4 Buried Secrets

by Leighann Dobbs

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  A Note From The Author

  This is a work of fiction.

  None of it is real. All names, places, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real names, places, or events are purely coincidental, and should not be construed as being real.

  Buried Secrets

  Copyright © 2013

  Leighann Dobbs

  http://www.leighanndobbs.com

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner, except as allowable under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover art by: http://www.coverkicks.com

  Chapter One

  Celeste Blackmoore’s white tennis shoes kicked up decades of dust from the dried timbers of the old saloon floor. The desert air felt suffocating, like being wrapped in a wool blanket on a hot summer day. The smell of dry wood filled her nostrils and scratched at her throat. Dust motes hung in the slats of light that shone through the gaps in the barn board siding and around the boarded up windows.

  “Come join us, dear.” Celeste whirled around in the direction of the voice. She squinted at the misty swirls of two figures that leaned against the bar, or what was left of it, at the other end of the room.

  “Grandma?” Celeste recognized one of the swirls. She was used to seeing her grandmother, or rather her grandmother’s ghost, but usually grandma wore the outfits Celeste had seen her wear when she was alive. Now, she was dressed as a saloon girl straight from an old western … which was fitting since they were in an Old West ghost town, inside the remains of a saloon abandoned almost one hundred years ago.

  “Yes, dear. You were expecting someone else?” Grandma winked. “Come meet my new friend, Deke.”

  Celeste walked toward her grandmother and the other ghost, carefully avoiding the gaping holes in the rotted floor. Deke dipped the brim of his cowboy hat at her. His pinstriped vest and dark pants gave him the air of a gentleman. Celeste guessed that type of outfit would have been described as “dapper” back in the 1870s. His ghostly form wasn’t solid and Celeste could see through him straight back to the shard of glass that still remained in the mirror behind the bar where her own short-cropped blond hair and ice-blue eyes blinked back at her in reflection.

  “Deke here was Sheriff of Dead Water back in 1878.” Grandma grabbed the whiskey bottle from in front of her and poured swirling amber liquid into twin shot glasses that sat on the bar.

  Celeste noticed the brass star pinned to Deke’s vest and felt a tingle of interest spark in her stomach. “So, you were here during the stage coach robberies?”

  Recovering the treasure stolen from those stagecoaches was the reason she and her sisters were in the town of Dead Water. It would be invaluable to get a lead on where it might be stashed from someone who lived here during that time.

  She thought she saw Deke stiffen, although it was pretty hard to tell with a ghost.

  “Yes Ma’am,” he said. “What about them?”

  “I was wondering if you might have an idea where the gold is buried,” Celeste said. “It is still buried, right?”

  “As far as I know.” Deke tossed back his drink. “And I got a good idea who done it, too.”

  “Really? Who?” Celeste asked.

  “Shorty Hanson,” Deke said, slamming his shot glass on the bar.

  Grandma poured more whiskey and put her hand on his arm. “And where would this Shorty have stashed all the loot?”

  Deke narrowed his eyes at Grandma. “Well, out by his homestead, I reckon. But you be careful around him. He’s dangerous.”

  Deke pulled out a pocket watch that was tethered by a fancy gold chain to a button on his vest. The sunlight glinted off the surface of the watch as he flipped it open. He glanced at the face quickly, and then clicked it shut and slipped it into his vest pocket.

  “I gotta get going. Stagecoach is coming through and I gotta meet it.”

  He tipped his hat at Grandma, nodded to Celeste, and then pushed off from the bar. Heading toward the opening where the saloon door used to be, he glided over the hole in the floor and passed straight through Celeste, his form disappearing into a swirl of vapor before he reached the door.

  Celeste looked back at Grandma who lifted the shot glass and downed the liquid inside, then scrunched up her face.

  “Ahhh! That’s strong stuff,” she said. “Sorry about Deke, dear. He’s stuck in 1878. I’m not sure he even realizes he’s a ghost. But I do hope he helped you with your first clue.”

  “Yes. Thanks. Now we have a place to start, at least.” Celeste’s heart warmed—this wasn’t the first time her grandmother had helped her out and it felt good to know that she was still looking out for her, even if she was a ghost.

  “That’s good dear. Now I’ve got to go … there’s a bridge tournament today and I can’t be late.” Grandma waved at Celeste, then disappeared into a swirl of white mist.

  Celeste found herself alone in the saloon. A few droplets of water quickly evaporating on the surface of the bar were the only evidence of her grandmother’s ghost having been there. She shook off the dream-like feeling that she always got when she talked to ghosts.

  Did that really happen?

  Turning toward the doorway Deke’s ghost had disappeared through a few minutes earlier, her heartbeat picked up speed as she headed outside.

  As she burst out into the deserted street of the old ghost town, a ripple of excitement ran through her. She couldn’t wait to meet up with her sisters and tell them she had their first clue.

  ***

  “So this ghost told you that someone named Shorty Hanson buried the gold from the robberies?” Celeste’s sister Jolene’s ice-blue eyes peered at her from behind her laptop.

