I flipped through the pages. Most of them included passages and notes where he brainstormed about the Lady Dancer. There were more entries related to the missing Aztec treasure, including the names of people and places we had long since checked off the list. “Lindsay, I know about this stuff.”
She shook her head. “Go to the last page.”
I flipped ahead to the last entry, but it contained more thoughts and musings about the Lady Dancer. While interesting, it wasn’t groundbreaking. “Lindsay, I —”
“No, sugar,” she said. “I mean the last page of the journal.”
I frowned and skipped past all the blank pages until I reached the last page.
Butch’s rough scrawl appeared on the page. I would recognize it anywhere. But the script wasn’t nearly as crisp and eligible as the earlier entries. The ink was a different color from the earlier stuff. Although, I didn’t see a date listed on the page, the entry somehow seemed more recent. It was as if he had dug out the journal in the days or weeks preceding his death and intentionally added it. Then I read the sentence and my blood ran cold.
Trap, not all treasures are exactly what they seem. Some may not even require a map. Keep looking.
Goosebumps flashed across my arms, and my face went numb with shock. I turned my gaze on Lindsay and stared at her in disbelief. “It’s for me?”
She nodded. “I was hoping you could make sense of it, but judging by the look on your face, I don’t think so.”
I shook my head. I didn’t even know where to start. What the hell was my dad thinking? If he had something to tell me, then why hadn’t he come out and said it before he died? “Did he visit you before he died? I don’t understand when he could have added this to the journal. And I can’t even wrap my head around why he did it or what it means.”
She offered me a sympathetic look. “About a month before he passed, he came to my house to visit Sam,” she said.
“Sam? As in your daughter Samantha?” I asked.
“She’s the one, sugar. During the last couple of years of his life, Sam and Butch developed a strong bond. I think he came over to tell her goodbye.”
“What do you mean, a bond?” I asked. “Did he go watch her games at high school? Please don’t tell me my dad was some creepy pedophile.”
Lindsay laughed, and she shook her head. “First, Lindsay is twenty years old. She’s a sophomore at the University of Miami.”
“What? When did that happen? I thought she was fifteen.”
“Baby, kids grow up and turn into adults,” she said. “That’s how life works. Do I need to teach you about the birds and the bees?” She blushed. “Strike that. You’re already a pro on that subject.”
I sat back in the booth, stunned. “Sam’s twenty? Damn. When did that happen?”
“She’s twenty and the worker bees are buzzing around her honeycomb like she’s the queen, if you know what I mean,” Lindsay said.
“I get your drift,” I said. “I hope Butch wasn’t one of those bees.”
“Oh, no. Their relationship was nothing like that. Your dad was really sweet to her, like a daughter. I think he had a lot of regrets about the way he handled Sam when she was younger. He was always better with the older kids, so he did his best to build that bridge with Sam. When Butch was diagnosed with cancer, Sam was devastated.”
I didn’t know my father had fostered that kind of relationship with Samantha Monroe. I didn’t know about a secret clue book. “What else don’t I know about, Butch?”
Lindsay picked up my hands and squeezed them. “Baby, your daddy loved you. Never question that. He was mysterious in a lot of ways. Maybe he meant this as a little game. A way to test your skills to see if you were up for the task.”
“You think?” I stared down at the journal and let out a long sigh. “What did Sam say about her last meeting with Butch? Does she know about the journal?”
Lindsay shrugged. “That’s your journey, sugar, not mine.” She leaned way across the table and kissed me tenderly on the lips. “You and I are on our own path.”
I smiled at her warmly. “Thanks, Lindsay. You are really some kind of woman.”
“I hope that’s the best kind,” she said.
Our food arrived, and I tucked away the journal. The news had soured my appetite, but the smell of Rita’s biscuits and gravy renewed my hunger.
Lindsay picked up her fork and skewered a strawberry before she glanced up at me. “One thing to know about Sam,” she said and bit into her strawberry.
I froze, with a bite of gravy-soaked biscuit hovering on my fork. “That is?”
“That particular strawberry didn’t roll far from the patch,” she said, smiling. “If you’re not careful, she might see you as her personal honeycomb. Sam’s always had a big fat crush on you.”
My cheeks flushed hot. Sam was fifteen years younger than me. That was a bridge too far, even for a lecherous old geezer like me. “I would never —”
“Never say never,” Lindsay said, cutting me off. “Sammie has a way of getting what she wants. I wrote her phone number and address in Butch’s journal. Call her.”
Chapter 9
After breakfast, I dropped Lindsay off at her car and picked up my phone to call Hazel when I received an inbound text from her.
Hazel: When can you come see me?
That she wanted to speak in person was a good sign. Or at least I hoped it was a good sign.
Me: I can be there in an hour.
Hazel: Okay. Hurry.
Hurry? Why? I hovered over the keyboard, ready to respond, but thought better of it. If Bella already knew about the treasure, then other, more ruthless treasure hunters might know, too. Unlike Bella, they would beg, cheat, or even murder to lay claim to a treasure worth millions.
Instead of asking Hazel anything more, I tapped my list of contacts and dialed up Brooke.
She answered on the first ring. “Do you miss me already?”
