The Stolen Relic [Nancy Drew Girl Detective 007]

by Carolyn Keene

  “You’ve already snagged one of them,” George said, grinning.

  “I was hoping to see Nick at breakfast. But no such luck,” Bess said. George and I traded knowing glances. Our beautiful friend was in typical form—a magnet for handsome guys.

  Soon Ned turned right into Arches. After paying our entrance fee, we continued along the road, scouting for the trail to Delicate Arch, which our guidebook told us was a must-see.

  The road took us to the side of a cliff, then snaked through an endless plateau of amazing rock formations. I knew Utah would be beautiful, but nothing prepared me for the stunning landscape that stretched for miles on every side, right up to snow-capped peaks. The color of the earth was red, but it came in a zillion different shades. Bright red cliffs, rust-colored arches, and magenta spires were scattered like weird aliens everywhere we looked. And the sky above us was huge, like this blue upside-down ocean.

  “This view is fantastic,” I said, barely able to find words.

  Ned pulled into a small parking area near the entrance to a trail. “Here we are—the trail to Delicate Arch,” he announced. “The guidebook says it’s sort of challenging, but not impossible. Perfect for our first day out. So does everyone have enough water and sunscreen? That’s real important in the desert.”

  “I’m prepared,” Bess said confidently, patting her canteen. She looked around, her blue eyes round with awe. “How were all these rocks formed?”

  “Erosion,” came a voice on our right. I turned toward it. A pretty young woman in a brown park ranger outfit smiled at us. A camera hung around her neck. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a braid, and I could see our reflections in her sunglasses.

  “You mean the wind and rain carved all these shapes out of larger rocks?” Ned asked, surprised.

  “Yup. Millions of years of wind and rain,” the woman answered. “The geological history of this area is fascinating. Many millions of years ago, this area was all under the sea. Some of this stone is ancient sediment.”

  “Incredible!” George exclaimed.

  “The Southwest is known for being the home of a prehistoric tribe called the Anasazi, whose civilization flourished here from around one hundred to thirteen hundred A.D. But the Anasazi are brand new compared with these rocks.” She held out her hand. “By the way, my name is Sasha Starflower. I’m a park ranger and guide here.”

  “Sasha Starflower—what a pretty name!” I said as we shook hands.

  Sasha’s giggle was infectious. “Thanks. Lots of people tell me that. My mom is British, and she always liked the name Sasha. My dad is Navajo Indian. Starflower is his surname.”

  After we introduced ourselves, Bess said, “Our names aren’t as poetic as yours.”

  “Native American names can be very descriptive,” Sasha said. “I have a friend who runs an antique shop in Moab named Andy Littlewolf. I always liked that name. He’s Navajo too.”

  “Are there a lot of Navajo around Moab?” George asked.

  “Our reservation is south of Moab. Mostly it’s in Arizona, but some of it crosses the Utah border. That’s where I grew up—in Monument Valley. My parents still live there. Actually, the Navajo reservation is the largest one in the country.”

  “If it’s anything like this,” I said, gesturing, “it must be gorgeous.”

  “The Southwest is unique,” Sasha said. “There’s no land quite like it anywhere else on Earth. I’m glad you guys could visit. Here, let me show you some petroglyphs. I’ve been photographing them.”

  “Petrowhat?” George said.

  “Carvings and pictures left mostly by the Anasazi culture centuries ago,” Sasha explained. She beckoned for us to follow her up the trail. “Along the way to Delicate Arch, there are some petroglyphs of sheep and horses. Of course, there weren’t any horses in the New World until the Spanish brought them here. So these petroglyphs came after the Anasazi. But maybe they influenced the technique.”

  I took a sip of water, then filed behind Ned as Sasha led us forward. After a few minutes, we came to a small cliff where an illustration of horses, sheep, and humans appeared on the wall in what looked like a hunting scene.

  “I’ll have to show you some true Anasazi petroglyphs sometime,” Sasha said. “It’s hard to believe how old they are. They came before the Black Death in Europe, around the time of the Crusades.”

  “What happened to the Anasazi after thirteen hundred?” I asked.

