The good thing about her imprisonment in Tehran is that it gave Maria easy access to all sorts of vile sensations and emotions. All she ever had to do to make herself throw up was remember those nights after a thorough beating when she’d fall asleep in her own vomit. The mere memory of that smell could make her puke.
Anytime.
Anywhere.
“Oh no!” Maria turned to the garbage can, picked it up, and retched.
“Go grab some paper towels, could you?” shouted the nurse to the security guard.
The guard darted back into the room and pulled some brown paper squares from the metal dispenser by the sink.
Hanging on to the garbage can for dear life, Maria apologized again and again. “I’m so sorry. Don’t know what happened. Could I go to a bathroom somewhere?”
She was led by the guard, still holding a stack of towels in his hand, down the hallway to the visitor’s bathroom. With her hand that wasn’t holding onto the garbage can, she took the towels from the guard as he held the door for her to go inside the restroom.
“Thanks.”
Once inside, Maria locked the door, turned on the water, and gingerly fished around inside the garbage can until she caught the corner of the Ziploc bag underneath her half-digested breakfast.
First things first, she rinsed the bag in the running sink water until it was clean. Next, she opened it up and carefully dumped everything out but the contact solution, leaving it inside. She squished the extra air out of the bag and sealed it back up. Next, using the paper towels the guard had retrieved, she wrapped several layers around the bag and shoved it into her backpack.
After rinsing out her mouth, Maria popped in a piece of gum and splashed her face with water. She was as good as before the whole episode.
Even better, in fact. She had a clue. Her first real one. It was the break in the case for which she’d been searching. Now she needed to find a lab that would analyze the solution.
Rod, hang on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hundreds of troopers began using the [granite] slab as a target. In half an hour, the commanding officer ordered a cease-fire. . . Of all the braves, squaws, and children within, only a few escaped the fusillade. The dead were in heaps and rows. This battle, or rather slaughter, became known as the “Battle of Skull Cave.”
“FOOL’S GOLD,” BY ROBERT SIKORSKY, GOLDEN WEST PUBLISHERS, 1983, PAGE 49.
“You’re absolutely sure about that?” Over the phone, Maria grilled Rep. Lankin for the third time about the legal documents Brian had brought with him to the dinner the night before.
“Yes, I’m absolutely positive,” answered Rep. Lankin. “I had my secretary scan it and send them to my lawyer. My lawyer said everything was accounted for and up to standards. No weird clauses, nothing out of order. I even read Rod’s will twice myself, and it’s exactly as Brian said yesterday. Whatever didn’t get donated to the charities on the list went to Dakota first and to Rod’s parents next. Cut and dried.”
The contact solution was on the floor in the passenger seat of Beth’s car, braced so it wouldn’t roll around. As she talked with Rep. Lankin, Maria drove to a private, independent laboratory that did government contract work. It had cost Maria a small fortune to have them agree to do a rush analysis of the solution. She’d maxed out four credit cards for the fifty percent down payment.
“I didn’t know any legal documents were ever cut and dried,” said Maria, hoping to push the representative into being more thorough in reviewing the documents.
“Well, this one is,” insisted Rep. Lankin. “For so much money involved, it’s rather basic. Tell me, why are you so interested in Rod’s will this morning? What have you learned that the rest of us don’t know?”
“Nothing. I’ve just got a feeling.” Maria had been so certain there’d be some clue in the legal documents.
“While I am convinced you are a very intuitive person,” said Rep. Lankin, “I get the feeling you’re keeping something back. Of course, it does make it harder to tell when I can’t actually see you when I talk to you.”
“No, nothing like that. I woke up with Rod’s will on my mind.” Maria considered the best method of getting him off the phone as quickly as possible. Something he said a few minutes earlier popped back into her mind. “Hey, you said Rod had a list of charities as benefactors?”
“Yes.”
“Could you send me that list? I’d like to look it over. I don’t suppose the Keepers was on it?”
