“He has a motive to kill Winslet for the map. I need a name.” Nickolai might not be a detective anymore, but he’d perfected the intimidating tone.
“There isn’t one.”
Nickolai leaned forward. “What?”
“My buddy hacked into Art Source and created a profile of an opposing bidder.” Easton sat up straight and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I needed to get the price up to be able to afford Mom’s treatment.”
“Who is Art Source?”
Easton brushed invisible crumbs from his lap. “The company that listed the map for sale. All the buyers there are verified, so it’s a legitimate place to sell, even if their fee is crazy.”
“Fee?”
“Art Source gets a percentage of the selling cost. Four percent. Well, four percent of a million dollars is forty grand, so you can see why I needed to get Mr. Winslet to pay the highest price possible.”
Nickolai wanted to be outraged, but he couldn’t muster the emotion. “So this friend of yours who hacked into Art Source … he knew about the final bid?”
“Of course. That was the whole point in him hacking.”
Years of experience screamed inside Nickolai. “He just hacked for you, as a favor?”
“Well, I gave him some money.”
“How much?”
“Ten grand.”
Nickolai tightened his grip on the pen. The guy knew Easton had gotten a million for the map. Knew Easton had paid a forty-thousand-dollar fee to the company. And Easton assumed ten thousand would be enough for his friend who made it all possible? Nickolai knew better. Friendships in illegal activities did have limits. “What’s his name? Did he know when you were meeting Winslet to give him the map?”
Easton hesitated.
“Look, I’m trying to keep you in the clear here, but you’ve got to help me. The person who killed Winslet knew when he picked up the map. Knew it in enough time to plan to steal it. If you know anything … you don’t want to be charged with obstruction of justice, do you?” He hadn’t exactly said he was with the police. He’d only implied.
“Allen wouldn’t do that. Besides, he didn’t go to Louisiana.”
Allen. “Are you sure about that? Positive?”
Easton’s eyes widened a little. “You don’t know Allen. He rarely gets out of his mom’s basement. She has to force him to shower. The guy’s a hermit.”
Classic. “I’ll check it out here, and if he never left, then no one in New Orleans has to know, okay? Give me his full name.”
“Allen Edgar.”
“His address?” Nickolai scribbled as Easton gave the information.
Easton stood. “That’s all I know. I need to get back inside.”
Nickolai stood as well and handed his business card to the other man. “Call me if you think of anything else about the case.”
Easton nodded.
“I hope your mother continues to get better.”
Just like he hoped for the best with Lisbeth.
THE PREPARATION
I know that with the help of the spirits I can do and I will do. I depend on the Creator and spirits. Everything they show me is for the people’s protection. Oh, Grandfather, I am so weak and pitiful. Help me for the sake of your people.” Gopan lifted his head from his prayer. His fingers trembled slightly as he stood, carefully lifting the pipe he’d chosen.
His pipe’s stem had been hand-hollowed—a representation of man being hollow to allow the breath of the Creator to move through without any restrictions. The prayers through the pipe were sent on the wings of the spirit directly to the source, the Great Mystery, so as to be heard clearly. The pipe, like the ritual Gopan was about to undergo, was holy and sacred.
He slowly offered the pipe to the north. Then the south, followed by the east and west. Each time, Gopan took one step to turn, lifted the pipe, and nodded. When he finished, he directed it to the sky father above and the earth mother below.
The medicine man extended his hands. Their traditions were part of who they were in the past, who they were today, and who they would be until the end of days.
Gopan’s heart fluttered as he presented the pipe to the medicine man. He touched the elder man’s hands and then brought the pipe back to his chest. Slowly. Reverently. He repeated his movements again. And a third time.
And the final, fourth time.
The medicine man accepted the pipe, also accepting the responsibility for Gopan’s journey to speak to the spiritual beings.
The altar had already been prepared with prayer flags, a piece of flannel cloth, and the chokecherry tree, used because they represent the bittersweet nature of life. They are the blood of life, the blood that ties the tribe together and unifies the world family. The cherry itself, representing the pituitary gland that allows the travel from the physical into the spiritual world and back. The tobacco ties on a continuous string, with specific colors in a particular order, fluttered in the Arizona breeze.
Gopan ran a finger over the items laid out on the altar: an eagle feather that represents the eagle who carries prayers as he soars to the highest heaven, who can see great distances, and who can communicate between the physical and spiritual worlds; a peace of a conch shell that represents the ocean, which is the salt of life and reflective of mankind’s beginnings; and a blanket for his protection on his vision quest.
The sun dipped, signaling the onset of sunset. Gopan moved to the seven large stones he’d gathered. On each, he made a circle with the clay paint. The circle representing the loop of life—no beginning or end … the beginning of cellular consciousness. It represented the light that enters into that cell.
Gopan and the medicine man moved, placing the stones into the fire pit prepared and lit hours ago. The fire would burn for the duration of Gopan’s journey. All the elements were represented: earth, fire, water, and air.
