For the first time since they’d started driving, Rod gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
Thank heavens. Maria felt justified. He doesn’t know what to say either.
“Well …” Rod stalled. “To be perfectly honest, I’d rather not answer that in the cab of a truck, in broad daylight, with my eyes looking at the road instead of at you. I think I’d rather answer it with you wearing that little black skirt you had on the other day at the woman’s conference, seated at a table for two at a dimly lit Italian restaurant, with all the time in the world to watch your every expression.”
Maria’s face felt like it was on fire. Then her arms started to light up as well. The way he’d said that had made her feel …
Well …
It had been …
Wow.
Just wow.
Wow, wow, wow.
“Is there a question fifteen?” Rod batted his eyes at her as if what he’d said was no big deal. Like the emotions he had stirred up inside her weren’t exploding inside her. For the first time in her life, Maria realized a man wanted her. Rod … could she even think it? … Rod might even love her. But how could he? They hadn’t dated that long. Didn’t love take years to happen?
“So,” said Rod, a confident smirk on his face. “Any other questions?”
“Uh, right.” Maria read the next question automatically, hardly thinking of anything else besides an Italian restaurant with Rod holding her hand about to tell her something that would rock her world. “Number fifteen. Is she your first love? The answers are: no, and she knows it; no, but she doesn’t know it; or yes, she’s my one and only.”
A very, very, awkward silence ensued.
It was Maria who finally cleared her throat this time. “Well, that one is pretty simple. It’s ‘no,’ and that is why I think these sorts of quizzes are totally stupid. No set of questions can apply to everyone the same way.”
Rod fidgeted in his seat.
Maria’s mind raced. Did the writer of this quiz ever think about the guy whose wife of several months ran off and left him with no word of where she’d gone? Huh? Did he think about that when he wrote this crap? No.
Rod’s former marriage was the one thing he’d never talked about except for the brief moment on that one night sipping hot cocoa in Maria’s yard during the investigation of Mayor Hayward’s murder. What Maria had learned about the marriage had been from her childhood friend, Beth, who knew the ins and out of Kanab like no one else because of her career as a beautician and her gift of listening.
Of course, Maria had never brought up the subject with Rod. Why would she? The fact that Rod had been married before, his wife had disappeared, and he’d finally gotten a divorce after three years wasn’t exactly fun conversation on a date. Besides, it was all water under bridge. The marriage had been six years ago. A lot changed in six years.
Rod cleared his throat, and for a split second Maria thought “the conversation” might happen. Maybe he was ready to open up?
Crap.
Did that mean she was going to have to open up to him about her experience in Tehran? Because that was something she feared way more than intimacy. If she really was scared of intimacy. The jury was still out for her on that one.
“Agreed,” Rod said at last. “Those tests are stupid.”
That was it. Not one more word on the subject.
Maria felt slighted, and then she felt stupid for feeling slighted. What did she want from him anyway? To talk about it or not to talk about it?
The cab fell silent. It was like an elephant had sat down and made itself comfortable right in between them on the bench seat, making the rest of the ride to Arizona rather uncomfortable.
To say the least.
CHAPTER SIX
Francisco Vasquez de Coronado challenged the forbidden peaks when he came north from Mexico in 1540. Several members of his band died searching for gold in the mountains, and like victims right up to recent years, their bodies were found headless.
“THE DUTCHMAN’S LOST GOLD MINE,” BY LEE PAUL. (ONLINE)
There are few constants in life except taxes, death, and the familiar smell of a 24-hour Walmart Supercenter. Rod and Maria had stopped to buy a few items they’d forgotten to bring with them and to get some food for an overnight hike with some of Rod’s old friends.
The shopping center felt so dull and ordinary, filled with average people going about their everyday, mundane lives. It was what Rod and Maria needed to shake the awkward feeling the ride had left them with. From a stranger’s perspective, they looked like all the other couples shopping for toiletries together—not an ex-CIA black ops leader with her car-loving director of Search and Rescue boyfriend.