  “Yes. Well he said he thought Shorty was the one holding up the stagecoaches and figured it would be buried out by his homestead … wherever that is.” Celeste shrugged.

  “Just how reliable are these ghosts?” Luke Hunter stood by the fireplace in their hotel room suite, his eyebrows raised over clear green eyes.

  Celeste looked around the room. It was the main gathering room adjoining a suite of bedrooms they had rented for this “mission” and was decorated in a motif she could only call outdated western. The Brandt Hotel was more like a bed and breakfast than a modern hotel. It was over one hundred years old but their suite had apparently been updated sometime in the 1970s, resulting in a nauseating combination of plaid upholstered furniture, an orange shag rug and a small kitchenette in the corner with almond laminate cabinets and a Formica kitchen table. The big stone fireplace was a nice touch. Otherwise, the room was nothing to write home about, although it was more than adequate for their purposes.

  Her three sisters, Jolene, Morgan and Fiona were in the room along with Fiona’s boyfriend Jake and Morgan’s boyfriend Luke. Jolene was bent over the laptop, her long chocolate curls dangling just over the keyboard where her fingers danced across the keys. Fiona and Morgan sat next to each other on the couch, their ice-blue eyes—a Blackmoore family trait—stared at
Celeste awaiting her answer.

  It wasn’t surprising that Luke was concerned about the reliability of the information. He was in charge, after all. His job working for a mysterious cartel took him around the world searching out long forgotten treasures. On his last mission, the treasure had been buried in caves right under the Blackmoore sisters’ seaside mansion in Noquitt, Maine, where the four girls had lived together since their parents’ death years earlier. That’s where he’d learned about their special “gifts”. Each of the sisters had unusual abilities and Celeste’s was that she talked to ghosts. Although the sisters were used to their abilities by now, Luke was still a little skeptical about how reliable they were.

  Their gifts had not gone unnoticed by his bosses, who were a lot less skeptical then Luke. In fact, they’d requested the girls accompany him on this mission. They figured their unique paranormal skills might come in handy and it was looking like that might be true.

  Celeste shrugged and answered his question. “As reliable as any living person.”

  “Well I guess we have nothing else to go on, so we’ll start with this Shorty guy,” Luke said. “How do we find out where his homestead is?”

  “I’m researching the original layout of Dead Water and anything I can find about it online right now to see if I can figure it out,” Jolene said from behind her computer.

  “And I’ll go out and ask around town.” Jake sipped a cup of coffee as he leaned against the arm of the couch next to Fiona. Jake, a former police detective from Boston, had recently opened up a private investigator practice with Jolene as his assistant—asking questions around town was his specialty.

  “While you guys are doing that, I’d like to take another trip into Dead Water with Morgan and Fiona. Maybe we’ll get some kind of vibe or something that will tell us more.” Celeste looked at her two sisters who nodded. Morgan had a keen intuition that might pick something up and Fiona could bring some crystals that might give them a direction to look in.

  “Meow!” Belladonna, their cat, jumped up onto Celeste’s lap. She rubbed her pet’s silky white ears. “Not you, Belladonna. You have to stay in the room.”

  Belladonna answered by narrowing her ice-blue eyes at Celeste, then abruptly turned and swished her tail in Celeste’s face before she jumped down from the chair.

  Morgan laughed. “I don’t think she liked that answer.”

  Celeste watched the back end of the retreating feline. “I’m not sure we should have brought her … she’s never happy being cooped up inside.”

  “Of course we’d bring her!” Jolene interjected. “We couldn’t leave her at home by herself.”

  “Or board her in a kennel,” Fiona said as the cat jumped onto the arm of the couch next to her and playfully batted one of Fiona’s long red curls. “She’d probably just escape anyway.”

  Celeste narrowed her eyes at the snow-white cat. She did have a way of escaping their house. No matter how carefully the girls locked her inside, she seemed to show up in the most unlikely places. But she’d been a family pet for as long as any of them could remember and no one wanted to go on the trip without her. So, they’d packed her in a carrier and flown her to the other side of the country. Celeste just hoped she wouldn’t “escape” from the hotel room and get lost. She couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to find her so far from home.

  “Sounds good,” Luke said. “I’m going into town with Buzz and see if we can get some metal detecting equipment. If the cache of gold is buried out in the desert, locating it with a detector could save us a lot of digging.”

  “Makes sense. Where are Buzz and Gordy anyway?” Morgan asked Luke.

  “They went to check out the old mine.” Buzz and Gordy were the “muscle” on Luke’s team. They both kept a low profile, but sure did come in handy when they were needed to fight off bad guys. Celeste felt safer with them around, even if they were staying in a motel on the other side of town along with the third rental car.

  “Well, it sounds like we have a plan.” Celeste stood. Fiona and Morgan followed her lead.

  “Do you need anything in town, Jo?” Morgan glanced at their younger sister as she took an elastic band out of her pocket and used it to tie her long jet-black hair into a ponytail.

