Robbed of Soul: Legends of Treasure Book 1

by Lois D. Brown

  Deep breaths. Let the oxygen soak into my very being. “I am—” Maria’s voice cracked. “—truly sorry for your loss.” It was totally un-heartfelt.

  Emily Hayward’s thin lips slightly parted as she said her obligatory, “Thank you.”

  As quickly as Maria could, she dropped the woman’s hand and forced herself to walk by the casket. Don’t look, she told herself.

  As if on cue, the mayor’s corpse sat up in the casket.

  Keep walking. Just keep walking.

  “Ahhhh.” The mayor scratched his fingernails on the white, satin lining of the casket. The fabric ripped open and maggots stormed out. They began eating the mayor’s fingers while he continued to moan. In seconds they devoured the flesh and were making their way up his arm.

  Maria rocked backward, bumping into something solid behind her.

  Rod.

  “Easy,” he said. “You must not be used to those fancy shoes, Chief. You’d better stick to your police loafers.”

  “It’s not the shoes,” she admitted in a hushed voice. The minute she said it she wished she hadn’t. His excuse was a good one, even though both of them knew it wasn’t true.

  Rod kept his hand on the small of her back and followed her out the exit. They went through the same door that Adelaide had forced Maria to enter just a few minutes before. Minutes that now felt like decades.

  Out in the hall, Maria’s breathing slowed. The air felt wonderful. She took a moment to suck in as much of it as she could, again relishing Rod’s fresh, aquatic scent.

  “Why didn’t you call me back yesterday?” he asked, leading her to a corner where they could have some sense of privacy. “Didn’t you get my message?” He turned and looked directly into her eyes.

  Should she lie? No, her nerves were already frayed enough she knew she’d do a poor job of it.

  “I got your message and appreciated the concern. It’s so good to know Search and Rescue has my back and—”

  “What did my message have to do with Search and Rescue? I was worried about you. It was a personal call.” Rod was not letting this slide. “I just think when someone calls you and asks you to let them know if you’re okay, the polite thing to do is call them back.”

  The “I’m-the-lawyer-here” Rod was back.

  Maria had learned from her overbearing father that it was at times like these when simply agreeing was the best thing to do to defuse the situation. And that was what she wanted. Time for her body to calm down.

  “You’re right. I should have called.”

  Rod, who had been getting ready with his well-formed comeback that surely would have passed with honors in a court of law, looked … perplexed.

  “It was thoughtless, and I have no excuse.” Maria held her empty hands out to emphasize her point. The memory of the mayor’s corpse coming to life was quickly fading the more she studied Rod’s features. His bluish green eyes, dark eyebrows, and friendly smile. Sure, his nose was prominent, but not necessarily big. His jaw was firm, his cheekbones strong. Yet, there was gentleness about him. Even when he was arguing.

  Rod reached out and hooked one of Maria’s curls behind her ear. “Sorry. I was just worried, that’s all.” His face softened.

  For a split second, Maria felt like she was floating on a waveless ocean. Tranquil. At peace.

  Rod cocked an eyebrow. “Has anyone ever told you that you look—”

  “—Muslim? Italian? Greek? Yeah, I get that all the time.” Maria shook herself free of the “Rod-trance” she’d been in.

  “I was actually going to say gorgeous. Has anyone ever told you that you look gorgeous?”

  “I … I …” Maria was wordless. What did a woman do when a man complimented her like that?

  “And I love the dress, by the way.” He added, jokingly, “Seriously hot.”

  The last phrase was too much. Maria began to laugh. Apparently “hot” was his go-to word. “And you,” she said, pointing, “look like a chiseled Roman god. Well, at least a few parts do.”

  Rod faked an offended gasp and let his laughter join hers. “What do you say one hot chick and one partial Roman god go find their seats for the funeral? I think it’s about to start.” Tentatively, he put his hand in the small of her back to guide her in front of him in the hallway.

  Maria’s pulse quickened the second he touched her.