“I’m dying to know which China pattern you picked out,” I said, as I put the truck in reverse and pulled away from the marina.
Brooke’s laughter filled my ear. “What’s up?” she asked.
I stuck the old truck in drive and hauled ass out of the parking lot. “I’ll pick you up in five minutes.”
“Hazel?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I’ll meet you out front,” she said and hung up.
Brooke lived in a tiny studio apartment just down the street from the marina. When she wasn’t treasure hunting, she worked in an antique shop. It was a job that didn’t make her a millionaire. But she had a nose for antiquities and loved her job.
Between what she earned at the shop and the small hauls we pulled in from diving wrecks, she earned enough to make rent on a one-room studio apartment. There was no doubt in my mind Logan Big Bucks would put her on easy street with that fat CFO money. Then it was off to the suburbs for my hot little redhead. But in my heart of hearts, I didn’t believe she would ever actually marry the guy.
I pulled up in front of her apartment building and she was already out on the street, climbing into my truck before we sped off.
She looked incredible, wearing a pair of daisy dukes and a white t-shirt with an image of Yosemite Sam emblazoned on the front. Her big tits strained the material where the comic book hero held twin pistols pointing straight out.
“Nice guns,” I said, grinning.
Brooked rolled her eyes as she crossed one creamy, athletic leg over the other. “How original.”
I hit the gas and we took off. I plotted a course for the university research center. “How’s mom-in-law?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t ask.”
“Too late,” I said. “I just did.”
She eyed me strangely, tilted her head, and furrowed her eyebrows. “Did you get laid last night?”
I feigned shock. “What are you, some kind of sexual savant?”
“Who is she? Some bimbo down at the Parrot? Is it that pr
etty bartender? She has the hots for you.” Brooke leaned closer and inspected me. “Jesus, Trap. You’re glowing.”
“I’m not fucking glowing.” I let out a nervous laugh and averted my gaze. “Since you won’t date me, I’ve got no choice. As for the who, it’s none of your beeswax.”
Brooked edged closer, closing the distance between us. “Tell me. I want to know.”
“Why? So you can ridicule me?” I asked.
“No. I want to see you settle down with a nice girl.”
“The only nice girl I know is engaged to the wrong guy.”
“You know what I mean,” she said.
“What happened with mommy dearest?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“She’s a bitch,” Brooke said. “I don’t know a nice way to say it.”
“Uh, oh. Please tell me you didn’t let that fiery temper loose on her.”
“I don’t have a temper.” She folded her arms over her chest, forcing her cleavage to bulge from the top of her t-shirt.
“Oh shit. You went off on her, didn’t you?”
“No. I didn’t go off. We just had a few words.” She locked her green eyes on me, playing the innocent girl.
I raised an eyebrow and gave her a who-do-you-think-you’re-kidding look.
She threw up her hands. “So, we picked out the plates. Honestly, I don’t fucking care about the stupid fucking plates. Logan’s mom wanted me to pick them out.”
“Shit. She’s a Karen, isn’t she?” I asked.
“She’s a total fucking Karen,” Brooke said, venting. “Anyway, we pick out the plates and head out to a nice dinner with me, Logan, and his parents.”
“Okay,” I said.
“We started talking about the wedding and bridesmaids’ dresses and I told her I wanted them to look a little like the dress I wore last night.”
“Which dress was it?” I asked.
“The black one with pink polka dots,” said.
I tipped my head back and smiled. “Damn. I know that dress,” I said. “You must have looked like a total smoke show. Poor virgin Logan must have gone out of his financially minded skull. I bet he beat his meat like Rocky Balboa.”
She gave me a sour look. “Thanks? I think.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Go on.”
“Anyway, Logan’s mom, her name is Abby, said that the bridesmaids’ dresses should be a bit more conservative than the dress I had on.” Brooke gaped at me as if I should deduce the affront based on that information alone.
“The last time I saw you wore that dress was when we went to that karaoke bar down in the keys. You remember that place? You wore your hair down most of the night but then you clipped it on top when you went up to sing.”
Her eyes softened, and she stared at me in disbelief. “How do you remember that?”
“How couldn’t I? You looked amazing,” I said.
She studied my face for a long time without speaking. Then she edged closer until she sat in the middle of the bench seat right next to me. “I remember. So, what’s your point?”
“So… you weren’t wearing a bra with that dress.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How could you tell?”
I raised both eyebrows and gave her another… look.
“Okay. I wasn’t wearing a bra,” she said.
“No bra last night either?” I asked.
“I hate bras,” she said.
“You’re wearing one right now,” I said.
“That’s because every time I go braless you won’t take your eyes off my tits.”
“I don’t take my eyes off your tits because they are spectacular. You might as well go braless so we can both be happy. Anyway, if Karen knew you weren’t wearing a bra and if your cleavage was as on point as I remember then there’s your problem.”
“Her name is Abby, not Karen. You’re saying you agree with her?”
“Listen, I don’t think you’re a slut,” I said. “You’re quite the opposite. Really, you’re a fucking prude, but I digress. Here you are wearing a pair of daisy dukes and a t-shirt with six-shooters plastered to each of those big beautiful natural tits of yours.”
