Hidden Sins

by Selena Montgomery

  Two hours later Ethan clipped at another tangle of overgrown vines that obscured the name of the interred body. He couldn’t shake an eerie sense of familiarity; impossible, since he’d eschewed small western towns. In the far south corner of the cemetery, clumps of graves had been dug cheek by jowl. Apparently, burial maintenance was not a requisite for the cemetery. Blackberry bushes grew in scattered clusters, and thick, ropy weeds had reclaimed the wooden identification markers.

  Down a row, Mara swore crossly. “Cremate me. When I die, I want my body burned and my ashes scattered. Don’t shove me underground.”

  He repeated obediently, “Note to self, burn Mara.”

  “After I’m gone,” she warned. She swiped at the rivulets of sweat trickling along parched skin. Grave-robbing was macabre at the best of times, but in the heat of a summer day, it was also positively ghastly. The act of hacking away at mischievous vines that seemed to procreate in droves had worn her patience thin. “Remind me what we’re looking for again.”

  “I’m not sure. But my research on Poncho indicated a fascination with cemeteries. Perhaps he had a relative buried here. Or a good friend.”

  “How would we know?” Mara swatted at a bee the size of her thumb. “I didn’t find any record of his friends other than my grandfather. And he was buried in Kiev.”

  “I’m assuming it will be under the name Alvarado, like him. His clue to your grandmother mentioned a final resting place.” Ethan snipped at a wrist-sized vine. Across the swath of green, plain crosses dotted the landscape, mixed indiscriminately with marble headstones and tall statues to fallen soldiers.

  Because Santa Therese had been settled during an oil rush, its topography offered few amenities beyond the thick sludge that had surged beneath the rock. The arid land enjoyed rare visits from rainclouds, making the soil unsuitable for farming. Cowboys had tried their hand at cattle, with poor results. Mangy heifers straggled across the sweep of occasional verdant ground, but boxed in by hills to the north and east and scorched earth elsewhere, Santa Therese had perished decades before.

  He studied the dip of a short row of hills, and the image tickled his memory, something vital. Pausing, he set down the shears and rested on his haunches. “Mara, hand me the quilt.”

  She removed the tattered cloth from her bag, puzzled by the request. “What are you looking for? This is the map to the safe.”

  Nodding, Ethan agreed. “But look here.” He pointed to a rise that Lesley had corresponded to a range of hills that had no connection to the rest of the region. “Stand up.”

  Confused but game, Mara lithely gained her feet and turned to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Ethan. Holding the quilt aloft, he gestured to the hills. “Now, look at the quilt.”

  Mara scanned the distant vista and checked the quilt. “Okay. Hills out there and hills on here. But this is the Texas Hill Country,” she reminded him quietly.

  Excitement growing, Ethan jabbed a finger at the vibrant blue patches sewn into the fabric. “Bluebells. Yellow primrose.” He circled the array of yellow. “Your grandmother told you that Poncho described his brother’s map as a desert bowl filled with blues and yellows and greens.”

  “Which Lesley determined was a ravine of some sort.”

  “Not a ravine. A town. A small town built in the valley between three hills. One with bluebells, yellow primrose, and cacti. With a limestone shelf that eventually leads to an oil rush.”

  “An exact description of where we are, but not where Guerva hid the gold.”

  “Maybe it is.” Ethan’s smile widened, white flashing in the sunlight. “Think like the hustler you are, Mara. No offense.”

  Though she narrowed her eyes, she conceded, “None taken. Your point?”

  “Five men join up for the heist of their careers. Reese is a loose cannon and a hothead, but you need him. Bailey has a talent for chemicals, but he’s a scoundrel and a rake. Rarely stays still for long. Poncho and Guerva, brothers who’ve never been apart. Guerva is a deaf-mute who trusts only one man other than his brother.”

  “My grandfather.” Mara stared at the quilt in disbelief. It couldn’t be so simple, could it? Clutching his arm tightly, she murmured, “Here? Guerva hid the safe here?”