  A voice at the other end of the hallway pierced through the air. “Rod, I’ve got our seats saved.” Tara, dressed in a sexy royal blue body glove, scurried toward them. “They’re asking everyone to take their seats. We’d better hurry.”

  “Would you like to join us?” Rod kept his hand on Maria’s back, though the light demeanor in his voice was gone.

  “Sorry, I’ve already got my seat saved,” Maria lied. “I’m meeting Officer Richins. We’re heading back to the office after the funeral.”

  Tara was within an arm’s length. She glanced to where Rod’s hand touched Maria’s back. Her mouth twitched. “As police chief, there’s probably not a lot of time for being social, but that’s probably the way you like it, right Maria?”

  Maria didn’t bother answering. She could pull off a press conference in front of top-ranking government officials without missing a beat, but when it came to girl drama and boys, she was way out of practice. “I’ve got to go find Pete.” Like a whipped dog, she stuck her tail between her legs and retreated into the part of her mind that told her she was damaged property.

  “Okay, but I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?” asked Rod, still not moving toward Tara.

  “Uh, I suppose so.” Maria didn’t want to discuss this in front of the curvy-hipped director of tourism.

  “Okay,” Rod said, giving her his crooked smile, “see you then.”

  No gold was found, and after two years of digging the enthusiasm waned.

  –Deseret News. “Rare Snails Snarl Efforts to Snare Aztec Gold” by Jerry Spangler, Monday, December 9, 1991.

  Chapter 18

  THE FUNERAL WAS ONE of the longest Maria had every attended, especially for it being held in the evening. So far, three members of the city council had spoken, as well as the mayor’s pastor, his golf partner, and a fishing buddy from Alaska.

  Bereft of any family members, Emily Hayward, dried eyed and straight backed, sat next to Whitney and Charlie Thatcher in the front row. She wouldn’t be speaking at the services.

  “Why do you suppose the Thatchers are sitting by the mayor’s wife?” whispered Maria to Pete, who thankfully had come to the funeral and given Maria someone to sit by.

  “They’re neighbors, aren’t they?” For the entire funeral, Pete had been playing a monotonous game of colorful shapes moving back and forth on the screen of his cell phone.

  “I guess. But I wouldn’t have thought they’d be friends. They’re in totally different stages of life.” The fact that Whitney knew Emily was baffling to Maria. Was that the reason the mayor and Whitney had been in the same car? Maybe Emily had been in the back seat and Beth just hadn’t seen her?

  The last speaker, one of the mayor’s childhood friends, was now talking. Maria hoped it wouldn’t be lengthy like the others. She had the mayor’s cell phone records waiting for her to look over at the office.

  “Darrin Hayward and I had the best childhood anyone could hope for. As kids, we explored every hill within a five-mile radius of town,” the man recalled. “I think Darrin knew every nook and cranny around.” The speaker took a moment to contemplate his next words. “At the age of twelve, we made a blood pact that if either of us found Montezuma’s treasure we had to share it with the other one. Too bad that never happened.”

  A low, reverent murmur of laughter sounded in the room.

  “Sadly, that desire to find a quick treasure, a quick payoff, was something Darrin struggled with even into his adulthood. All the same, I loved the guy.”

  An awkward silence ensued. It was the proverbial elephant-in-the-room comment that no one else had had the nerve or guts to say.

/>   “Goodbye, Darrin.” The man rubbed his eyes. “Rest in peace.”

  After the services ended, Maria watched carefully to see just how good of friends Whitney and Emily were. Sure enough, the young mother stood by Emily’s side, joined by a few other women of various ages and stages of life.

  A tap on Maria’s shoulder made her turn around.

  “You’re not mad about the whole Rod having dinner with you thing are you?” asked Beth, looking anything but repentant. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “No.” Maria hugged her friend. “It should be fine.”

  “Fine or fun?” asked Beth, winking.

  “Fine.” Maria faked a scowl.

  “Well good,” Beth said. “I’m glad to see you still have some feminine sense in that police head of yours.”

  “Speaking of my job,” Maria said, “Emily Hayward has a strange set of friends, including Whitney Thatcher. Do you know why?”