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” Sasha said. “No one really knows the answer. For years archeologists have searched for clues. One day the Anasazi just packed up and went. But they left a lot of their stuff behind, almost as if they expected to return the next day.”

  George nudged me. “A mystery for you, Nan,” she whispered.

  I have to admit I was intrigued. But how could anyone solve this mystery when the witnesses and suspects had been dead for seven hundred years? “Maybe a conquering tribe drove them out, like the Navajo?” I suggested.

  Sasha shook her head. “The Navajo came to this area long after the Anasazi disappeared. We’re actually newcomers to the Southwest. We arrived around the same time Columbus was making his trips to America. We migrated from way up north.”

  She shielded her eyes from the sun as she spoke, causing her jewelry to sparkle in the sun. “What a pretty ring, Sasha,” Bess said, pointing to a silver ring with a large turquoise oval on Sasha’s hand.

  “Thanks, Bess,” Sasha said. She took off her sunglasses to examine it, then glanced back at us with her beautiful large dark eyes. “It’s Navajo of course. Our tribe is known for making jewelry and other crafts, like rugs and baskets. My dad gave it to me when I turned twenty, several months ago.”

  The sun climbed higher, and I was beginning to feel like burnt toast.

  “Thanks for all your great info, Sasha,” I said. “We’d better get going before the heat bakes us. Maybe we’ll see you around later.”

  Sasha smiled. “I hope so, Nancy. If you ever need a guide for the more remote trails around Moab, please let me know. I know this area like the back of my hand.”

  We headed up the trail as the sun poured down on us. I took out my sunscreen and slathered it over my face and arms. We all rationed our water. What was that comment the desk clerk made about the high desert being cooler?

  Soon we crossed a gigantic rock textured like the moon’s surface, with small stone cairns as markers. Not a soul was in sight.

  “This place is freaky,” Bess said, scanning the horizon. “Where are the other hikers?”

  “Fortunately not here,” George said. “That’s why it’s so cool.”

  “Cool? I’ve never been hotter,” Bess retorted. “And we could easily get lost. No one would ever find us.”

  “I bet Sasha would,” I said. “Sounds like she’s an expert tracker.”

  “Delicate Arch is around this corner,” Ned said, striding onto a narrow ledge that straddled a giant cliff.

  Moments later Delicate Arch rose before us on a stony plateau. We walked up to it. Hot and tired, we couldn’t believe how amazing it was. It was as if we were in the presence of a magic vision. The arch was a rusty red and huge, but it was also graceful. Its base was narrower than its height, so it looked as if it might topple over in the next breeze. Though the air was still, I backed away. I’m a firm believer in hedging my bets.

  “I can’t get over that the wind and rain did this,” Ned said.

  I’d read in our guidebook that Delicate Arch was like a pilgrimage destination for some people, so I wasn’t surprised to find Margaret Powell sitting cross-legged underneath it, a goofy faraway smile on her face. Missy slumped next to her, looking even more bored than she’d looked yesterday.

  “Hey there, folks,” Margaret said the moment she noticed us. “Have a seat.”

  “No thanks, Margaret,” Bess said. “I’m really hot and there’s not much shade. I’ve really got to start back.”

  �
�Us too,” I said, elbowing Ned as he was about to sit. Bess is usually an excellent sport, willing to put up with more than her share of discomfort when some- thing really matters. So I took her complaint seriously. “It’s almost noon, and I’m running out of water,” I added. “’Bye Missy, Margaret. See you guys back at the Ranger Rose.”

  “Let’s go, guys,” Bess said, starting along the path.

  Ten minutes passed, and we found ourselves back on the rock face, scouting for the markers so we wouldn’t lose our way. The sun beat down mercilessly. The air shimmered with heat. Even with my hat on, I felt roasted. Were we really still on Earth, or had we jumped to Mercury while I wasn’t looking?

  “My head is swimming,” Bess announced.

  I looked at her. Her fair-skinned face was beet red. Drops of sweat trickled down her temples. “Here, Bess, have some water.” I fumbled to unscrew her canteen and held the spout to her lips.

  She gulped it.

  “Let’s find some shade,” Ned suggested.

  “Where?” George asked, scanning the treeless plateau.

  Bess wobbled forward, her face still flushed. “I don’t think I can make it any farther.”

