Paranormal Mystery Boxset Books 1-3: Legends of Treasure

by Lois D. Brown

  In the front of the trail was Rep. Lankin (alias Chevy Chase) and Tom (sultry Denzel Washington). They were deep in a conversation about the tax loopholes for small businesses. Next in line was Melissa (definitely the Perry Mason—female version), who was pumping Rod for information about his law practice in Kanab.

  As they climbed, Maria thought of a bunch of other places she’d rather spend her vacation weekend with Rod. However Clyde seemed to be in dog heaven in the Superstitions. He bounded and barked, climbed and crawled through every crevice, nook, and cranny.

  “Over here, boy,” called Rod, slapping his thigh. Rod looked particularly outdoorsy in his tan, nylon hiking pants. He’d zipped off the bottom portion of the pant legs, revealing muscular calf muscles, which Maria glanced at every so often as he scaled up the rock face.

  Clyde followed Rod’s command and positioned himself in front of his previous owner. It was intriguing for Maria to watch how conflicted the dog was between its two masters—Rod and Derrick.

  All day long Clyde had scampered around Derrick, getting underfoot and nearly tripping him as he traversed up the rocky ridges. Next, with tail wagging, Clyde would bound back to Rod, jump up and yelp, dodging in between his legs.

  “That dog is driving me crazy,” muttered Brian (party boy Ferris Bueller). Brian was the bad attitude of the group. All morning he’d claimed his allergies were acting up (despite the fact he hadn’t sneezed once). But after popping four or five pills, his casual demeanor had returned.

  Maria hoped it was Xanax he was using instead of something stronger. She reminded herself it wasn’t her job to police these people. She was on vacation.

  “If your dumb dog still likes you better than Derrick, it should hang with you while it has the chance.” Brian flipped his long bangs out of his eyes.

  “He doesn’t want to be with me. He’s trying to remember who I am. I’m a novelty,” said Rod, who got a little embarrassed anytime Clyde chose him over Derrick.

  “Not true,” said Derrick, who wiped his sweaty forehead on his shirt sleeve. “He worships you. Always has. Didn’t he climb up the roof of the Academy of Sciences building to get your backpack?”

  “He did.” Rod leaned down and scratched Clyde’s belly. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you Clyde?”

  “Yeah,” agreed Melissa, who had stopped climbing for a minute to take a drink of water, “that dog would do anything for you.”

  Melissa continued to talk in between sips of water, “If I remember right, that dog even went to class with you a couple of times until administration figured out he wasn’t a true service animal.”

  Rod laughed. Reliving the “good old days” with his friends had brought his spirits up. Despite the 110 degree weather, Maria was glad they were there. Seeing Dakota’s ghost had messed with Rod’s psyche. Maria knew how that felt, and she was glad he had this time outdoors to take his mind off of it.

  As if Clyde somehow knew that the humans were talking about him, he let out a howl to rival that of any wild animal.

  “Seriously,” grumbled Brian. “What’s his problem?”

  Before Brian had even finished his question, Derrick had removed a small hatchet from his pack. Large drops of sweat rolled from his temples onto his cheeks. “Nobody move.”

  The group fell immediately silent. Even Brian had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

  “What’s going on, Derrick?” asked Melissa, cool and collected. In some ways, she reminded Maria of herself.

  “That’s Clyde’s warning. He doesn’t howl like that for nothing.” Derrick eyes methodically scanned the ground. Maria joined in the search for what was upsetting the dog.

  Both she and Derrick must have seen the coiled reptile at the same moment because they said “rattlesnake” in unison.

  “Where?” asked Brian, who immediately started jumping up and down. Maria reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s by Tom’s left foot. Calm down.”

  Tom stood motionless. He looked down and grimaced. The snake was no more than five inches from his heel. “Wouldn’t you know it? I swear Mother Nature has it out for me.”

  Clyde let out another howl and posed for attack. “Down boy,” commanded Derrick. “Sit.”

  The dog followed orders just as the end of the snake’s tail began to shake, making the sound of a deadly tambourine.

