Weaver's Needle

by Caroll, Robin;

  “This is a new map. One that is from a direct descendant of Julia Thomas.” Nickolai could kick himself. He hadn’t planned on sharing that much information.

  But the younger cop just laughed. “A new map crops up every couple of years, touted as being the one that’ll lead you straight to the mine.”

  Hogan chuckled as well. “Even with those new maps, no one’s ever found even a speck of gold.”

  Nickolai wasn’t entirely sure about that. If someone did find some little bits of gold, they wouldn’t automatically say anything if they knew they’d have to turn it over to the government. Illegal, yes, but many people would just hide the gold and go on their merry way. With all the “sell your gold for cash” places all over these days, selling it wouldn’t be an issue.

  “Maybe she talked to someone who she offended,” Nickolai suggested.

  The younger cop flipped through his notebook. “The only person she reported speaking to was Allen Edgar.”

  Nickolai nodded. “Yes. I spoke with him earlier myself. I didn’t see a threat, but I wasn’t looking for him in that way, so I might have missed any warning signs.” Unlikely, but he’d missed signs before. Like the night he hadn’t realized his perp was carrying.

  “We’ll run a check and then talk to him.”

  That she’d gotten photos of the map, which without taking the time to really study them still looked pretty detailed to him, impressed Nickolai. “I can talk to her and see if she’s been working any other angles. Just like she didn’t realize the motel kept copies of the map that she’d made, or that the maid had been in the back, she might’ve said something to someone without realizing.”

  “You think she’ll tell you?” Hogan asked. “No offense, but it looks to me like the little lady isn’t too keen on you.”

  “I don’t think she likes you much at all,” the younger cop agreed. That there was hope in his voice annoyed Nickolai, although he couldn’t understand why.

  “We’re competitors. Back home, we’re the only local recovery specialists. Over the years, she’s taken business from me, and me from her.” He shrugged. “I guess we’re about even, but this case … the fee is quite large and we both want it.”

  “So why do you think she’ll tell you anything?” Hogan pressed.

  “I don’t know that she will. But I think if I come clean with what I know and share information with her, she might slip up and share with me. Or she might tell me once I point out that she may have put herself in crosshairs without meaning to.”

  “Good luck with that.” Hogan grunted and handed Nickolai a business card. “We’ll get the report made. Call us if anything else happens or if you learn something new.”

  “I will.” Nickolai slipped the business card into his back pocket and shook the cops’ hands. “I appreciate your time and attention on this.”

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  Nickolai watched the cruiser pull out of the parking lot. He turned to head to his room when he noticed a man approach Stan’s door. He had to be a little older than Stan himself, spreading bald spot on the very top of his silver hair, and a full but manicured beard. He knocked on the door.

  Stan opened the door, and the man entered before the door slammed shut. Stan hadn’t noticed Nickolai outside.

  Who was the man? Was he the Phillip Fontenot the front desk had mentioned? Just how did he connect to them, and was he a possible threat to Landry?

  THE MESSAGE

  Gopan entered the lodge tent, already sweating. He moved to the medicine man and took the pipe offered. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Deeply. The rich tobacco made him a little light-headed. That was good. He was ready for his journey. Enlightenment would come, he knew it. Felt it deep in his chest.

  He finished smoking with the medicine man and stood. The earth trembled a little under his feet as he made his way out of the tent. He wove a little, his steps unsure. Gopan slowed his pace as he moved to the altar.

  Lifting his own pipe, he offered it up toward the sky then dumped the tobacco from inside. He cleaned out the pipe with the cloth laid out for that purpose. The world shifted and he closed his eyes, steadying himself on the altar he’d made. Slow breaths in through his nose. Long exhale through his mouth.

  In. Out.

  Deep in.

  Slow out.

  Gopan opened his eyes and lifted the leather pouch. He offered it skyward then withdrew a pinch of sage that he slipped into the pipe. Always a little sage to keep everything out—physically and spiritually, as was the tribe’s tradition. Their ancestors had passed down the rituals from generation to generation. Their customs seated deep into their very being.

  Taking his pipe, he ducked back into the purification lodge tent. The medicine man’s helpers moved as one to sit cross-legged around the floor, each in a certain place. As if tied together, all moved in one direction.

  The medicine man took Gopan by the hand to the west end of the lodge. He motioned for him to undress and sit in front of the roaring fire. Heat licked Gopan’s face as he sat, naked, in front of the fire and other warriors of his tribe. His heart raced as he watched the medicine man take his place directly opposite Gopan, across the fire from him. Looking at the medicine man through the dancing flames, his vision blurred.

  In a booming voice, the medicine man announced to all in the purification lodge tent the importance of Gopan’s placement. He explained the west represented the spirits, the thunder beings of their Superstitions who controlled the wind, the rain, the lightning, and the thunder.

  Murmurs of prayers began. Gopan sat in complete darkness, save for the fire shooting higher and filling the tent with such intense heat, he wondered if he might pass out. He knew water, rocks, and air were also in the lodge: all the elements so all the spirits could enter.

