Contest

by David Wood

  “Please don’t finish that sentence,” Riv said without looking up from her laptop.

  “Naughty boy got scolded by the teacher,” Spenser said softly.

  The back of Maddock’s neck felt suddenly hot. He gave a little jerk and sat up straight, jostling her in the process. “Sorry. Back cramp,” he invented.

  That was a mistake.

  “In that case, you should let me work on you.” She didn’t wait for him to agree.

  Moving as if made of liquid, Spenser slipped her body between Maddock and the wall against which he’d been leaning moments before. “I am the back-rub goddess.” She began gently kneading his trapezius muscle, working it with the tips of her fingers and thumbs. “I actually have a degree in kinesiology and I’m a licensed massage therapist. I figure I should have a career to fall back on in case the social media bubble ever bursts.”

  “I didn’t know that about you,” Maddock said.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, I keep it quiet. Things like getting an education and working for a living wouldn’t play well with a lot of our followers.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re selling a fantasy. Most of our subscribers can’t afford most of the places we visit or the products we market. We’re selling the fantasy of a carefree life of leisure. Got to give the consumers the product they’re after.”

  As she worked her knuckles down his erector spinae muscles, Maddock closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax and enjoy what was admittedly an excellent back rub. Grizzly and Bones were discussing legends of ghost sightings in the hills around the ranch.

  “How is it that you’re so smart but your brother drinks sewage water?” Maddock asked.

  “Believe it or not, he’s not dumb.” She lapsed into a few seconds of contemplative silence before elaborating. “Have you ever known someone who is ninety- nine percent amazing, but that other one percent is just mind-numbingly awful?”

  Maddock chuckled. “Just broke up with someone like that.”

  “Did she drink raw water?”

  “No, just screwed me over. Twice.” That was an understatement.

  “Twice? I hope there won’t be a third time. Now, stop thinking about your evil ex before you ruin your massage.”

  “That actually feels pretty amazing,” he admitted.

  “I know.” She paused, waited. “I just quoted Han Solo. Do you not like Star Wars?”

  “I do, but I’m more of an Indiana Jones guy,” he said as she resumed her work.

  “I love Indy!” She began kneading his shoulders with just the right amount of pressure. “I guess it fits since you’re a treasure hunter.”

  “Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory.”

  “I could have been your greatest adventure,” she purred.

  “Wait, what?”

  “I thought we were swapping quotes from the movies.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Speaking of treasure,” Grizzly interrupted, “did you know there’s a legendary treasure associated with this place?”

  “You said you had a long story to tell about the ranch,” Maddock said, trying to keep his mind off the warm feeling that was flowing over him as the knots in his back melted away under her studied attention.

  “It starts with a guy named Kirk Striker.”

  Maddock frowned. “I know that name. My dad used to read his adventure novels.”

  Grizzly nodded. “One and the same. Striker was an author and wannabe Hollywood player back in the 1940s. He made his living off his pulp adventure novels, but every bit of his spare time, and most of his money, was spent trying to cozy up to producers, directors, actors, anyone in the business. I don’t know if he was taken seriously or if they tolerated him because he always picked up the tab, but he kept at it for years until, in 1949, they finally made one of his books into a movie called Treasure Fever.

  “I guess Hollywood success wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, because he started making treks out into the desert. I guess he was on some kind of spiritual quest. Finally, he ended up here in these hills.”

  “Guided here by aliens who could speak inside his brain,” Riv said mockingly.

  Grizzly didn’t bite. “Three UFOs converged over a spot in the hills, and according to Striker, he understood the message they were sending him. That this was the site of the Lost Arch Gold Mine.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Bones said.

  “The legend goes something like this. In 1848 a pair of prospectors named Fish and Crocker were searching for water when they stumbled across a rich vein of gold directly beneath a natural arch formed in the basalt. With only a minimal amount of digging they managed to fill their pockets with heavy grains of gold. They couldn’t stay there, though, because they were dangerously low on water. They ended up traveling two days to the Colorado River. It was a harrowing journey, by all accounts, with different versions giving different details of the dangers they faced, but they all agree that Crocker died a few days after the pair reached the river. Without his partner, Fish never managed to find the arch again.”

  “And it’s supposed to be somewhere around here?” Bones asked.

  “Legend generally places it in the Turtle Mountains, northeast of here, but Striker must have had his reasons for believing it was here.”

  “He did, dear,” Riv said. “The aliens told him.”

  “I think he only said that so people wouldn’t take him seriously and start poking around out here. As far as anyone knows, he never found the mine, but he lived out the remainder of his life here. The older he got, the more paranoid he became.

  He claimed to hear the voices of the dead. According to him the men in black were regular visitors to the ranch, too.”

  “How did he support himself if he didn’t find gold?” Spenser asked.

  “He was a published author. I guess he lived off his royalties.”

  “That only happens in movies,” Riv said.

  Grizzly turned to her and replied in mock annoyance. “Remind me why I keep you around?”

  Riv turned her laptop so he could see the spreadsheet she was working on and held it out to him. “Here. Finish this for me.”

