the valve.

  Hisssssssssss.

  “One, two, three, four, five,” Maria counted aloud. She released the pin and pushed the pressure gauge onto the tip. “Now only twenty pounds of pressure—that should help.”

  By this time, Agent Carter was out of the car as well.

  “We need to release the air in the all the tires to increase the amount of surface contact on the road. It will give us a bigger footprint,” said Maria.

  “Got it,” called back Agent Carter.

  Maria repeated the process on all four tires with the FBI agent’s help. With the tires deflated, they both got back into the car and the motor roared again. The tires churned in the sand.

  Maria held her breath.

  The tires found purchase at last and the car moved forward, slowly at first and then picking up speed.

  There was no dust trail to be seen.

  Adrenaline spiraled through Maria’s body. They couldn’t lose Fossum. He was their number one lead to finding Justin.

  Agent Carter made his way down the sandy road, but not at a fast enough speed. There was no way for the Tahoe to catch up to a motorcycle in these conditions. Maria knew it and she knew Agent Carter knew it as well.

  An upcoming fork in the road loomed before them. Tracks in the sand, from ATVs and the like, shot in every which direction.

  “There.” Maria pointed to the road on the left. “Those tracks look the most fresh.”

  Agent Carter did as she suggested, but with little hope showing on his face.

  They traveled the road five more minutes until he sighed. “We’ve lost him. Completely.”

  “I know.” Discouragement flooded into Maria’s veins. They’d been so close—but they’d been outrun and outsmarted by the idiot Fossum. He’d brought the better sand vehicle. That was that.

  “Let’s head back,” said Agent Carter.

  Evening had settled, casting dull gray shadows around each bend of the road. Maria listened as Agent Carter called in an another APB on Fossum. Once off the radio, he turned to face Maria, who still sat in the back seat of his car, and said, “We’ll get him, Branson. Don’t think we won’t.”

  “Agent Carter, I just got a lead from a very reliable source that the riddle points to a place somewhere in Jarbidge, Nevada.”

  “What kind of lead?”

  “I can’t go into detail, but I think it would be wise if the FBI took a serious look at the area.”

  Agent Carter shook his head. “I think the riddle is just a distraction. But maybe we can bring that up with Steve Veil at our meeting with him tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I just wanted to pass along anything that might be of value.”

  The pair rode back the rest of the way to the reservoir in silence. The nose of the Tahoe dipped as the car left the access road and went down the embankment, back to the graveled clearing.

  “You can drop me off here. I’ll walk back to my car. You can head out to the highway that way.” Maria pointed in the direction of the road. “ I’ll see you at the station tomorrow at nine a.m.”

  Agent Carter nodded.

  Maria watched as the tail lights of the Tahoe skirted around the drained reservoir, through the parking lot, and out onto the highway. Their absence left her alone in the darkening evening. Maria pulled her flashlight from her backpack and switched it to low beam for walking. She needed some night air to get her sense of steadiness back after being jerked back and forth in the backseat of the Tahoe.

  Instead of skirting around the now-drained reservoir, Maria walked through the shallow area of it, making a bee line to her car. As she picked her way around rocks and sticks left on what was once the reservoir’s floor, insects of all sizes scurried out of her way. The light spread out well in front of her, giving her a sense of security. Beads of perspiration ran down her forehead. The chase had been intense and the evening air hadn’t yet cooled.

  An odd-shaped rock off to the left, just within the reach of the light caught her eye. She moved closer to it, sensing something different about it. Shining the flashlight directly toward it, she saw it wasn’t a rock at all, but a sku
ll that was attached to the rest of its skeletal frame. Only the ribs and spine were visible. The rest was still buried in the earth … or gone.

  The front of the skull had been split right down the center, leaving an open space in the bone as wide as an inch. Whatever had happened to this person had not been good. A wave of prickles ran up her arms and neck. She was about to turn and keep making her way back to her car when she noticed the odd way in which the skeleton’s arm jutted out and was wrapped around a boulder. It looked as if the skeleton was hanging onto the rock, trying to stop itself from going somewhere.

  Behind her an owl screeched and Maria jumped. She had way too much to do to be wandering around at night freaking herself out. The skeleton must be one of those that had been disturbed when the reservoir was put in. She’d call the contractor and let him know he needed to gather this one up and put it with the others that were being kept safe until the government knew what to do with them.

  Maria turned back in the direction of the car and kept walking. A lot had happened in the last few hours. To begin, Ms. Tuttle had identified Jarbidge as the secret location in the Veil Riddle. Even though Agent Carter still thought the riddle was only a distraction, Maria felt she had to follow every lead, making a trip to Jarbidge likely. Also in the last few hours Karl Fossum had been found—and lost again. The lowlife had run like the cockroach that he was.

  Where would a man like Fossum hide in a place like Kanab? Maria needed to talk to someone who knew the Kanab area like the back of his hand. She dialed Rod’s number.

  Rod waited for Maria on her porch. He sat under the outdoor light that was being attacked by a small, black insect that came out in swarms in the evening. He couldn’t have looked more handsome or rugged in his shorts and t-shirt. To think they had once been so close made Maria’s heart ache. If she hadn’t gone with him to the Superstition Mountains maybe the relationship wouldn’t have deteriorated. She shook her head. That wouldn’t have helped anything. If she hadn’t been in Arizona, the man would be rotting in an Arizona prison by now, convicted of killing his ex-wife. No, Rod had chosen to split, and now that he had, Maria saw the wisdom in it. Close relationships were not a good thing for her. They were weapons others could use against her.