  “It’s her walking group. They walk miles around town at some unearthly hour in the morning. I think I mentioned them to you the other day.” Beth glanced at her watch. “Hey, could you give me a ride home? I walked over here thinking I could walk home afterward, but the service went so long. I need to hurry.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Maria said. “Let’s go. I have to get back to the office too.”

  *

  A piece of paper shoved under the windshield wiper of Maria’s car reflected the glare from the street light above it.

  “What is that?” Beth asked. “An advertisement? Can anyone get tackier than putting flyers on cars at a funeral?”

  Maria grabbed the sheet off her front windshield, noting the heavy, high quality, bonded feel of the paper. “This can’t be an advertisement.”

  “Oh yeah? What then?” Beth opened the passenger door.

  Once both were inside the car, Maria unfolded the paper, read it, and then handed it to Beth. “See for yourself.”

  Beth read out loud:

  We know your lies. Get out of this town. No one wants you here.

  Hearing the words come out of Beth’s mouth made the note feel personal. Maria’s lips quivered. Embarrassed, she turned her face away. Out of all the horrible things that had been done to her over the last several years, this was infinitesimally small. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much.

  “Yikes.” Beth was silent for a minute. “I wonder if this has anything to do with you being run off the road the other day. I can’t believe anyone around here would do this.”

  The part that worried Maria the most wasn’t that someone didn’t want her in town, but that someone knew her lies. After all, Maria had a lot of them.

  “I guess every town has to have one crazy,” said Beth, disgustedly, “but everyone I know is thrilled you’re here. People can’t believe someone who worked in the CIA would be interested in coming to Kanab. You should have heard your grandfather talk about you and your career. He thought you walked on water. He couldn’t stop bragging about you.”

  The note had thrown Maria for a loop. Physically, Maria could handle a lot. Emotionally though, well, that was another story. However, learning her grandfather was proud of her was just what Maria needed to hear. “Thanks, Beth. Let’s get you home.”

  Freddie Crystal disappeared. His lifelong dream had gone to pieces. A few close friends thought he’d gone back to Mexico, but no one knew for certain, and no one ever saw him again.

  –Argosy. “White Mountains $10,000,000 Secret” by Steve Wilson, March 1966.

  Chapter 19

  MAYOR HAYWARD MUST HAVE always had his ear stuck to a phone. His cell phone record was incredibly long, and several of the numbers on it were unlisted. But Maria had expected as much. If he was into gambling, he wasn’t making a lot of calls to his grandmother’s home.

  There were several questions Maria wanted answered. First, did the mayor’s phone calls to Cal Emerson match with the money deposits into Mayor Hayward’s bank accounts? Second, had the mayor ever called Whitney’s home or cell phone? And third, who was the last person the mayor spoke to before his death?

  After scouring the phone records late into the night, Maria knew the answers to her first two questions. Yes, phone calls to Cal Emerson matched money deposits. Maria would send that information forward to the attorney general right away. In addition, the mayor had made multiple calls to Whitney’s cell phone over the course of the last month. However, the third question was proving to be more difficult. That last phone call the mayor received was from an unlisted number—apparently a pre-paid cell phone. The same number appeared repeatedly on his statement. With the mayor’s reputation, it could be his favorite bookie or the collections manager from a casino in Vegas. In fact, the mayor’s murder may just be the result of one of his gambling debts gone bad.

  But Maria’s gut told her there was something more personal about the whole thing. The mayor had known his killer. He had voluntarily walked into a dark, hidden cave with him or her. And then there had been the broken piece of glass from a champagne flute in the dirt—as if he’d been having a celebration of some kind.

  The problem was the mayor’s life had been so full of deceit, it was hard to pinpoint who killed him because so many people had a motive. Maria felt a pang of guilt as she realized how much she deceived those around her—Beth, Rod, Pete, even her psychologist, Dr. Roberts. At least none of her deception was illegal. Ethical? She wasn’t so sure.