  “So, I guess I’m supposed to just walk away slowly, right?” Tom licked his lips.

  “Yes. But keep it steady and smooth. Nothing jerky, okay?” said Maria.

  “Hold on,” said Derrick, closing his one eye as if he was sizing up the distance and angle at which he should aim his hatchet still in his hand. “I’ve got this. Don’t move.”

  Tom looked at the overgrown lumberjack. “What are you going to—”

  The hatchet whistled through the air, handle over blade.

  One.

  Two.

  Three spins and the hatchet’s sharp edge sliced through the snake’s neck, cleanly cutting its head off. The snake’s tail continued to rattle as blood oozed from the twitching headless body.

  “Well,” said Melissa, her voice back to business as usual. “That was exciting.”

  Tom leaped away from the once deadly snake while at the same time yelling, “Dude, what were you thinking? That could have been my foot you cut off!.”

  “No,” said Derrick, walking to retrieve his hatchet. “It couldn’t have been your foot unless I’d been aiming for it.”

  “A bit over confident, aren’t you?” scoffed Brian.

  Derrick shrugged. “I know what I’m capable of.”

  At that, Rep. Lankin cleared his throat and said, “I suggest we get going in case our snake has family nearby.”

  The group agreed and continued hiking deep into the chasms and canyons of the Superstitions until near dusk. Derrick and Rep. Lankin took turns being the group’s guide, with plenty of feedback from Brian; all three clearly felt the need to be in charge.

  “Let’s start looking for a place to set up camp,” Derrick suggested. “I’m hungry and getting ready to call it a day.”

  Two hours and full stomachs later, the group relaxed around a blazing fire. They were situated on the top of a lava plateau with the promise of a gorgeous view in the morning. They had told at least three stories a piece about the good old days, and Maria had learned quite a bit about the dynamics of the group. Everyone adored Rep. Lankin like a grandfather, but it was Melissa who really was the “parent” everyone respected. She was the one who had kept them all from getting expelled from ASU for their various pranks. If even half of what they had said that night was true, one would have thought they were recounting the antics from a group of high school seniors, not graduate students in law school.

  Like the nights in Kanab, the sky danced with brilliant stars, unfettered by modern electricity which polluted the sky with never-ending light from large cities. Maria scooted further down into her sleeping bag even though the air outside was relatively warm. Everyone in the group circled the campfire like the spokes of a wheel with their toes close to the flames and their heads the furthest away.

  Maria was grateful she and Rod weren’t the only ones sleeping outside. While normally she would have liked the time alone with him, things had felt slightly strained since seeing Dakota’s ghost.

  “So,” said Tom who was next to Maria in his own sleeping bag, “be honest, Maria. What were some of your past assignments? In the CIA, I mean.”

  It was questions like that which drove Maria crazy. How many times could she tell the same fabricated story of her being an analyst? However, the truth was too painful—and top secret. Rod knew the truth, but he was the only one. Her secret had been kept safe with the death of Sherrie Mercer, the Kanab newspaper reporter who had threatened to reveal all of Maria’s past—the botched mission to Tehran, her time in solitary confinement, and the way her team had all been executed except her. All things Maria buried deep inside her.

  “I already told
you. I was an analyst,” Maria answered, “How about your dad?”

  “Analyst.” Tom used finger quotes and winked as he said it. Clearly he understood the term’s vague application.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go into the CIA,” said Maria. “A lot of times it runs in families.”

  Tom looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Who says I’m not?”

  And he had a point. Maria knew better than anyone that CIA agents disguised themselves as all sorts of average, every day, boring people. “Rod told me you were an entrepreneur. Just going off of what I was told.”

  “I’m into a bit of everything.” Tom then whispered to Maria, soft enough so that Rod, who was on her other side, couldn’t hear, “Including attractive, mysterious women.”

  Gratefully, the usually quiet Derrick yawned incredibly loud and said to no one in particular, “Sure has been a blast from the past. Being all together like this again.”

  Rod stirred in his sleeping bag. “Yep, like the good old days, except we all have more wrinkles and a little less hair.”