  “Why not? Poncho and Guerva were inseparable. Each man had one day to hide his key or the safe and they were sent in different directions. Five men, four cardinal directions. Poncho and Guerva head out and meet up once they’re out of sight of the others.”

  “Which explains why Poncho was so determined to give the map to my grandmother.” She bent down, taking the quilt with her. Brushing aside a clear spot on the baked earth, she angled the quilt to reflect the terrain.

  Ethan joined her, excitement bubbling. “According to the quilt, this ridge of hills should have a mirror set to the south.” Twisting, he verified the locale.

  “There’s the monument.” Mara poked at the knotted gray fabric that rose nearly an inch above the quilt. Around the cemetery, matching gray statuary stared blankly at the vivid blue horizon. “The denizens of Santa Therese appear to like statues to the dead. Nana didn’t add any clues.”

  “The answers must be in the quilt. Poncho helped her make it. For a reason.” Pensive, he glared at the enigmatic coverlet. “It must be staring us in the face.”

  Mara crawled closer and patted the hand he’d fisted on the ground. “You’re the sleuth, Ethan. How do you solve a forensic mystery?”

  Breathing slowly, he ran through the steps in his mind, repeating them to Mara. “Start with observation.”

  “All right. We’ve got a quilt that looks identical to the town of Santa Therese. In general. The three clusters of hills. The wildflowers in the ravine. And not much detail except for the statue in the center of the quilt.”

  “Next, we create a hypothesis.” Ethan shut his eyes, letting the scene play in his head. Like the reconstruction of the life of the dead, he counted on imagination to begin his inquiry. Random data collapsing into a theory. Aiko’s quilt sketched the town clearly, but abruptly limited the scope to one area of town. One area with a gray statue. “We assume Guerva and his brother chose this town because of Poncho’s work here. And when we blend that with his affinity for cemeteries, it makes sense that the statue is here.”

  “Okay, okay. We assume the statue is where the gold is hidden and we search here.” Mara scrambled to her feet. “I’ll take that side,” she announced and turned to the far end of the cemetery.

  “Wait. Part of testing a hypothesis is disproving all other available theorem. Such as the existence of other monuments in town.”

  “Look around, Ethan. Not much else is here.” She elbowed his ribs gently. “Let go of the scientist now. This part requires intuition. Gut instinct.”

  “Gut instinct?” Ethan exhaled slowly, scanned the vista. The monument stood ruler straight, a beacon. Beyond it, a patch of grass had grown wild with weeds. No stone markers or wooden placards. Nothing to mark the grave except its presence in a cemetery. “Gut instinct. Come on!”

  He dragged her past the rows of graves, across the expanse of the cemetery. Tools clanked noisily as he brought them to a halt. “Here!” Ethan speared the ground with his shovel. “The safe is under here.”

  Catching her breath, Mara stared at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. “The monument is on the map, Ethan.”

  “Yes, it is. But look at it again and tell me what’s not on there.” He laid the quilt on the bed of weeds and jabbed at the area where they stood. “This patch of land is covered in red flowers. See any flowers here?”

  Mara studied the quilt and the only spot of red on the quilt. “You’re brilliant, Dr. Stuart.”

  “Instinct, honey.” With a flourish, he scooped her to her feet and presented the second shovel. “Now start digging.”

  The pungent aroma of turned earth filled the air and a faint breeze wisped past, but neither noticed. Minutes turned into an hour, and Mara felt her confidence wane. “Ethan, it’s not here. We’
ve nearly hit China.”

  “It has to be here,” he insisted, swiping at his brow. “I know it’s here.”

  Mara heard the despondency creeping into his words and she set her shoulders. “Then it’s here. Let’s move over to that section.”

  “Thank you.” Ethan shifted the shovel to one hand and stroked a thumb along her cheek. The streak of brown that appeared in its wake joined other stains on her skin. “If I forget to tell you later, Mara, I’m proud of you.”

  “For what?” she murmured, moved. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “I know you now, Mara Elizabeth. I’ve seen you this time—and I know you. You’re kind and brave and determined.”

  “I’m a thief and a liar,” she corrected shakily. “That’s what you know.”