Today was a good day to speak to the Great Spirit.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Yep, a total waste of time.” Landry sat in the plastic chair outside her motel room, talking to Marcie on the phone while watching the groups of people mill about the parking lot. “But the good news is I got a couple of decent screenshots of the copy of the map.”
“Why is that good news?”
“Because now I know what it looks like.” Well, that and … it was a treasure map, even if it was a copy.
“Good. I mean, since you’ve got no more leads there, you’ll be heading home soon. Tomorrow?”
“Actually, I talked to a salesman at that military surplus store.” She resisted the urge to shake her head as a couple of men in those skintight jogging shorts nodded at her. Landry stood and ducked into her motel room. “He remembered the man and the map. He confirmed it’s most likely the original. He said the man bought a tent and camping gear and mentioned camping near Weaver’s Needle. That’s pretty much where the map shows the location of the mine to be.”
“You’re going to go look for this man? Is Nickolai still there?”
“I have to check it out, Marcie. I was hired to recover the map. That means even if I have to follow someone into the mountains.”
“You need to be really careful, Landry.”
“I will. You know I will.”
“You didn’t answer me about Nickolai.”
No, she hadn’t. She tried not to think about him. “Well, I pulled my gun on him last night.”
“What?” Landry would give a nickel to see her best friend right now. She could imagine it well: her green cat eyes wide, her almost porcelain skin turning pink, and Marcie would fluff the tips of her red pixie-cut hair.
“Hey, he was skulking around my rental. I didn’t know it was him. It was dark.”
“Oh, mercy, Landry.”
“It’s fine. He’s fine. Whatever.”
“Did he meet your fake seller?”
“No. I didn’t share the information with him, and he didn’t follow me or anything.”
“So wh
at’s he doing there?”
“I don’t know.” That question had been bugging Landry. He’d been gone by the time she’d gotten back from her bomb of a meeting, and she had no clue what lead he was following.
Marcie laughed.
“What?”
“I bet that’s driving you up a wall—not knowing what he’s doing.”
“He is my competition here, Marcie. If he recovers the map first, he gets the fifty-thousand-dollar recovery fee.”
Marcie sobered. “I know. Do you have any other leads?”
“No.” That really bummed her more than she cared to admit. “Allen Edgar is a big fat dead end, but it led me to the conclusion that the real map is here.”
“You really think you’ll find this guy who has the map?”
“I’m going to try my hardest, that’s for sure.” She had fifty thousand reasons to try.
“What are you going to do when you find him? I doubt he’ll just hand over the map.”
Landry was pleased to hear her bestie say when instead of if. “Well, all those insurance frauds weren’t exactly happy to see me show up to take the piece of art they’d filed a claim for. I have my ways.”
“You need to be careful, Landry.”
“I will, and, yes, I will call you tonight when I’m safely tucked into bed.”
Marcie snorted then hung up.
Landry stretched. She grabbed her notebook and read the words she’d been able to make out on the map. She opened the browser on her phone and searched for First Water and Superstition Mountains. Apparently, First Water was a trailhead of the Dutchman hiking trail.
Landry opened the best still shot she’d grabbed of the map and studied it. There wasn’t a big X marking a spot, but there was one area darker with an odd circle. For the time being, she was going to use that as an indication of where the mine could be.
Her breath caught for a minute. Where the mine could be. All her life, Landry had been a sucker for puzzles and riddles. A treasure map was the biggest puzzle there was, and the legend of the Dutchman’s Lost Mine was one of the most complex of riddles.
She studied the picture again. First Water was farther from where the circle was marked than some other notations. Weaver’s Needle was the closest to the circle that she could read.
Landry ran another search on her phone. This time for Weaver’s Needle. She needed to print the picture she had.
After locking her motel room, she headed to the office. The little bell sounded as she entered. The lady who’d checked them in stood and moved away from the desk.
In the corner was a rack holding maps and pamphlets of local sites to see. She grabbed the map of the mountains and surrounding area. “How much for the map?”
“Two dollars.”
Landry handed the lady two bills then leaned on the worn counter. “I was wondering if you had a printer I could use? I need to make a couple of copies from a picture on my phone.”
The woman stopped smiling.
“I’d be more than happy to pay for the copies, of course.” Landry smiled wider.
The woman hesitated before dipping her chin in a brief nod. “We have one.” She tipped her head toward the printer sitting on the desk behind the counter.
Landry sent up a silent prayer of thanks as she saw the Wi-Fi icon on the front of the printer. She searched for available printers on her cell and, once connected, sent the two photos. She pulled two dollars out of her pocket and passed them to the lady.
The woman took the money before lifting the copies off the printer tray. She paused as she looked at them. “What are these?”
“Do you recognize any of the landmarks there?”
The woman continued to study the top picture. Her brow furrowed. “These dashes look like the hiking trails along the Superstitions.” She glanced at Landry. “Are you going hiking?”
“I was thinking about doing a little looking around.”
She shoved the copies at Landry. “Let me guess: You thought you’d poke around and find that gold mine, right?” She shook her head. “Don’t you think if that mine was there it would’ve been found by now? People like you come in all the time, thinking they’ve found something nobody else thought of. They all leave empty-handed.”