  He closed his eyes as they began, as one, to sway. The medicine man called for the Great Spirit to come to Gopan. To talk to him. To give him message and meaning.

  Swaying. Rocking. He felt like the whole world moved with him. Sweat covered him. He licked his lips, tasting the salt. He thirsted but knew he wouldn’t drink. Not for a long time yet.

  His stomach lurched, the sweetness of the tobacco hung in the air … the smoke filled his lungs. Gopan wanted to cough, to retch, but he kept swaying. Concentrated on every sensation.

  The dirt of the purification lodge tent beneath him clung to him, glued to his flesh with his own sweat. The strands of his loose hair stuck to his back.

  Still he swayed with the others.

  His face burned. His lips cracked. His head was too heavy for his neck. He released the muscles in his neck and his head fell backward.

  Gopan kept his eyes closed and kept rocking, his head hanging with his face skyward.

  Then everyone stopped moving. Silence prevailed as the medicine man appeared to Gopan’s right.

  Gopan took the man’s hand and stood, shaking. He nearly fell, but the medicine man, while old and frail in appearance, had a strong grip and kept Gopan upright. He led him from the purification lodge tent.

  The medicine man led him to a sacred place selected for Gopan’s journey. A helper followed, carrying the items the elder would need to secure Gopan’s quest.

  He took the prayer flags Gopan had prepared and placed one in each direction, positioning Gopan in the center. Then he took the tobacco ties and unwound them, laying them ceremoniously along the ground, building the protected area. The entire tribe knew that once Gopan was in the center, nothing bad could enter the center, only good.

  Gopan bit his bottom lip as he thought he saw several horrific things dancing around the circle, but listened as the medicine man announced nothing could enter the center except the things from the Great Spirit.

  The medicine man finished the ties then laid out the chokecherry branch, the flannel, the conch shell, and the eagle feather. His voice warbled as he instructed Gopan.

  “Remain in this center for three days. Pray hard for your life tonight. Pray for direct
ion on the second. Pray for the Great Spirit’s protection on the third.” He handed Gopan his pipe. “Do not set down your pipe because this represents the Great Mystery. Never let it down or allow it to come apart.”

  Gopan nodded and took his pipe, holding it so tight he thought he might crack it.

  “Pray. And pray. And pray.”

  Gopan again nodded, the gusting air of the evening cooling his burning skin.

  “You are to have no food or water. You have your nakedness, your blanket, your pipe, and your prayers.”

  Gopan nodded, the outline of the medicine man blurring as he stepped farther from the circle. He knew the medicine man and all his helpers would be back at the purification lodge tent, praying for Gopan’s quest. They wouldn’t stop until he returned. That comforted him.

  “Listen for the Great Spirit. The Thunder God.”

  The medicine man was gone.

  Gopan lifted his pipe to the sky and, in the dark, began to chant and pray as instructed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Landry stepped through the wall of steam coming from the bathroom. The chillier air of the motel room cooled her damp skin, making her feel more refreshed than the hot shower had. It’d been a long day and exhaustion pulled at her, but she wasn’t tired. Drained, yes … tired, no. Her mind wouldn’t stop reviewing the case. She’d even read the entire book of Romans in the Bible to try to calm herself. It didn’t work. Her mind kept going back to the case.

  She rubbed the towel over her head then finger-combed her damp hair before quickly running a long braid down the back to keep it out of her face. She pulled out the envelope with all the case documents and spread them out on the other bed in the motel room. As if she hadn’t studied them to the point of memorization. Nothing in the paperwork shined any light on why someone in Apache Junction wanted her gone.

  Unless her copy of the map was the reason. Or someone didn’t like her knowing the map was here and the man who had it was camping out in the Superstitions, looking for the mine. She didn’t think Nickolai knew about the man. She could ask, of course, but she didn’t know if she trusted him.

  Did he puncture the Jeep’s tire? Did he leave the note taped to her door?

  She just didn’t know him well enough to tell. She knew him by reputation, but that wasn’t always factual. Wasn’t she a prime example of how reputations sometimes twisted the truth?

  Landry couldn’t picture him cutting out letters from a newspaper or magazine and gluing them to a piece of paper to tape on a door. He seemed more direct than that. More … in-your-face type.

  She plopped onto the other bed and rested her head against the headboard.

  “I don’t believe for a minute that she sent you here to check up on me.” Stan’s angry voice came through the motel’s thin walls.

  “Doesn’t really matter what you believe, Stan. I’m here and expect an update.”

  Landry didn’t recognize the other man’s voice but knew it wasn’t Nickolai or either of the policemen who’d taken their statements. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but their voices were so clear.

  “I don’t owe you an update.”

  She didn’t think Stan could get that annoyed to sound so angry.

  “As long as this expedition is on Winslet Industries’ dime, you do.”

  “Winifred doesn’t need your permission to spend her own money.”

  Go, Stan! Landry smiled as she imagined Stan’s posture at the moment. He was probably standing ramrod straight, feet spread about two feet or so apart, with his eyes narrowed and face reddening by the minute.

  One of the men in the adjacent room let out a half snort, half chuckle. Landry couldn’t tell if it was Stan or not but recognized there was no humor in the sound.