Their shopping cart was parked in the front of the aisle labeled “eye care.” As Rod scoured the shelves for his favorite contact solution—he’d left his in Kanab—Maria made her way to the next aisle over labeled “beauty” where she searched for makeup removing wipes. She found what she needed and made her way back to Rod.
“Are you still trying to find the right stuff?” Maria asked when she returned.
Rod nodded. “I have sensitive eyes. I need the kind in a green bottle.”
“There are a couple of them in a green bottle. What’s the brand name?”
A sheepish look spread across Rod’s face. “Well, that’s a really good question.”
“You don’t know the brand name? Seriously?” She laughed. “It’s like you’re this intelligent, extremely competent man who can’t figure out how to tie his shoes.”
“Hey,” said Rod. “In my defense, my shoes involve knot tying, which I’m actually quite good at. Shopping? Not so much. I should hire one of those ‘personal assistants’ to do it for me.”
“Or get a wife.” She hoped Rod would hear the sarcasm in her voice.
“Are you up for it?” A smirk spread from one side of Rod’s face to the other.
“Hardly. You could never afford me as a personal assistant.”
Rod pulled a green and white bottle of Baush & Lomb Sensitive contact solution off the shelf. “I didn’t mean as my personal assistant.”
“You couldn’t afford me as wife either.” Maria grasped Rod around his upper arm, noticing his firm muscled bicep. “But I am proud of you. Looks like you figured out your special eye care all by yourself.”
“It was horribly painful. Thank heavens I don’t have to choose a toothbrush.” He pointed to the aisle where hundreds of brushes hung in rows. “That literally would take me the rest of the day.”
Maria leaned in closely and kissed his cheek. Something about the way he seemed slightly helpless in the realm of shopping endeared him to her. “Let’s go to the grocery section. We’ll need stuff to eat for the hike.”
“Point me to the protein bars. And, by the way, we should spend more time in Walmart if you’re going to get all frisky.”
“A kiss on the cheek is frisky?”
“It is from you.” Rod tried to grab Maria around the waist to pull her in close again, but she darted out of his reach and latched onto the handle of the cart instead.
“Protein bars directly north east,” she said, pointing forward.
As Rod and Maria walked down the main aisle, they chatted about nothing important, which, from what Maria could tell, was what all the other couples talked about as well.
Which brand of bread was the most fresh?
What flavor of ice cream did he want?
How many twelve-packs of Coke did she need?
It was all so basic, and carefree, and … normal.
The only thing that frustrated Maria was that she couldn’t get rid of the annoying itch at the back of her neck.
It wasn’t actually an itch that needed to be scratched. It was more like a tingling nerve, something that her brain stimulated when her subconscious was aware of something her conscious mind was ignoring. But in this case she wanted to ignore it. It felt so good to be a regular old couple—like everyone else in th
e store.
Unfortunately, her firing nerve wouldn’t leave her alone. In most cases that meant one thing. She was being followed—like the time in high school when a couple of gang members from a different school had followed her in a parking lot and roughed her up. Her nerve had been hyperactive even way back then.
Maria sighed. Fine. She would see what her “itch” could be so concerned about in the middle of Walmart.
Casually, she turned her head to optimize the range of her peripheral vision. A ridiculously dressed tourist wearing sunglasses from the 1970s and an oversized ball cap was about twenty feet to her left. The fake shaggy hair that hung down from the man’s cap was an enormous giveaway. He seemed intent on her and Rod.
Well, that hadn’t been hard.
“Hey.” Maria grabbed Rod’s elbow and steered him sharply to the right down the feminine hygiene aisle.
A moment later, the man, who strangely resembled Chevy Chase in the 80s movie National Lampoon’s Vacation, turned down the same aisle. He wasn’t even pushing a cart for pity’s sake. So obvious.
“Pick up the pace,” Maria whispered into Rod’s ear. “We’re being followed by a weirdo.”