  “But we have more money,” piped up Brian. “That’s a good thing.”

  “Speak for yourself,” grumbled Derrick.

  “You’d have plenty of money if you didn’t give it all away to that organization of yours,” said Melissa. “I tell you it’s sucking you dry.”

  “What organization?” asked Rod.

  “Nothing.” Derrick looked the other direction. “I don’t give them that much money anyway. Melissa is always making a big deal of everything.”

  “Let’s not get into that argument again.” Rep. Lankin spoke. “Here’s an interesting conversation starter. What’s the one thing you’d all have done differently in the last six years?”

  The question sparked anything but a conversation. No one spoke for a good half minute.

  “How about you give us your answer first,” Melissa finally proposed.

  “Okay,” their former professor began, “I would have gotten into politics a little earlier. I mean, what’s my chance of getting elected as president when I didn’t start rubbing shoulders with the right people until my 40s. I worry I’m getting too old to do everything I want to do. I need more money and time.”

  “Don’t we all,” agreed Brian. He cleared his throat. “I’ll go next. I would have stayed away from the party scene. The first couple of years after college were pretty bad. Kind of a blur, actually.”

  The honesty of his answer turned the conversation from surface deep to personal. Tom spoke next. “I would have visited my dad more before he died.”

  Derrick nodded. “Same with me. I wish I’d gotten to say goodbye to my mom. Her cancer took her quickly.”

  Melissa’s voice was quiet. “I wouldn’t have defended the serial murderer Clay Shaw. That case put me in a dark place for months.”

  Rod cleared his throat. “You already all know mine. I would have never married Dakota. Worse decision ever.”

  Everyone looked at Maria, waiting for her answer.

  “I thought the question was for ASU alma maters?” she stammered.

  “Life affects everyone,” said Rep. Lankin. “But you don’t have to join in if you don’t want to.”

  What would she have changed? Her mind whirled. There was an awful lot about the last six years she’d like to redo.

  Everyone had answered so sincerely, she knew she had to as well or they would sense her fakeness.

  “Hmmm … if I could redo something from the last six years …” Her voice faltered then picked up again, stronger. “… I would have made sure I died first.”

  The group waited for more, but she gave no explanation.

  But she knew. If she’d been the first of her black ops team to die in Tehran, she wouldn’t have to face the constant reminder every single day that she shouldn’t be enjoying life. No one else from her team was. Nor ever would. Survival guilt was horrible.

  Yes, if she could redo anything, she would have made sure she’d died first.

  Rod reached over and put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the familiar hollow at his side. Her head fit snugly under his chin.

  Everyone in the group repositioned themselves in their sleeping bags. At last Tom broke the silence. “It sounds as if your life as an analyst must have had a few dangerous moments.”

  Without taking her eyes off the popping flames in the fire, Maria responded. “A few.”

  Rep. Lankin once again expertly changed the subject and asked Melissa the details of her latest defense case. Lawyer small talk ensued. When that conversation waned, Derrick spoke up. “Maria, do you know much about the Superstitions?”

  “No,” she answered. “In fact, I kept calling them the wrong thing. Is it the Superstitious or Superstition Mountains?”

  “Superstition,” said Rod. His face sported a teasing smile that Maria saw in the light of the fire.

  Maria continued. “I’d love to know some of their history. Seems like an interesting place.”

  The night air wrapped itself around the group, delivering a perfect ambience for campfire storytelling.

  Derrick thought a minute. “Where should I begin? With the strange noises? The ghost sightings? The slaughtering of Indians? Or the beheading of treasure hunters? There’s a lot to tell.”

  “Start with the Peraltas,” interjected Rep. Lankin. “I always find that a logical place to begin.”

  Maria propped her head up on her makeshift pillow. She had a feeling this might take a while.

  “In the 1840s,” Derrick began, “a man named Don Miguel Peralta owned the Superstitions, at least according to the Spanish. He lived in Mexico and would travel northward on occasion to the mountains where he mined for gold. However, the Pima and Apache Indians disagreed with his claim of ownership, since they had already been living on the land for hundreds and hundreds of years. But it was mostly the Apaches who gave Peralta and his miners a bad time.”