Rep. Lankin laughed. “No, I would have noticed if Rod was giving his money to the Keepers. That would have been a red flag. And yes, I can send you the list. I’ll get my secretary on it.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Maria hoped something on the list might point back to Brian—some fake charity or non-profit.
“Good luck, Maria. Even though I don’t think anyone in the group is guilty, I’m still glad you’re on Rod’s team. I know I’d want you in my court if tables were turned. We’re all rooting for him, you know.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk with you soon.” Maria hung up. The GPS showed she still had almost thirty minutes until she would reached the lab to drop off the contact solution.
Deep breaths, she told herself. She was making progress. The tingle in the back of her neck told her so.
With the contact solution safely being analyzed at the lab, Maria was on her way back to Brian’s mansion. She hoped nobody would be home so she could take her time snooping around the place. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but it seemed the next logical place to go. Maybe a letter? Some old cell phone with incriminating texts? Her working theory was that Brian had fabricated a fake charity and was banking on getting some money from it when Rod died.
But why now? And why frame Rod for Dakota’s death?
And, Maria asked herself, what about the woman with Dakota in the Superstitions? While it was impossible to identify her by her face, she clearly wasn’t Brian. He was at least a foot taller than the mystery woman in the photo. But perhaps he was working with someone?
Maria used the keyless deadbolt code Amy had given her and Beth to the back door so they could come and go as they pleased. Maria entered the spotless utility room, and her heart sank. What did she really think she was going to find in the house? It was the cleanest most “unlived in” house she’d ever seen.
Listening for Amy as she walked quietly through the kitchen, she was disappointed to see her in front of the computer in the office. That was the one room of the house that may have actually held some of Brian’s secrets.
“Hi,” said Amy, waving to her from behind the oversized monitor. “You’re back early. I thought you said you’d be gone all day.”
“I did. The visit to see Rod didn’t go so well. He’s being transferred to the ICU at Phoenix General.” Maria bit her lip as emotions welled up inside her chest.
“Oh dear.” Amy stood up, abandoning her work to come to Maria and give her a nice, warm hug. “I was hoping he’d be doing better. What’s going on?”
“They think it’s an infection. High fever. Delirium. But the antibiotics don’t seem to be working.” Repeating Rod’s deteriorating condition out loud was like stepping outdoors after a torrential rain. Muggy and heavy. The weight of the situation pulled at her—heart, mind, and soul.
“So what’s the plan? Are they starting him on some new medicine?”
“I’m not sure. To be honest, they’re not sure either.” Maria set her backpack down. “Is it okay if I get a drink of water?”
“Sure.” Amy pointed to the pantry. “Grab a bottle from in there.”
“Tap water’s fine. I don’t have the distinguished tastes Brian has.” Maria pulled a glass from one of the cupboards and filled it at the sink. “Speaking of Brian, is he at home today?”
“At home?” Amy laughed. “No, I haven’t seen him since yesterday. He doesn’t spend much time here. Why?”
Maria took a big drink of water. “Rep. Lankin asked me
to pick up some legal documents Brian worked on for Rod. Maybe they’re in the office? Mind if I poke around?”
Amy went into the pantry and pulled out a Dasani—a lower class brand of water for this household. “You won’t find any of Brian’s legal documents in there. He keeps all of that stuff in his office at work so his office staff can keep track of it. Most of the office stuff is mine; I’ve been keeping myself busy by teaching some online psychology courses. You know, since I can’t practice. That’s what happens when you have an affair with a client.”
Maria felt a stab of pity for the woman. She’d made a bad choice, ruined her career, all for what? A cheating husband.
“Please don’t look at me that way,” sighed Amy.
“Like what?” asked Maria.
“Like you feel sorry for me. I made my own choices. I’m a big girl. I can handle them.”