“The t-shirt is meant as a joke. I like it,” she said, her voice tinged with anger.
“Hey, it’s my kind of funny,” I said. “I love it. But not so much for Karen. I think it’s best if you come to terms with the fact that you and your mother-in-law won’t be great friends.”
She sighed and inched ever closer, leaning her head against my shoulder. “I may have insinuated that Karen was an uptight bitch.”
“I thought you said her name was Abby?”
She laughed. “Whatever. Then Logan and I got into a huge fight.”
“Let me guess… he sided with dear old mom?”
“Basically. He didn’t even try to stick up for me. He just sat there like a fucking zombie, totally silent. It was as good as taking her side.”
I slipped my arm around her shoulder and squeezed her affectionately. I couldn’t help but sneak a peek down her top. Her big creamy breasts disappeared beneath a mountain of milky cleavage. Her hair smelled like a tropical rain forest and even if I wanted to turn off my feelings for her, I couldn’t. But that didn’t mean I wanted to sabotage her life. I had already done that with Bella. This was my chance to set things right.
“It’s not quite that simple,” I said, mentally kicking myself for the advice I was about to dispense. “Logan was sitting there between a rock and a hard place. Let me ask you, did Logan’s dad defend his wife?”
Brooke thought for a second, as if considering, then frowned. “He didn’t say anything either.”
“There you go,” I said. “They’ve been married for how long?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know… thirty years?”
“Thirty years yet he didn’t immediately jump in to defend his wife. Why do you think that is?”
“If he defended his wife, he would have pissed off me and Logan, and if he defended me, Karen would have been super pissed.”
I let out a satisfied sigh and squeezed her shoulder warmly. “Guys don’t do fights between women. Especially family. It’s a no-win situation.”
“So… you’re saying I should forgive Logan?” she asked, peering up at me as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
“For this offense? Yes,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s right for you.”
She laughed and inched closer until our legs touched, and she casually rested her elbow on my hip. “You’ll never give it up, will you?”
“Do you want me to?” I asked. “Brooke, if you really want me to back off….”
She gazed up at me, her green eyes twinkling. “Nah,” she said. “It would be super weird if you stopped hitting on me.”
I turned right and the research center appeared ahead. “Let’s see what Hazel has to say.”
Brooke absently picked at a frayed thread sprouting from the bottom of my t-shirt. “Trap?”
I pulled into the parking lot. “Yeah?”
“Do you love her?” she asked.
“Who?” I asked.
She gazed up at me, her eyes worried. “The mystery woman from last night.”
“Do I love her?” I frowned. “That’s a strong word. I really care about her.”
“Oh,” she said and sighed. “That’s great,” she said, sounding anything but enthused.
“Are you jealous?” I asked.
She whipped her head up at me and her eyes went wide. “No. God… I’m just asking.” She pushed away from me and reached for the door handle on her side. “You are impossible sometimes.” She pushed open the door and stormed out while I killed the engine and grinned.
“Nope. Not jealous at all,” I said to her empty seat before I pocketed my keys and pushed open my door.
Chapter 10
Inside the research center, a note hung on Hazel’s office door telling us to meet her in Lab Room D. Brooke and I wandered the halls until we found the room and pu
shed open the door.
Hazel sat on a high stool, bent over a long stainless-steel table, pressing a jeweler’s magnifying glass against her eye, examining the figurine of the goddess, Xochiquetzal. The figurine gleamed under the bright fluorescent lights, its gold shimmering, and the rubies set in the goddess’s crown sparkled with a vibrancy that left me spellbound.
Beside me, Brooke let out a quick gasp and her eyes widened as she locked her gaze on the figurine.
Hazel looked up as we entered and grinned, gazing right at me. “Morning, Trap,” she said, seeming to ignore Brooke. As if realizing her error, she abruptly turned to Brooke and gave her a slight wave. “Sorry. You too, Brooke.” Hazel blushed slightly and averted her gaze.
“It’s okay,” Brooke said before eyeing me with an I-told-you-so look.
I rolled my eyes at her and turned back to Hazel. “What have you got?”
Hazel’s beautiful blue eyes lit up. “A lot,” she said. “You stumbled on a gold mine.”
“Music to my ears,” I said and came closer, with Brooke following close behind. I picked up the figurine of the goddess and inspected it. “I can’t believe this is the same statue.”
The figurine’s pure gold exterior glowed under the bright lights, and it seemed to feel even heavier in my hand then the last time I held it. The rubies glittered with what looked like an inner light, and the details of the goddess’s hair, face, and outfit appeared crisp and clean after Hazel’s restoration.
“It’s definitely the real thing,” Hazel said. “But the most interesting discovery was the inscription I found on the bottom.”
Brooke and I exchanged a surprised look while I turned the figurine upside down and squinted. “I don’t see it,” I said.
“It’s so faint it only shows up under high magnification,” Hazel said.
“What does it say?” Brooked asked as I passed her the statue.
“It translates to the word, October in modern English,” Hazel said.
As I ran through the various traditions and customs of the Aztec nation, I didn’t know the significance of the word October. “That could mean anything,” I said.
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