  “No, this time I’m trusting my instincts. And they tell me I’m right about you.” Ethan pressed a hard kiss to her surprised mouth and swatted her butt. “Start digging.”

  Shovels bit into earth once more and clouds gathered overhead. Fat drops of rain began to fall, mixing the dirt into mud. Ready to give up, Ethan jammed the metal into the ground. The vibrations sang up the pole and across his arms. “Mara! Come here.”

  She rushed to join him. “Did you find it?”

  “I found something.” Pointing to the hole he’d dug, he instructed, “Dig there.” Soon the mud and debris had been moved to the side, leaving a trench nearly three feet across and six feet deep. Water pelted the chasm, swirling away to reveal the muted luster of brass. Kneeling, Ethan and Mara grasped the leather straps that crossed the sides. In unison they squatted on either side, prepared to lift.

  “On three,” Ethan shouted above the storm. “One…two…three.”

  With a great heave the safe broke free of the earth. Overbalanced, Mara slipped, dropping her end. Ethan tipped backward and tumbled the safe to the ground. Mara lay on her back, winded. Overhead, the rain sputtered to a stop.

  “The aqua regia!” Mara panted out the warning, but it was too late to run. They waited for the explosion, but none came.

  Relieved, Ethan crawled to her side. “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she managed. “I guess a fall wouldn’t break Bailey’s booby trap.”

  “Unless there’s a delayed reaction.”

  Mara glared at him, but checked the safe for good measure. It lay on its side, and she pointed to the base. “Look!” Fastened to it was a key, identical to the ones in her knapsack. Suddenly refreshed, she and Ethan scrambled in the mud to the safe. With his pocketknife, Ethan pried the key from its moorings. Letters had been carved into the handle, just like the first two: .

  “Alpha. Upsilon. Rho.” Mara murmured the letters. “Eight letters. Omicron. Theta. Sigma twice. Eta. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Hand me the keys.” Ethan righted the safe while she removed the two pouches they’d found. The lock had four slots with corresponding symbols. Carefully, she passed him the keys, but they didn’t fit. “I don’t understand. We’ve got the three keys.”

  “Hold on,” Mara mumbled. She’d worked a safe like this before. One built before tumblers and combination locks. “It’s a sequence.”

  “Hmm?”

  “We can’t put the keys in together. They have to go in order.”

  “Like one, two, three?”

  Mara stared at the keys in Ethan’s palm. “Sequence. A code.” She grabbed the knapsack and removed her grandfather’s note. “Here.”

  “What?” He studied the parchment, not sure of what he was supposed to see. “I can’t read Greek, Mara.”

  Four gospels. Four winds. Four seasons. Four corners of the earth. But there is only a trinity for salvation. If you have found this, you are a step closer to a treasure I could not claim. I hope you are of my lineage, of my treasure. I pray you are not my son, but that you are braver and wiser than he. Keys to unlock our treasure. May God be with you.

  “You don’t have to. Just look for the pattern.” She tapped the page in three places, where had been scripted into the text. “This is the Greek spelling of treasure. Repeated three times. And if we rearrange our keys…” Mara laid the keys on the sodden ground, the letters in order. “Voilà!”

  “Brilliant.” Lifting the first key, he placed the cold, wet brass in her palm. “Ladies first.”

  Mara inserted the key and turned slowly, fighting back impatience. The lock gave way and the slot shifted down. Then she handed Ethan the second key. With grave care, he pushed it into place and twisted the key. For the second time the keyhole moved. Mara took the third key and nudged it into place. Turning to Ethan, she laid his hand on hers and together they turned the last key.

  A tumbler clicked.

  Mara reached from the handle, her hand still joined with his. When the door opened, he pressed their hands palm-to-palm in victory. “Go on, touch it.”

  Inside the safe six satchels rested side by side. Mara tugged at the front bag, unprepared for its weight. With fingers that shook, she opened the top and dipped her hand inside. Gold pieces filled her cupped hands. In the light, the carved gold shone with a ferocity that rivaled the sun.

  The past fell away and returned in a liquid rush that sang in her blood. “It’s real, Ethan. And it’s ours.” Laughing, she dripped the coins into her lap, unable to comprehend that she’d found it. That they’d found it. “The Reed fortune.”