  “She doesn’t, of course, but I’m here to look after her financial interests and make sure these two specialists aren’t taking advantage of her.”

  “We both know you’d like to look after more than her financial interests.”

  Landry turned and placed her ear against the wall. This was getting really interesting, really fast.

  “At least I had the decency to wait until she was single, unlike you.” The stranger’s voice bit out each word with such savageness.

  Whoa! Stan and Mrs. Winslet? Wow.

  The air conditioner kicked on, filling the room with a solid hum. Landry sighed, resisting the urge to jump up and shut off the unit so she could continue listening to Stan and the mystery man’s conversation. Especially now when the good secrets were being thrown out there.

  Her father would be so disappointed.

  That was enough to push Landry to her feet to study the papers laid out on the bed, and away from the air conditioner controls. How many times had he drilled into her head that learning something by accident wasn’t real investigating. Real investigation came from working the clues and following the item to be recovered.

  She paced in front of the bed, scanning everything she’d looked at over and over already. She had to be missing something. What?

  Her cell rang. Before she even checked the caller ID, she knew who it was. She’d forgotten to call her best friend. Sheepishly, she answered. “Hey, Marcie.”

  “Nice to know you’re alive, at least. Not that I’ve been worried or anything.”

  “I’m sorry, Marcie. So much happened today.” Even though she knew Marcie would flip out, Landry gave her a complete rundown of her day, ending just as she ran out of breath.

  “I knew it was dangerous. Now are you ready to come home?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “If everything here was really a dead end, I don’t think I’d be getting warnings to leave.” Landry stared at the bed with all the paperwork laid out. “I just need to find the man in the mountains with the map.” Had she missed anything in the file?

  “What about Nickolai? Do you really think he could be responsible?”

  “I can’t see him doing the note, but what if the incidents aren’t related?” Yeah, this made sense. Talking out loud always made things more coherent to Landry. Maybe she should just talk to herself more. “What if he wanted to get me off the case so he punctured the tire? The guy at the repair shop said it looked like whoever did it intended for it to be a slow leak and not cause a blowout.” Yeah, Nickolai didn’t seem the type to want her hurt. Just slowed down and maybe scared off. “Nickolai did come by after I’d changed the tire, which is suspicious, but proves if he did do it, he didn’t mean for me to be stranded or anything.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “To scare me off the case.”

  “With a flat tire?”

  Landry chuckled. “For some women, that would scare them. A flat tire out in the middle of nowhere in a strange place with no one to call.”

  “Doesn’t know you very well, but I’d be freaked. How would he know that you wouldn’t just be driving around town?”

  “I think maybe he followed me.” That was the only thing that made sense.

  “Okay, let’s say he did puncture your tire to discourage you and then followed you, but you’d already changed the tire. Now what about the note?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it. What if the woman in the motel office told someone about the map I made a copy of? She clearly recognized the area, realized it was a map to the mine, but did admit she’d never seen one like it before. If she thought it might be a map that really did show where the lost mine is, maybe she and her husband want to go look for the treasure themselves.”

  “So they put a note on your door telling you to go home? Wouldn’t they like to keep the business?”

  Landry sat down on the edge of her bed. “Maybe that’s the perfect way to throw suspicion off of them. They could always argue that they’d never do such a thing because they don’t want to lose business.”

  “Maybe.”

  Yes! If Marcie couldn’t shoot holes in her theory, then nobody could. “Which means, maybe the map really is authentic and leads
to the lost mine.” Landry’s pulse raced in time with the adrenaline pulsating through her chest.

  “You really aren’t going to give up looking for the actual mine, are you?” Marcie’s voice carried the tone of defeat.

  I have to, Marc. I just have to. There’s a man out there already hunting it, but with the real map. If I find him, I recover the map and get the recovery fee from Mrs. Winslet. But if I happen to find the mine, too … well, I’m sure there would be some compensation for finding it.”

  Thank You, Lord, for leading me on the right track in this case.

  Nickolai studied Stan’s closed door. Curtains were drawn, so he couldn’t see the men inside. Was the man who’d entered the Phillip Fontenot whom Margaret had mentioned? He should just go knock on the door and find out, but he realized he really had no business asking Stan Hauge anything. The man owed him no explanations.

  Neither did Landry, for that matter.

  His gaze drifted to her room. Did she really think he’d puncture her tire and leave menacing notes for her? Despite his best efforts to assure her he wasn’t responsible, she still looked at him with those accusing stares. Then again, she really didn’t know him, so it was reasonable that she would question his intent.

  He didn’t know her at all, either, for that matter. Perhaps it was time for them to put their competition aside and get to know one another. Especially with more than just idle threats against them. They needed to be able to trust each other, not try to sabotage the other’s progress.

  Taking a deep breath, Nickolai knocked on her door before he could convince himself this was a bad idea.

  He heard her lean against the door; then it swung open. “What’s wrong?” She clenched her cell phone in her hand. Her wet hair hung in a thick braid that swept over her shoulder. Lisbeth used to wear her hair like that when she was younger.