  “Let me carry you,” Ned offered. But before he could scoot over to her, Bess crumpled into a heap on the baking ground.

  3. Bad Behavior

  “Water!” George exclaimed, kneeling by Bess. Bess’s canteen had fallen with her, and the water was trickling onto the dirt. Ned dove to save it as I scanned the plateau for help. A few hikers were coming toward us, but they were the size of ants. Hopelessly far away.

  “Help!” I shouted anyway. The heat was muddling my brain, but I forced myself to focus on our options. I willed my legs to take me across the rock face toward the hikers.

  “Nancy, what’s wrong?” came a voice on my right. “I was looking at nearby petroglyphs, but then I heard you!” I turned to see Sasha moving toward me from a group of large cylindrical rocks not too far away. Phew.

  “Bess fainted,” I explained as we met up. “I’m worried she’s dehydrated. But I don’t know why she would be, since she just had water.”

  Sasha frowned. “Has she eaten anything recently, like nuts or a salted snack?”

  “Nothing since breakfast.”

  “Then she must be dehydrated. I know exactly why,” Sasha said with a decisive nod. “Let’s go.” We rushed back together. Once we reached Bess, Sasha took out a bottle of liquid from her backpack. Holding Bess upright, she opened her mouth and dribbled the liquid in.

  Ned, George, and I crowded around, willing Bess to wake up. Just when I began to worry that she wouldn’t, her eyelashes fluttered open. The bright turquoise blue of her eyes was the best sight I’d seen all day.

  Bess glanced around with a drowsy, vacant look. Then, to our dismay, she shut her eyes again. “Bess, don’t give up,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Sasha’s here to help. She knows what to do for dehydration.”

  Bess groaned, opening her eyes.

  “Good girl, Bess,” Sasha murmured, pouring a little more liquid down her throat. “I think you’re ready for the main course now—a handful of salted nuts.” She fished out some trail mix from her pack and fed it slowly to Bess. Then she poured some extra water into Bess’s throat and splashed it over her face. Bess perked up, her eyes widening with surprise.

  “Excellent!” Sasha declared. “Let’s get you to some shade.”

  Moments later Bess was resting in the shade of a nearby cliff. It was now afternoon, so the cliffs were casting shadows again.

  “What was in that liquid you gave her?” I asked Sasha. “It was like miracle water. Bess’s own water didn’t revive her like that.”

  Sasha smiled. “I mix a little salt, sugar, and certain minerals into my water bottle because water alone won’t stop dehydration—you need salt to absorb the water.”

  Sasha was amazingly cool under pressure. And her survival skills were awesome. She talked to us a bit about dealing with hiking emergencies in the desert, like what to do when you get lost and go through all your supplies. She told us about all these nonpoisonous plants, and ways to find insects for moisture and nourishment. She also gave us tips on how to find our way back. “The desert is pretty unforgiving,” she added solemnly. “The temperatures are extreme, and there’s very little shade. You have to know what you’re doing, even when you’re on a short hike like the one to Delicate Arch, just over a mile.”

  “A mile doesn’t seem very far,” Ned said.

  “When you’re walking through a cool pine forest with plenty of shade, a mile is a snap,” Sasha said. “But in the hot desert, a mile can be quite challenging. My dad got lost once in Monument Valley. For a while he wondered if he’d have to dine on some juicy bugs.”

  “Yuck,” Bess said.

  I grinned at her. Her attitude told me she was feeling a whole lot better. In fact, it wasn’t long before she staggered to her feet and we took turns supporting her on our way back to the car.

  “Where are you staying in Moab?” Sasha asked us as she helped Ned carry Bess.

  “The Ranger Rose,” I said. “It’s a youth hostel in town.”

  Sasha’s eyes clouded over. She opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. A less observant person might not even have noticed her trouble. But I’m not a detective for nothing. And this was the first time I’d ever seen Sasha lose her cool.

  The moment passed. Sasha forced a smile. “What a coincidence,” she said smoothly. “Do you by any chance know a family named Powell? It’s a mom and her daughter, staying at the Ranger Rose. I’m leading them this afternoon on a hike through Canyonlands.”