  “Yes, baby, you found it.” He noticed a satchel that bulged more than the others and reached inside. His pulse thrummed with expectation, the potential for discovery at his fingertips. “May I?”

  Mara nodded eagerly. “It’s yours.”

  He dragged the heavy bag into his lap and yanked at the strings. The polished wood lay atop the mounds of gold, but he had no eyes for anything else. Wiping his hands on his shirt, he lightly traced the figures in the totem, brushed at the leather binding. “The Shango manuscript.”

  “We’ve won, Ethan.” But even as the words escaped, she remembered what they stood to lose.

  “Lesley.” Ethan felt a wash of shame that he’d forgotten her, even for a moment. “We should let him know we’ve found it.”

  “Not everything.” Mara reached for the bag he held.

  Disgust reared but immediately dissipated. “Mara, no.”

  “This is yours. You’ve earned it.” She removed the manuscript and the statue and tucked them into her bag. “He knows about the gold. Not about the artifacts. I don’t mind losing one, but not both.”

  “Mara.”

  “I know.” Mara poured the coins from her lap into the satchel and bound it tight. “Save it for later. I don’t intend to lose without a fight, if you’re willing.”

  “Anything.”

  “Good. Then Davis Conroy will get what he’s bargained for.”

  Chapter 23

  Chi Development occupied a lavish row of towers whose footprint covered half a city block. Spires of chrome and glass rose above a ring of fountains, where nymphs and mermaids glistened in the crystalline spray. The lush green of the landscape elicited thoughts of meadows and open spaces, exactly as the designer intended.

  Mara stared longingly at the rush of water, wishing they’d had time to do more than bathe in a gas station bathroom. She’d managed to clean most of the mud away, but only just. The image of her rose hip and lavender bath swept across her thoughts and she sighed.

  “Ready?” Ethan prodded.

  “Yes. We’re to meet him on the fiftieth floor.” Leaving her elusive scented bath, Mara checked the perimeter of the building, noting the discreet but heavily armed guards that stood post. “He’s got tight security.”

  “Which will go off like a five-alarm fire when we try to bring this inside.” Ethan stood behind her. He tilted the trolley on its two wheels. “The safe is solid brass. The metal detector will love it.”

  “So we’ll have to go around it.” Mara sent him an encouraging grin. “I told you. This is my turf. Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  The solemn respo
nse quickened her heartbeat with pleasure. Firmly, Mara faced the revolving glass doors and the flanking double panels that would admit them. Her plan, her choice. “We have an appointment.”

  Ethan followed tight on her heels, rolling the safe behind him. Doubt kept his muscles bunched, his eyes narrowed in search of trouble. The scheme Mara had hatched sounded deadly and impossible. And brilliant.

  “Excuse me, sir.” A harried desk clerk rushed over to his side. “You will have to take this to the service entry for inspection.”

  Ethan scanned the name tag pinned to his lapel. “Harold, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.” The teenager bobbed his head. “That’s my name.”

  “Harold, please give Mr. Conroy a call. He’s expecting us.” Ethan jerked his head toward the radio on Harold’s hip. “I don’t think he wants me to use the service entrance.”

  “But it’s Mr. Conroy’s policy,” the boy insisted. “All deliveries through the front entrance are forbidden and must be immediately directed to the service entry on the south face of the building,” he recited from memory. He steadied his voice and urged, “You have to go around.”

  Having a security team attempt to open the safe would ruin everything. Mara caught Ethan’s look of concern and swooped into action. She beckoned to Harold, who crossed to her. Despite the unsatisfying bath, she had come prepared. Perfume wafted up in the cramped space she left between her body and Harold’s. She outlined the metal badge and lightly touched his thin shoulders. “Davis is expecting us, Harold, and he will be very displeased if we’re delayed any longer. I’d hate to tell him you made me late.”

  “But, Miss—”

  “Ms. Reed. Mara. I’m a close, personal friend of Davis’s and this is my guard, Ethan.” She waved behind her. “Say hello, Ethan.”