Rod shifted into higher gear and his stride doubled in length. Maria had to practically skip to keep up with him.
“Hold on, cowboy.” Maria tugged on the edge of Rod’s nicely fitted t-shirt. “Not quite that fast,” she added quietly.
Rod slowed, his face a puzzle of confusion.
“Behind us, nine o’clock,” said Maria out of the side of her mouth. “Check him out.”
Three seconds later Rod had to cover up a whole-hearted chortle. Or maybe, in an attempt to stop himself from laughing, salvia had gone down the wrong pipe and he actually was gagging. Either way, the look of amusement on his face was genuine.
“Wow,” he said, pounding on his chest of few times. “Someone needs new sunglasses.”
Maria giggled. “And a hat.”
Rod chortled again.
“Let’s turn the tables on him. First we shake him and then we do the following,” said Maria.
“I’m game. Do you want to drive or do you want me to?”
Maria pushed the cart his direction. “It’s all yours, ‘Bo.’” She liked to call Rod that occasionally after she’d caught him watching reruns of the Dukes of Hazzard on Netflix. He swore he watched it for the cars, but Maria maintained he had a man-crush on John Schneider.
Rod grabbed the handle of the cart, flipped the plastic rectangle down in the seat of the cart as if it were a sunshade, and revved the engine—metaphorically of course.
A sharp turn, hugging an endcap stacked with paper towels, put them in the cleaning supply section where Rod pushed the pedal to the medal and increased his speed again. His power walking skills were impressive. Competition worthy, truly. Maria had to practically skip to keep up with him.
Rod swerved to the left, cutting off an oncoming vehicle, and trail blazed it over a mound of broken down cardboard boxes discarded in front of a refrigerator bin full of yogurt. Passing traffic on his left and right, Rod expertly maneuvered his way through cans of soup, bags of pasta, and loaves of bread. At the end of the next row, he spun one hundred and eighty degrees, hid the cart behind a large back-to-school Doritos display, and waited for their pursuer to walk past them.
Which the man did, clueless he’d changed from the hunter to the hunted.
Leaving the cart parked by the “snacks and chips” aisle, Maria and Rod followed the ridiculously dressed man for about half the length of a long aisle. Eventually, the man slowed. Stopped. Then turned around.
Maria and Rod were inches from his face. Maria “accidently” knocked the baseball cap with its attached fake hair off the man’s head and onto the tiled floor. “Oh,” she said, “sorry about that.”
The store’s overhead fluorescent lights reflected off a well-polished bald head.
The man shuffled back a step and motioned for Rod to follow. “Pssst,” he hissed. “It’s me.”
Rod squinted at the man, practically choked, and then stammered. “P-professor L-lankin?”
The man dropped the sunglasses down onto his nose and nodded. “Well, it’s Representative Lankin now, but yeah, it’s me.”
On the drive down to Arizona, Rod had told Maria all about his favorite law professor who had quit teaching and entered politics. He was now a member of the Arizona state legislature and, apparently, a Walmart stalker.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Rod opened both arms wide and pulled his former-professor-turned-politician in for a hug.
Slap. Slap. Slap. The men pounded each other on the back.
“It’s so good to see you,” said Rod.
“You too. You too,” said Rep. Lankin. “I spotted you and this incredibly beautiful woman,” he gestured to Maria, “in the store, but I wanted to make sure. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. You’ll have to excuse the outfit. I don’t like the press following me when I’m out on personal errands.”
“You’re more than likely to be noticed in that get-up,” said Maria sternly, following up her comment with a more friendly, “Hello, by the way. I’m Rod’s friend, Maria.” She hadn’t meant to be rude. Sometimes things just came out of her mouth all wrong.
“She’s ex-CIA,” said Rod in an attempt to explain Maria’s porcupine greeting, and then he continued chatting with his former professor.