  “I’m all set.” Jolene didn’t even bother to look at them. She was too engrossed in digging up information on Dead Water and the stagecoach robberies.

  Celeste headed for the door. “Then let’s get going … our ghost town awaits us.”

  Chapter Two

  Celeste slid her hand along the smooth polished wood of the wide oak banister as they made their way down the stairway to the hotel foyer. In contrast to their sloppily renovated suite, the main part of the hotel still had most of its original fixtures and was loaded with antique charm.

  Celeste admired the vintage wall sconces and stained glass window in the foyer below as she navigated the creaky stairs behind Morgan.

  “I think it’s my turn to drive.” Fiona held her hand out for the keys.

  Morgan stopped short in the middle of the stairs almost causing Celeste to collide with her.

  “No way.” She narrowed her eyes at Fiona. “You drove on the way here from the airport.”

  Fiona snatched her hand back. “Fine, but I get to drive on the way back.” She tossed her red curls and hurried down the stairs two at a time.

  Morgan looked at Celeste who shrugged. The two sisters had started fighting over who would drive as soon as they saw the white Cadillac Escalade Luke had rented for them while they were here in Nevada. Celeste could have cared less. She was happy to be a passenger and have time to gaze out over the desert landscape as they drove the ten minutes it took to get to the ghost town.

  “Oh, I was looking for you guys earlier!”

  Celeste turned to see Dixie Sumner, the owner of the hotel smiling out at them from the formal dining room where they’d enjoyed a delicious home-style dinner the night before.

  “Oh?” Celeste raised a brow at Dixie as she stepped off the last stair.

  “Yes.” Dixie came out into the foyer wiping her hands on a towel she had hanging over her shoulder. “I have some treats for your cat—turkey giblets.”

  “Yech.” Fiona made a face.

  Dixie’s cobalt blue eyes crinkled at the edges as she laughed. “Yeah, they are pretty gross, but cats love them. I cooked up some turkeys this morning and saved them for her in the fridge. Just pop into the kitchen and ask the chef, Dave, for them whenever you want.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” Morgan said.

  “That was really nice of you,” Celeste added.

  “Oh, well, I’m an animal lover and I heard her meowing up there while you were all out this morning so I figured some treats might keep her happy.”

  “Oh I hope that’s not a problem. She didn’t bother any of the guests, did she?” Celeste felt a tug at her heart. She hoped no one had complained about the cat.

  “Oh pfft.” Dixie waved her hand in the air. “She’s not a problem. Besides, in case you guys haven’t noticed, there aren’t many people here to complain.”

  “I had noticed that,” Morgan said. “Is it the off season?”

  Dixie’s smile faltered. “Well, that and Sheriff Kane seems hell-bent on doing whatever he can to make sure I go out of business.”

  “Is that the sheriff here? Why would he want you to go out of business?” Fiona asked.

  “I have no idea.” Dixie brushed a strand of gray streaked ash-blond hair out of her face. Celeste noticed her hands were red and rough—working hands. She felt a sudden twinge of compassion for the woman. From what Celeste could tell the pretty, middle-aged hotel owner worked hard for what she had. Why would the Sheriff want to close her down?

  “But anyway, that’s not anything for you guys to worry about.” Dixie’s face brightened. “Where are you headed off to today?”

  “We’re heading into the ghost town—Dead Water.” Celeste saw a cloud pass over Dixie’s face as soon as the wo
rds were out of her mouth. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, nothing. That place creeps me out.” Dixie laughed nervously. “I’ve heard some strange things down there … especially near the old mines.” Dixie slapped the towel back over her shoulder and started off toward the dining room. “You gals be careful out there, rumor is that place is haunted.”

  “That’s exactly why we’re going there,” Celeste said softly as she turned and headed for the car.

  ***

  Celeste stared at the old sign that marked the cutoff for the ghost town. Dead Water—1876. It had been a thriving mining town in the late 1800s but once the gold and silver ran out in the early 1900s the inhabitants started to move on. By the 1930s, the town was abandoned except for a few old miners who hung on, eking out a living from the few nuggets they could persuade the mine to give up.

  No one had lived in Dead Water for eighty years or more. The homes around the town had all been reduced to piles of rotted wood decades ago, but some of the buildings on the main street were still partially standing. Like the saloon Celeste had been in that morning.

  Morgan parked at the end of what was left of Main Street. Buildings in various states of disrepair dotted both sides of the street. The saloon, a country store, the front facade of what must have been a hotel. At one end was what was left of the Sheriff’s office and jail, which stood next to the remains of the bank and the two remaining walls of the brick vault.

  The girls got out and stood in the middle of the town. In the distance, Celeste could see the hills that housed the mines. The landscape was flat with humps of sand here and there, which she assumed were the remnants of old buildings. Other than the three girls, the place was deserted … unless there were ghosts.

  Celeste turned to Morgan. “Are you getting any vibes or anything?”