Slightly embarrassed, Maria dropped her eyes for a moment. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”
“No harm, but I wish people didn’t do that. Nobody understands why I made the decision I did, and I don’t want to explain it. But I’m not an idiot. Trust me.”
“Fair enough.” Maria offered an understanding smile. “I know how it feels to be judged and felt sorry for. Not fun.”
Each of them took a big drink of water and seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Well,” said Maria, putting down her cup, “if the documents aren’t here I might as well not bother you. I’ll run up to Rod’s room for a minute and then head out again.”
“I’ll come with. I need to take a break. And, to be honest, I enjoy the company.”
The two walked up the stairs to the guest bedrooms side by side. Was it Maria’s imagination or did Amy seem to be keeping a close eye on her today?
“What do you need in Rod’s room?” asked Amy.
“I … I thought I’d take a look for his … wallet. The hospital needs … his insurance card?” Not Maria’s best lie.
“Oh, didn’t Brian take that to him already?”
“Not sure. The nurse at the mental health facility said she didn’t think so.” Again, super lame.
“No, I’m pretty sure it was in the bag I put together for Brian to take to Rod at the jail.”
Maria stopped and stared at Amy.
Of course! Brian, Mr. Playboy himself, would have never thought to put together Rod’s toiletries. He wouldn’t ever be that conscientious of others’ needs.
“You sent that bag to Rod? I thought Brian did.”
“No, that’s not Brian’s thing. He’s not really all that aware of—”
Maria tuned her out. Thoughts flew at her, faster and faster. The reason for Amy having an affair with such a loser—to get close to Rod without anyone expecting. She had access to his things. She could infect him with the bacteria so easily. And the woman in the photo? Could it have been Amy, not Melissa. The body shape matched Amy’s as well.
But why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
“—I shouldn’t be so hard on Brian,” continued Amy. “I mean, he does help out some. Now that I think about it, he did help me gather a few of Rod’s things that morning.” A pause. “And he’s great to call housekeeping if he leaves the pool room a mess after a night of drinking with his friends.”
The two women entered Rod’s room together. Maria instantly saw the green and white bottle of contact solution on top of the dresser Rod used. The lone toiletry left in the room.
Don’t look at it. Keep your cool.
Maria walked to the closet. “I’ll double check the pockets on his jeans in case the insurance card happens to be there.”
“That would be odd, wouldn’t it though?” Amy went to the bed and straightened the Ralph Polo bedcover. “Had he been to the doctor lately? Why wouldn’t he have kept the card in his—”
Without formulating a plan or an analysis of costs versus benefits, Maria blurted out, “I’ll come clean. I’m actually looking for a handwriting sample. I’m close to breaking the case—some big clues have turned up.”
It went against her training—but not her instinct. Someone had taken Rod the wrong contact solution. Someone was killing her boyfriend, slowly, meticulously, right underneath the doctors’ noses.
Was it Amy?
Was she the woman with Dakota in the photo?
If so, why had she infected Rod six years later?
Amy quit her mindless tidying and stared at Maria. “What kind of clues? Why do you need his handwriting? This is all so … exciting.”
“I can’t tell you much more, but I do have to go back one more time to the crime scene in the Superstitions. I think the police overlooked one of the biggest clues. At the time, I hadn’t realized the significance of it, but looking back, what’s there will most likely point me to the person who’s framing Rod for Dakota’s murder.”
It was hard to read Amy. She seemed well-trained at keeping a poker face.
But then again, so was Maria.
“So there’s something else with handwriting on it? Is it that kind of clue?” Amy questioned.
“I can’t say too much right now. But we’re pretty sure the crime scene was faked.”
“Really?” Amy was intrigued, or at least acted that way. “So do you think it’s not even Dakota’s skeleton?”
“Again, it’s too early to discuss the details.” Maria looked directly into Amy’s face. “But I’m sure by later this afternoon I’ll know a lot more.” She hurriedly went through Rod’s pocket and, serendipitously, found an old, washed “to do” list in the back of one of Rod’s pair of jeans. “I got something.” She flashed Amy a brief look of the tattered paper to make the whole situation real, which, of course, it wasn’t.