  Grizzly shook his head. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “And that is why you keep me around.” Riv returned to her work, but not before blowing him a kiss.

  “Dude, you have met your match,” Bones said.

  “It happens to all of us sooner or later,” Spenser chimed in, though so softly it could only have been meant for Maddock’s ears. The attention she’d paid him during the day hadn’t really merited any thought when he’d believed her to be a spoiled, vapid rich girl. Now, he was reassessing the entire situation and wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

  “Striker died in 1971 and that’s when things got spooky.” Grizzly flashed a warning glance at Riv before continuing. “People were naturally curious about the so-called UFO Ranch, so it became a popular spot for camping and exploration. But then others started hearing cries at night. Some of them encounter men in black, who warned them away from certain spots. Some even disappeared.”

  “But nobody found the gold mine?” Maddock asked.

  Grizzly shook his head. “And then, almost ten years later, Shipman appears out of nowhere and buys all the land that belonged to Striker. A kid, barely out of college.”

  “So, an adult,” Spenser said.

  Grizzly nodded. “But a few years younger than you. The point is, no one knows where he got the money. And then he’s seen tooling around town in an old Jaguar XK120.”

  “Trust fund kid?” Bones asked.

  “Not as far as anyone knows. But next thing you know, he’s quizzing all the old folks in the area about Striker. And not just about the mine. He wanted to know every little thing about him. The tiniest little details about his personality, his behavior. Strange stuff.”

  “Maybe he believed if he could understand Striker, it could aid him in his search for the
mine,” Maddock said.

  “Probably. It’s interesting that Shipman not only bought Striker’s land, but he also became an author. He writes murder mysteries about serial killers. I guess his books aren’t selling too wall anymore. He ended up selling a decent-sized chunk of his land to me.”

  Riv cleared her throat but did not call attention to her earlier comment about royalties.

  “Do you think that’s why he’s been poking around?” Spenser asked. “Maybe he’s found a new clue to the gold mine and he thinks it’s located on the land he sold to you.”

  Grizzly perked up. “I hadn’t even considered that.”

  Riv closed her laptop and let out a tired sigh. “You just had to get him going, didn’t you?”

  “A treasure hunting show, right here on our own property!” Grizzly’s eyes were alight. “No travel expenses. No red tape.”

  “I’d love to be involved,” Spenser said, Maddock’s back rub forgotten. “I’ve always wanted to produce travel adventure videos. Dakota was the one who steered us toward influencing.”

  “Perfect,” Grizzly said. “We could co-host.”

  Riv put a hand on his arm. “Don, dear, listen to me. What do we do with new ideas?”

  Grizzly rolled his eyes. “Write down every little detail so I don’t forget, then set it aside until I finish what I’m currently working on.”

  “I do think it’s a good idea,” Riv said, “and for exactly the reasons you say. But we haven’t even started filming the adventure race series. This is not a great time for you to dive into something new.”

  “We’re just brainstorming, Riv.” His grin said he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “Maddock and I could do a little scouting around,” Bones offered. “Look for clues. Let you know if we think it’s worth exploring. Down the road, when you have time,” he added hastily under the heat of Riv’s stare.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind us hanging around,” Maddock said. He knew what Bones was thinking. Even if there was no treasure, this area promised to be rife with challenging rock faces even for an experienced climber. Just their sort of vacation.

  “That’s a great idea,” Grizzly said. “You three can be my advance scouts!”

  “Three?” Maddock asked.

  “You and Bones know treasure hunting. Spenser knows production. It’s more efficient if she’s involved from the start.” Grizzly seemed to sense Maddock’s reluctance. “It’ll be fine. And if you guys don’t handle this for me, I’ll let it distract me. And then I’ll have her highness to answer to. Come on. This could be the project that takes me to the next level.”

  Maddock chuckled. Although he was a bit too full of himself and not always as fast on the uptake as the average person, the man had an undeniable charm. He was an eternal optimist who wasn’t afraid to dream big, and he delivered results with just enough frequency to make you believe the guy just might make it someday.

  “All right,” he said. “You’ve got yourself a scouting crew.”

  Chapter 6

  ––––––––

  The headquarters of Rockwell Industries sat in the middle of Bombay Beach, a virtual ghost town that had once been a thriving tourist destination. Located on the northwest shore of the Salton Sea, only a stone’s throw from Joshua Tree National Park, it was now only a mere echo of what it had once been. Salt encrusted hulks of old boats lay on sun-baked earth, well beyond the sea’s current shoreline. The remnants of years of fish kills lay in mass graves, their skeletal remains bleached in the sun. A journalist had once dubbed Bombay Beach “A Post-Apocalyptic Night- mare on the Salton Sea,” and Lilith couldn’t disagree with the assessment. She drove by abandoned houses, some covered in graffiti, others merely empty. Rockwell had ordered the most dilapidated and potentially dangerous ruins torn down and hauled away. Still, what remained looked like something out of the zombie apocalypse. The place even smelled like rotting flesh. To her left, a door frame was the only thing left standing in a spot once occupied by a local shop. Above the door, someone had painted the words Buried Alive in shades of green. The wall of another abandoned building boasted a painting of a bleached skull. And there were more oddities: a piano sitting out in the middle of nowhere, a school bus half-buried in the sand, a seaside building that had collapsed at an odd angle and had crumbled in such a way that it now resembled a shipwreck. In her time working for Rockwell, Lilith had largely grown immune to the town’s eccentric charm, if that’s what it could be called. Her boss, however, never ceased to marvel at the strangeness of the place. He liked to compare the town to a modern art exhibit and vowed to preserve its unique features even after he’d restored Salton to its former glory.