  I shot a look at Sasha. Her face revealed nothing except my reflection in her sun- glasses, but I knew that something was going on with her and the Ranger Rose.

  “Canyonlands,” George murmured. “I hear it’s fantastic—even better than Arches.”

  “It’s bigger, but not necessarily better,” Sasha countered. “Arches is rich in unusual rock shapes and, well, arches. And it’s got some terrific trails and views. Canyonlands is huge, stretching from north of Moab to way down south. You can drive to the rim of the canyon without a guide, but you need an expert to accompany you inside. Those canyons are like mazes, and many areas are remote and inaccessible, even to guides. It’s an honest-to-goodness desert wilderness, extremely dangerous for novices.” She wagged a finger at us playfully. “So don’t go in there on your own, guys. Okay?”

  Back at the car we all thanked Sasha for her help. Soon we were on our way back to Moab. Bess sighed. “It’s way past noon, and I sure could use lunch,” she declared. “What about starting off with an ice-cream sundae at that soda shop down the street, then working our way back to the sandwich course?”

  I laughed. Bess has a weakness for sweets. Her curvy figure attests to that. Of course, we all wanted to indulge her, so we did exactly as she asked. No big sacrifice on our part!

  That afternoon, for Bess’s sake, we decided to hang around the pool at the Ranger Rose. Shaded by cottonwood trees in a quiet interior courtyard, the pool’s water shimmered with the little light that slipped through the leaves. The hardest work we did all afternoon was to slather on more sunscreen. After our crazy drive from the airport yesterday and Bess’s fainting spell, though, I was happy to spend a relaxing afternoon by the pool.

  “This is the life!” Bess said, dangling her legs over the side of the pool while Ned and George swam laps. “I’m only surprised you haven’t found a mystery yet, Nancy. We’ve been in Moab for almost twenty-four hours. Do you think we’ll actually get to spend a vacation just chilling out?”

  I grinned from my deck chair behind her. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been looking for a mystery. But I didn’t want to upset Bess by admitting such a thing. “You mean, a mystery hasn’t found me, Bess,” I told her. “I’m perfectly content to be hanging out here right now. No danger, no trouble.”

  “No
fun,” she answered slyly. “I know you, Nancy. If you don’t find a mystery by tomorrow, you’ll be as bored as a caged cat!”

  “Try me,” I said, tilting my face toward the sun.

  • • • •

  That evening the four of us ate dinner at the Laughing Tortilla, a Mexican restaurant a block away. “Hey, isn’t that Nick?” Bess asked as we stood in line waiting for a table. She nodded toward the take-out counter nearby. A tall, slim, dark-haired guy was leaning on it with his back to us. He wore bicycle shorts and a T-shirt covered with red dirt. I guessed from his three-quarter profile that it was Nick. There couldn’t possibly be another guy in one little town who was so handsome—except for Ned, of course.

  “Nick!” Ned said amiably as we all approached him to say hi. “Let me brush off your shirt.”

  Nick whirled toward Ned. “Keep away from me!” he snapped, his face an angry mask. “I don’t need your help. I fell off my bike today, that’s all!”

  4. Missing

  I put a reassuring hand on Ned’s shoulder when he backed off in surprise. Bess, George, and I were just as shocked. Nick’s outburst was totally unexpected for such a normally friendly guy. A mother would have used the word “unacceptable” to describe a toddler who’d acted like that.

  “Nick, what’s the matter?” Bess asked, stepping over to him. Surprised as she was, her forgiving nature helped her switch gears. “Ned was just trying to help. I’m sure you’re an awesome biker. No one thinks you’re a klutz for falling. In fact, I was wondering if you could give me a mountain biking lesson one of these days.”

  Nick softened, gazing at Bess’s smiling face. He seemed almost sheepish about his tantrum. But then I opened my big mouth.

  “Wherever you go, just make sure there’s shade.” I described Bess’s fainting spell, then added, “Fortunately, we met this really smart, nice ranger named Sasha who came to her rescue.”

  You would have thought I’d mentioned his most embarrassing secret or something. Nick’s handsome face contorted into a hideous scowl. He turned bright red, stared at us with furious steely eyes, then stalked out of the restaurant just as the cashier called out his name.