There was no clue at the crime scene. Maria wasn’t hot on the trail of the killer. She was lukewarm at best. And she didn’t need Rod’s handwriting. If she had, she could have used the notes she kept in her wallet that he’d sent her last month. Every day for an entire week he’d mailed her a note. Each only had one word on it—a quality he admired about her: curious, ticklish, decisive, intelligent, strong, breathtaking, and loyal.
What Maria did have was a hunch and the makings of a trap—a way to find out if Amy would be worried, possibly even frightened by what Maria had revealed to her—that the crime scene was suspected to be fake. Would knowing that inspire Amy to follow Maria into the Superstitions and prevent her from finding the supposed “clue” that had been overlooked?
A trap was the quickest, easiest way to find out.
Handling Rod’s old “to do” list with care, Maria asked Amy if she could have a small plastic bag to put it in.
“Sure. I’ll run downstairs and get you one.”
“Thanks,” said Maria, “I’ll grab a few things from my room and be on my way. I’m leaving straight for the Superstitions from here. I won’t be back until this evening.”
Amy headed off downstairs as Maria thought about what she had done. Another trip to the Superstitions meant another six hours gone. What if Rod’s condition worsened? Would she regret not being close to the hospital?
The image of her sitting in a sterile, antiseptic-scented hallway while letting a criminal run free was nauseating. No, this was better. Grant and Beth were with Rod. They could do anything she could do, and they would probably do it better. She’d probably tick the doctors off and cause trouble.
A trip to the Superstitions to trap Amy, however, would be useful. Once she caught Amy, she’d drag out of her what kind of bacteria she used to infect Rod and what the antidote was. A wave of satisfaction swept around Maria. When she’d woken up this morning, there had been absolutely no progress on the case. But now, after the contact solution clue and the admission of Amy that she was the one who had gathered most of the toiletries for Rod, Maria had so much more to go on. Who knew, by later this evening maybe she’d have a suspect in custody.
True, Amy’s motive wasn’t clear. But with a little more research into her background, s
omething would turn up. Secrets weren’t that secret anymore. Not in the age of the internet. And, of course, it could be that Amy was working with someone else, but that would all come to light as well.
Maria had baited her hook and cast it far.
It was time for Amy to bite so Maria could reel her in. Slowly. Carefully. Strategically.
Amy was, after all, a very, very, big fish.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
[During the time of the eradication of the Apaches] Walz continued to make solitary trips to his secret mine. Rumors floated—all unproven—that he killed several men who tried to follow him. He came out of the mountains for the last time in 1884, carrying only two small sacks of gold which sold for a mere $50. The Dutchman was 74 years old now.
“MYSTERIES & MIRACLES OF ARIZONA” BY JACK KUTZ. RHOMBUS PUBLISHING COMPANY, 1992, PAGE 27.
By the time Maria got back downstairs, Amy had put together some snacks for her drive to the Superstitions. She handed them to Maria with a hesitant, “here you go.”
“Thanks.” Maria looked into the bag. The woman hadn’t put together a few things. She’d gone all out and used Brian’s cookies from Belgium, his wildebeest jerky from Brazil, and his special water from some exotic place. “Wow, this all looks very … expensive.”
With a seemingly new-found confidence, Amy said, “It is, and I hope you enjoy every last over-priced item.”
“Thanks. Uh … be sure to thank Brian as well.”
In a tone thick with sarcasm, Amy replied, “Will do.”
Exhausted, Maria pulled into the parking lot of the ranger station at the Superstitions. She had ignored the “Don’t drive drowsy” signs and pushed through. No sleep. No exercise. And eating all the wrong kinds of food was not doing wonders for her energy levels. She felt as spent as the old-fashioned ranger’s station built back in the 70s.
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