  Lilith parked her Smart car next to Rockwell’s Subaru wagon, then sat for a few seconds, steeling herself. When she was ready, she held her breath, cut the engine, and hurried into the office. Even with all her efforts, the sulfurous odor of the Salton Sea still managed to follow her inside.

  “God, this place is so gross,” she whispered, wiping her hands on her shirt as if she could brush away the foul air. She stopped when she heard Rockwell’s voice inside his office. He frequently arrived early for conference calls with people on the east coast or in Europe.

  Headquarters consisted of a front room, a back office, and a modestly appointed meeting room. Lilith hated sitting at what was obviously intended to be a receptionist’s desk. She was coordinator of the Salton Restoration Project, but all visitors ever saw was a young woman sitting at a desk outside her boss’s office. That sort of first impression was a challenge to overcome. She sat down heavily in her chair. Her eyes fell on the two framed photos on her desk: Amy Pohler as Leslie Knope, and Kate McKinnon as Hillary Clinton. Somehow, they always managed to make her smile.

  The door to Rockwell’s office opened and he poked his head out.

  “So, you did make it before nine. I thought you’d sleep in.”

  “I’m a professional, Orry. I don’t let pleasure interfere with business.” Ironically, they could have mixed business and pleasure any time they liked. No one ever dropped in at their office. They didn’t even need an office in order to conduct their business, nor did they need to live the area for that matter. But Rockwell had insisted it was essential they become part of the community here and placing headquarters here was an important step in building trust, both with the locals and with people whom he hoped to bring over to their cause.

  “Come on back whenever you’re ready. I made coffee.”

  “I’ve trained you well.” Lilith grabbed her tablet and briefcase and followed him.

  Rockwell’s office was simply furnished, with a desk, a work table, and a pair of comfortable chairs. His collection of framed motivational posters would have put Barney Stinson to shame.

  INNOVATION- Seeing what everyone has seen and thinking what nobody has thought.

  COMMUNICATION- The art of communication is the language of leadership.

  PERSPECTIVE- Distance has the same effect on the mind as on the eye.

  There were more. She could probably recite them all from memory, not that she wanted to. She thought, or at least she hoped, that Rockwell displayed them ironically. Or, maybe he believed the sort of power broker whose money or influence they craved would appreciate the simple aphorisms. Not wanting to know the answer, she had never asked. She had, however, added another poster of her own choosing to the collection a few weeks back. It depicted a pair of figure skaters crashing to the ice, with the caption: TEAMWORK- Ensuring that your hard work can always be ruined by someone else’s incompetence.

  Rockwell had never said a word about it. Nor had he taken it down. God, the man was an enigma.

  “Monday report,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  Lilith opened her tablet and consulted her meeting notes.

  “Nothing new on water rights. Water is gold and the powers that be are going to sell as much of it as they can to the highest bidder.”

  “San Diego,” Rockwe
ll mumbled.

  “We’re actually seeing growth on the real estate front. More than I expected. Congratulations on that.” One of Rockwell’s initiatives to spur growth in the area had been a program to provide affordable housing for struggling working-class people—those whom the government did not deem impoverished, but were being left behind economically. A second was to accept deposits on future luxury lots.

  The latter was doing surprisingly well. “The downside is, we’re getting pinged for our alleged lack of diversity, and I have to say the numbers are on their side. I’d like to evaluate the vetting process, see what’s going on.” “I’ll take care of it,” Rockwell said. “That’s a simple problem to correct. In the meantime, let it be known we’re reviewing our policies. Also emphasize the diversity of Bombay Beach, and that we’re excited to be part of expanding that community. Let’s also announce that we’ll be giving away a home to one of the families that currently live there.”

  “The margins are thin on the affordable housing side,” she said doubtfully.

  “We don’t have to build it any time soon. We’ll drag it out, make a big deal of it. When the time comes, if things are tight, we can move money around.”

  Lilith’s throat clenched; her heart raced. She took a breath and calmed herself.

  “Orry, I’d really like to be more hands-on with the real estate in general.” She could tell long before she finished what his answer would be. His eyes narrowed slightly, but that was enough of a tell.

  “There’s no need to duplicate efforts, nor for you to take time getting up to speed in an area that doesn’t require your oversight.”

  She understood his logic, but the rebuke stung. The housing projects were his babies and he was protective of them.

  “Fair enough. So, who is showing interest in the luxury lots? I didn’t expect it to happen so fast!”

  “A mishmash of people. No one you would have heard of. I can send you a list if you want it.”

  “That would be terrific.”

  “How about the race? Did we get any nibbles from the attendees?”