by David Wood
“Bad day?” Maddock asked.
“No more than any other day,” she said, finally meeting his eye. “We’re a small department, so during business hours, the officers take turns playing receptionist.” She glanced at the time on her computer screen. “But it’s almost quitting time and my paperwork is finished. Except, of course, for processing your report. Let’s see what we have.” She picked up the clipboard and began to read. “I’m sorry to say we almost certainly won’t recover your property. The only pawn shops are...” She froze in mid-sentence.
“It’s not a property crime,” Maddock said.
Franzen slowly raised her head and glowered at them. “Is this a joke?”
“Absolutely not,” Bones said. “And we’ve got the proof.”
Maddock handed over the pistol, knife, magazines, and water bottle they’d taken off Reggie.
“You brought a concealed weapon in here?” Franzen sprang to her feet, upending her chair and knocking her coffee to the floor. Maddock was amused to see she was wearing a battered pair of red cowboy boots. “Dammit!”
Maddock was losing patience. “Officer, I get that you’re bored out of your skull sitting at that desk, but on the scale of bad days, I really think ours trumps yours. Respectfully,” he added.
Franzen clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and blinked twice. “Fair enough,” she said, relaxing a little. “But the first thing out of your mouth when you arrived should have been that you had a weapon in the bag.”
“Understood,” Maddock said.
“Let’s start over.” Franzen held out a hand and they shook. “I’m Janet Franzen but friends call me Turtle.”
“I’m Maddock, this is Uriah, but everyone calls him Bones.”
Franzen shook hands with Bones. “I definitely prefer Bones to Uriah. Fewer syllables.”
“Me too,” Bones said.
After the spilled coffee was cleaned up, they sat down around the front table and recounted the incident. Maddock and Bones described their journey through the caverns. Franzen’s brow furrowed deeply when they mentioned the booby trap. Once they’d finally answered all her questions, she went into a back room and returned with a topographical map and a mechanical pencil.
“Can you show me where this happened?”
Maddock made a small circle at the spot where they’d climbed out of the canyon and drew a small arrow to show the direction in which Reggie had run.
“Probably drug related,” Franzen said.
“A drug deal out in the desert?” Bones asked.
She shook her head. “Not an individual transaction. We’re probably talking about drugs being trafficked up from Mexico. We’re far enough from the border that they feel safe lying low here. And as you observed, this area is filled with canyons and caverns that make perfect hideouts. A lot of places can’t be spotted from the air. It’s a losing battle for us, I’m afraid.”
Maddock nodded. “We understand. Just wanted to turn in these items. Maybe they’ll be helpful.”
“Maybe,” Franzen said, doubtfully. “The gun’s probably stolen, but maybe we can get some prints off of it or the water bottle.” Her expression grew serious.
“Even if we find and arrest this guy, the two of you would be asked to testify. If he’s affiliated with a major drug gang, that could be dangerous.”
“That doesn’t frighten us,” Bones said.
Franzen took a long look at each man in turn, as if truly seeing them for the first time. “No, I imagine it doesn’t.”
They thanked her for her time and stood to leave when Maddock remembered something.
“Oh! One more thing.” He reached into his pocket and took out a folded tissue. “When we were wandering through the caverns, we found this necklace. I know it’s a long shot, but we thought we should turn it in. The charm is finely crafted. Maybe someone’s missing it?” He unfolded the tissue to reveal the thin gold chain and unicorn charm.
Franzen snatched the tissue-wrapped necklace from Maddock’s hands and gaped at it. She recovered herself almost immediately.
“That was rude of me. Sorry, it’s just been quite a day. Thanks for turning this in. If we meet again, I promise I won’t be quite so... abrupt.”
“That was weird,” Bones said when they were back inside the car.
“No kidding. It was obvious that necklace meant something to her. Like she’d seen it before.”
“You think she’s hiding something?” Bones asked.
“Hiding something or looking for something.”
Chapter 11
Dining at Lord Fletcher’s was like entering a time capsule. The iconic Rancho Mi- rage dining spot, which had long been a celebrity favorite, was decorated in the style of a cozy English pub, and was heavy with dark wood and gentle lighting. The original owner, an Englishman by birth, sought to capture the warmth of the dining room of an English inn, and Maddock thought the man had succeeded, from the architecture to the decor. A cheery fire burned in the fireplace. Horse brass, brass plaques used to decorate the harnesses of shire and parade horses, hung from posts. Copper pots hung from ceiling beams and historical artwork adorned the walls.
“This place is fantastic,” Maddock said. Grizzly and Riv had insisted on bringing them here, calling it essential Palm Springs nostalgia. Bones had begged off at the last minute with an upset stomach but had taken the liberty of lining up
Spenser to take his place. Now, Grizzly kept calling it a “double date.”
“Palm Springs nostalgia at its finest,” Riv said.
“True. You can’t have an authentic desert experience without it,” Grizzly said.
“This was a favorite haunt of Frank Sinatra’s for thirty years. Lots of other celebrities, too. That’s Frank’s favorite table right there.” He pointed to a table above which hung a portrait of the famed crooner.
“Frank gave them that portrait,” Spenser added.
“What is up with those things?” Maddock asked, pointing to the row of ceramic mugs that lined the mantle above the fireplace.
“Those are Toby mugs,” Spenser said, “or Toby jugs. They come in two forms: a tipsy looking seated person, or just the head of a recognizable person. They sometimes play games of ‘Who’s mug is on that Toby mug?’ here.”