Landry smiled despite her dismay. “Thank you for the copies.” She headed to the rented Jeep. Maybe no one had found the mine because they didn’t know where to look. Maybe this map, one from the man who actually knew the mine’s location, was the key.
Or maybe she was just caught up in the excitement of a treasure hunt.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to just check things out.
Stan stood outside his motel room as she jumped into the Jeep. She gave him a wave as she drove by. Better he think she was chasing a lead rather than a ghost. Traffic was light at a little after three.
Using her phone’s GPS app, she drove the short distance out of town toward the Superstition Mountains. Before she even arrived, she could see the distinctive peaks of Weaver’s Needle. She turned onto one of the dusty access roads to the hiking trails.
Boom!
The Jeep jerked to the right. Hard.
Landry eased on the brake as she fought to keep the steering wheel from turning, praying as she struggled. She coaxed the Jeep to the side of the road, shut off the engine, and jumped out. Walking around the vehicle, she spied the culprit—back right tire was flat. Must’ve been a blowout or something.
She sighed then went to work removing the spare tire from the back of the Jeep. Even though it was February, the late-afternoon Arizona sun beat down on her as she struggled to remove the lug nuts. Dust from the dirt road rose and settled on her perspiring face. She wiped her forehead with her shirtsleeve and worked on setting the jack.
After walking the tire off, she slipped the spare on and spun the lug nuts. A very welcome breeze brought the cloying sweetness of local flowers, but the blunt, camphor scent of the creosote filled Landry’s senses. She worked swiftly, ignoring the ache in her arms. Marcie had been right, as usual, and she needed to be more committed to their gym dates.
Landry put the jack in the back of the Jeep and moved to the tire. She ran her hands along the treads. Nothing to indicate a blowout. Her fingers found a cut on the sidewall. She inspected it closer. Definitely a slit, made with a knife or something like that. Nothing a rock on a dirt road could’ve done.
Her tire had been intentionally slit.
This could be laughable.
Nickolai had taken so many routes to the address for Edgar, only to go five or ten miles and see a ROAD CLOSED sign due to the marathon starting early in the morning. He’d been rerouted and turned around so many times, it was a miracle he wasn’t totally lost by now.
Actually, he had no idea where he was, but thanks to his GPS, he at least had an idea of which way to go. This time, when the automated voice announced they were rerouting, he selected the option of least traffic rather than fastest route. Surely that would avoid the closed roads.
He could hope.
But now, following the “least traffic” directions, he’d looped around to where he thought he could be back in Apache Junction in less than ten minutes. Maybe. At least there was a lot less traffic. Okay, almost no traffic. He would find—
“Recalculating.”
What? He hadn’t turned. Hadn’t even taken a big curve. He slowed down. Maybe the cell’s GPS glitched. He slowed further as he approached a dirt road. He eased toward it and noticed …
Landry Parker?
He rolled his truck to a stop and put it in PARK. Landry had the back door of the Jeep open and was bent over a tire lying on the ground. He jumped out of the truck. “Hey, let me get that for you.”
She paused, turning. Her eyes narrowed. “You.”
He moved to grab the tire.
She stepped in front of him. “No, thank you. I’ve got it.” She nudged him aside, grabbed the tire, and slung it in the back of the Jeep.
The hardness in her voice mad
e him take a step back. Sure, they were competitors, so to speak, but she seemed more annoyed than usual.
She slammed the door shut and turned to glare at him, hands on hips. “Did you think a flat tire would have me whimpering? Scare me off the case? Not hardly.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The flat.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder toward the Jeep. “A slit in the sidewall. Did you think it would stop me? Make me quit the case?” She snorted. “I’ve had worse done to me to make me back off. Didn’t work then and it won’t work now.”
Wait. “You think I had something to do with a flat tire?” She had to be kidding.
She shrugged. “You were the one sneaking around the Jeep last night.”
“You’re serious? You think I would give you a flat?” What kind of man did she think he was?
Her glare didn’t lessen. “From the start, you tried to discourage me from taking the case.”
“I thought this was a matter for the police to handle.”
She popped her fists back on her hips. “Yet, here you are, working the case. For someone who thinks this is a matter for the police to handle, you’re sure a long way from home, following leads. A little suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”
“I just …” He couldn’t say anything, because if the tables were turned, he’d think the same thing. Well, not that he’d think she’d slit his tire, but him just showing up after he’d been so adamant at the Winslet house did look suspicious. He couldn’t very well tell her what he knew, though, not without tipping his hand.
She waited a minute then shook her head. “Yeah. What I thought.” She dug keys out of the front pocket of her jeans. “Look, you aren’t going to discourage me. A flat tire is nothing. Just do your thing and let me do mine.”
“I didn’t slit your tire.” She needed to understand that he didn’t play dirty, even when pitted against her. Competition was one thing, but he’d never stoop to slitting a lady’s tire. He needed her to know that.
“If you say so.” She opened the door to the Jeep. “Just stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours, okay?” She didn’t wait for a reply, just slammed the door, cranked the engine, and sped off, leaving him standing in the dust kicked up from her tires.
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