Ten minutes later, after Rod and Rep. Lankin had had the chance to catch up and Maria had retrieved the cart from the chip aisle, the friends parted ways with another back-slapping fest. They would see each other again in a few days during the overnight hike planned with Rod’s former ASU classmates. According to Rod, the hike was the representative’s idea.
Standing in the long checkout line and watching Rod browse the messages on his phone, Maria realized the two of them had successfully navigated their first Walmart shopping trip. That was no small feat and a clear sign to Maria that Dr. Roberts was very wrong. She was not scared of intimacy. After all, what could be more intimate than walking down the feminine hygiene aisle in Walmart together? She reassured herself for the twentieth time that day that she was perfectly normal.
Perfectly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Spaniards tried to explore the mountain on their own, their numbers were steadily decimated by mysterious disappearances. If one of them so much as strayed a few feet from his companions, he was never seen alive again. The few bodies of those that they recovered had had their heads cut off and carted away by someone or something … so Coronado dubbed it Monte Superstition, the origin of its infamous name.
“THE STORY OF SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN AND THE LOST DUTCHMAN GOLD MINE” BY ROBERT JOSEPH ALLEN, POCKET BOOKS (SIMON AND SCHUSTER INC.), 1971, PAGE 4.
Driving up the football-field length driveway of Rod’s former law school classmate was like entering another world. Instead of being in Phoenix, Maria was positive she’d entered the world of Southern France with its quaint-sized chateaus. Granted, there was less grass than in La Loire. And what grass there was didn’t have that lush deep green that made it look soft enough to lie down and take a nap on.
But the house was incredible. Marble steps. Ornate banisters. And turrets. Who built turrets in Phoenix? Really, who built them anywhere these days?
“Uh, wow,” Maria said as Rod turned the ignition to off and set the parking brake.
“I know,” answered Rod. “Total overkill. Brian always had a thing for money.”
“Like he inherited a gazillion dollars thing?” Maria asked, all of a sudden feeling the need to check her lipstick and hair after the five-hour drive.
“No, like he wished he’d inherited a gazillion dollars. He went into law for one reason—to get rich.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Maria responded. It was a low jab.
“I didn’t.” Rod opened the driver side door. “Come on. Let’s go meet him.”
A few minutes later both of them stood on
the elaborate front porch. Rod rang the doorbell. Twenty seconds of Pachelbel’s Canon in D ensued. Maria fully expected a butler to greet them.
The door swung inward revealing a tall, fair-skinned man with blond hair and long, flopping bangs. He had the arms and legs of a lanky teenager but the belly of a forty-year-old who had spent too much time in a bar. A petite woman with light brown beach wave curls stood behind him.
“Brian!” Rod stepped into the door frame and wrapped his arms around his friend. Maria hadn’t realized what a hugger Rod was.
“It’s great to see you,” said Brian, slapping Rod on his back.
Yesterday, Rod had coached Maria on all of his old law school friends. She had taken the information and systematically created mini CIA profiles for each of them.
Brian was the “playboy.” A probate attorney. On his third wife. No children. Traveled extensively. “D-student” who, apparently at some point, learned to apply himself.
Rod didn’t know much about Amy, which gave Maria little to use for a profile of her. Hence Amy was the “Mystery Woman.” Brian’s former marriage counselor. Turned lover. Turned spouse (as of three months ago).
The couple invited Rod and Maria inside. As they carried their luggage into the entryway, Brian told Rod at least ten times how great he looked, which was quite true, especially when compared to Brian.
Surprisingly, Amy seemed rather down to earth, with a nice smile and gentle eyes. She sported basic jeans and a button blouse, off the rack.
Thank heavens.
Ever since seeing the house, Maria had been gearing up for Amy’s Barbie-doll physique and some hoity-toity fake persona.
“It’s good to meet you, Maria.” Amy raised her hand and she and Maria shook.
Excellent. No awkward hug. Maria liked her more and more.
Paranormal Mystery Boxset Books 1-3: Legends of Treasure Page 30