  Thinking back to the case, Maria wondered if Cal Emerson had grown weary of being blackmailed by the shady mayor. Had he gotten tired enough of him to have had the mayor killed? And with what piece of information had the mayor been blackmailing Cal Emerson in the first place? That was something the grand jury was determining.

  Next on Maria’s mind was what kind of a relationship Whitney Thatcher had had with the mayor? She’d been seen with him in a car in a remote part of the canyon, and he had called her personal phone multiple times. Those few facts alone pointed to an affair. But Whitney was the friend of the mayor’s wife. Would she have done that to her friend and then killed her friend’s husband? Possibly. Others had done worse.

  And then there was the mayor’s wife—an independent woman who cared little for the antics of her husband. They had grown apart over the years. That much was obvious. Did she detest him enough to kill him? And why in a cave? Emily Hayward seemed more like the type that would slowly poison someone to death—a clean, effective method.

  Maria stared at the reports on her desk for half an hour. She finally had to tell herself that no matter how hard she looked at them all, she wouldn’t be able to solve the case tonight. It was time to go home. She stood up and flipped off her office light. The digital clock on her desk read three a.m. If she was lucky she could still get a few hours of sleep. If she was lucky.

  *

  Groggy eyed, Maria sat on the stairs to the Kanab City Library. It was 8:45 a.m. and the library wasn’t open for another fifteen minutes. Maria had been up the rest of the night. At home, she’d sent requests to the state attorney’s office for help in tracking down the unlisted phone numbers on Mayor Hayward’s phone records. Especially that last number. It was too big of a job for her sparse staff to attempt, and the attorney general had told Maria they owed her a favor.

  To Maria, that last phone call held the key to the mayor’s last hour he was alive. And for most murder victims, that last hour was of utmost importance in solving the case.

  “You’re here bright and early,” said Sue Tuttle, who was walking up the sidewalk toward the library. One thing that Maria loved about Kanab is that it was so easy to walk to work. That was a far cry from how things were at her police job in Pittsburgh.

  “I came to see how my temporary detective was doing.” Maria stood up, dusting off the back of her tan police pants.

  “Quite well, actually,” Sue replied. “I was going to call you today.”

  “You got my message about how my interview went with Cal Emerson?” asked Maria.

  “Y
es. And I did find some additional dirt on him. Do you want it to send to the attorney general?” Sue unlocked the front door to the library and ushered Maria inside.

  “Absolutely. They told me to send along anything relevant to the case. I figured you’d find more than their investigators.”

  Sue beamed. “You are too kind.”

  Maria helped her grandmother’s dear friend turn on the lights to the library and do a quick sweep of the aisles. It was an older building, from the seventies, but spotlessly clean.

  “Come with me to my office,” said Sue. “I’ll show you what I’ve found.”

  Maria followed Sue into a corner room. It was the only area in the entire place that was slightly disorganized. On a table there were stacks of old books in need of repair. Sue rarely got rid of books that she could salvage.

  Sitting down at her chair, Sue opened a locked filing cabinet and slipped on her reading glasses that dangled from a cord around her neck. “As you’ve already ascertained, state political records, agenda minutes and things, showed multiple instances of unusual activity between the mayor and Cal Emerson. In addition to that, my sources in Vegas confirmed rumors around town that Mayor Hayward was deeply in debt.”

  “Your sources in Vegas?” Maria’s eyes widened.

  “I’m part of several library guilds. You don’t think I do this sort of thing all on my own, do you? We all band together when anyone has a need.”

  “Oh, gotcha.” Maria smiled at the thought of hundreds of other Sue Tuttle look-alikes scouring libraries nationwide for the most minute, random piece of information.

  “What surprised me the most, however, was something I found in my own little old library.” Sue looked over Maria’s shoulder, checking to see if the door was closed.

  “What was that?” asked Maria. She scooted forward in her seat.

  “See for yourself.” Sue slid a printout toward Maria.

  It was a record of patron usage of various library resources. Some were newspapers, others political magazines. In addition, there was a record of usage of special online state databases accessible only through a computer at a public office, such as a library. In each case, it was the same patron who used the material—Whitney Thatcher.