  “How so?” asked Maria.

  “On Peralta’s last trip, he set up base camp and started mining as usual. The Apache warned him to leave, but he didn’t.” Derrick’s voice grew a sing-song quality the more he spoke. “ So the Indians split into two groups. The first attacked and scared the miners into trying to escape through a narrow corridor where they then met the second group of Apaches waiting for them with arrows and flint knives. Their bodies were left to feed the coyotes, stripped and scalped.”

  A hush fell over the group as Derrick let the gruesome picture sink into their imaginations.

  “Oh stop, Derrick. I don’t know why you enjoy recounting these horrible stories,” Melissa huffed.

  “Why do you enjoy defending people who commit horrible crimes?” retorted Tom.

  “Fine.” Melissa’s voice was curt. “Tell all the nasty details. What do I care?”

  Derrick resumed his storytelling. “There’s not too much more to tell. Don Miguel Peralta was among the dead, but somehow his two youngest sons escaped. They made their way back to Mexico to tell the family what had happened.”

  “So why do people call the treasure that’s supposedly hidden here the Dutchman’s gold mine instead of the Peralta gold mine?” A cold prickle entered Maria’s toes. She rubbed her feet together to make it go away.

  Derrick answered, “Good question. In the late 1800s, when Arizona was a U.S. Territory, a man named Jacob Walz found one of Peralta’s old gold mines. He died from pneumonia before he could show someone where it was located. People called the hidden stash the Dutchman’s gold mine because Walz was from Germany. Ever since then, thousands of people have looked for Walz’s mine. Hundreds have died, their bodies decapitated and left to the elements.”

  It wasn’t that Maria felt scared, but she did feel, in an unexplainable way, the violence and greed that echoed off the canyon walls. The image of headless bodies rotting in the sun saddened her. Someone’s loved one … gone. Killed. And for what? A stupid chunk of metal that society decided to call valuable.

  �
�The fire’s going out,” Rod said. “I’ll grab us some wood. I need to get up anyway.”

  As Rod walk away from the drowsy group surrounding the dwindling campfire, Maria hoped Dakota’s ghost would stay clear of him tonight. They’d had enough speaking of the dead. Maria knew too well what it was like seeing those from beyond the grave. It was disconcerting, and that was with Acalan, who had been helping Maria. Who knew why Dakota’s ghost was still hanging around? Perhaps there was some unfinished business? Maria assumed her life must have ended … suddenly. Had it been violent? Accidental? Had it been murder?

  Once she got back to Kanab, Maria would do some of her own investigating. Rod needed closure, and to be honest, Maria wanted some as well. Having the ghost of her boyfriend’s ex-wife hanging around was not doing much for their relationship.

  As she was lost in her thoughts, Tom shifted in his sleeping bag at Maria’s right side and managed to slide up next to her.

  “Why do they make these things so uncomfortable?” he asked. “Do they really think a grown man wants to be swaddled like a newborn baby? I can hardly move. Talk about claustrophobia.”

  “Not a big camper, eh?” Maria wondered when he was going to remove himself from her side.

  “Fifty degree weather in a sleeping bag is rather miserable,” he said, sounding a bit defensive.

  “Your bag’s for cold weather.” Maria shifted ever so slightly, trying to ease away from him. “You wouldn’t be so hot if you had a warm-weather bag.”

  “Nope,” said Tom, turning his head and leaning in close to Maria’s face. “I’d still be hot, ’cause I’d still be this close to you.”

  What was his problem?

  It was the second come on of the evening. Maria had been willing to overlook the first. But two within a hour? Tom was a moron.

  His comment took Maria off guard, and she was stunned speechless for longer than she wanted to be. It made her look … affected. Which she wasn’t. At all.

  “Seriously?” asked Melissa, sitting up in her bag. “Rod is literally less than fifty feet away and you’re making passes at his girlfriend. To top it off, you did it in front of the rest of us.” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth—like a mother hen. Her role in the group’s dynamics was obvious.