They sat in the Shakespearean room, which boasted a beautiful stained-glass window along with fine china and two-hundred-year-old prints of scenes from Shakespeare’s plays.
While they waited for their drinks, Spenser explained that, prior to opening the restaurant, the original owner had spent six months traveling the English countryside procuring the furnishings and decorations. Since then, everything had remained the same.
“Walk in here in 1966 and it would look just the same,” Spenser said. “We could be sitting here fifty years ago, and Bob Hope might walk in, or Steve McQueen, Lucille Ball, or even Sinatra.”
“I can almost believe that any minute, Old Blue Eyes is going to walk through that door and order a brandy ice,” Grizzly said.
“Bones is going to regret missing out on this,” Maddock said.
They all ordered the “King’s Cut” of Lord Fletcher’s famous prime rib. Maddock had expressed surprise at Spenser’s order.
“I thought you were a vegetarian.”
“Why would you think that?” She closed her menu and handed it back to the server without taking her eyes off Maddock. Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink.
“Sorry, I thought I remembered you saying that.”
“I didn’t.”
She proceeded to fill Grizzly and Riv in on the details of the day’s events. She didn’t sound or appear upset, but every time Maddock tried to interject, she raised her voice and kept talking. He gave up after three tries.
“This iron door,” Riv said, “is it on our property?” She took out her phone, called up a satellite image of the ranch, and zoomed in. “Can you show me where it is?”
With Grizzly’s help, they traced the racecourse until they r
eached the spot where they’d had the encounter with Shipman. At this point, Spenser finally relented and let Maddock mark the remainder of the route and pinpoint the spot where the rockfall hid the secret door.
Grizzly smiled and banged his fist on the table. “That’s totally on our land! And you say there’s a dungeon there?” His smile stretched from ear to ear as Spenser showed him the photos of the rock pile, door, and dungeon area. “The viewers are going to love this. If we weave in the story of the Mojave Monster, we can make an entire episode just out of this.”
“I’m taking notes,” Riv said as she worked at her tablet, “so we can circle back to this when it fits our calendar.”
Grizzly nodded and beckoned for Spenser to continue the story. His headbobbed like a cork on choppy water as he drank in the details.
“These caverns have got to hide the secret to the lost mine!” he proclaimed.
“Bones and I discussed that earlier,” Maddock said. “If it’s true, then we have to throw out the old legend and start over from scratch.”
“What if there really is a mine underneath an arch somewhere in the area?”
Spenser began, “and one of the passageways leads to it?”
“I love that idea,” Grizzly said. “Write that down, Riv.”
“Way ahead of you, as always,” she said with a touch of affection.
“With that as our premise, we can explore the entire cavern system, map it out.
There’s so much potential there.”
Their meals arrived and they continued their conversation around bites of tender prime rib, Yorkshire pudding, and creamed spinach.
They went on to describe the booby trap, the encounter with Reggie, and their narrow escape. The news gave Riv concern, but Grizzly only laughed. “That’s just another day at the office for Maddock. The man is bulletproof.”
Maddock grinned. “Hardly. And I’ve got the scars to prove it.”
Spenser cast him a sideways glance. “It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.”
“Back to the subject at hand,” Riv said. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s a great deal of potential here. Is there anything else you found? Unusual?
Interesting?”
Spenser frowned. “There was the necklace.” She described the discovery.
“Probably just lost by some random hiker,” Grizzly said.
“Maybe,” Riv said, “but we might be able to get an episode out of it.” She frowned and tapped her pursed lips with her stylus. “About ten years ago, a local woman named Megan Keane disappeared. She was a few years ahead of me in school, but I remember it well. Her body was never found but her car was discovered abandoned in the desert not far from the spot where you three found your way out of the caverns.”
“That’s an awfully thin connection,” Grizzly said.
“Of course it is. We’d have to be careful how we presented it, but what if she was searching for the lost mine and Shipman killed her?”
“I think we should slow down.” Maddock held up his hands. “Shipman has gone from annoying neighbor to murderer awfully fast, don’t you think?”
“He locked us in the caverns to die,” Spenser said. “It had to be him. Why else would he have been guarding that path during the race?”
“I’m not saying it wasn’t him,” Maddock admitted. “I’m only pointing out that we literally have no evidence against him. We can’t even prove it was he who locked us in.”
“More layers to the mystery,” Grizzly said. “I love everything about it. We need to start digging for local legends that could tie into these caverns. Let’s set the Arch Mine aside and broaden our search. Any mystery will do as long as there’s a plausible connection.”
“Define plausible,” Spenser said.
“Any connection will do, no matter how thin.” He thought for a moment. “I think we should look into the case of the missing girl, too. Just in case there’s something there.”
“Tread carefully,” Riv cautioned. “Her parents still live in the area.”
“It occurs to me that Striker is a significant figure in all this,” Maddock said.
“He’s the one who initially bought this land because he believed something valuable was hidden here. He was the first to report men in black in the area, and then decades later we encounter someone dressed the same way.”
Grizzly nodded. “He’s also the initial source of the ghost and UFO legends on the ranch.”
Maddock took a bite of prime rib and chewed slowly, turned the situation over in his mind. “There’s something odd about Striker’s behavior.”
“Something? As in singular?” Riv asked.
“I mean aside from the obvious. If he thought the Arch Gold Mine was somewhere in the area, why let that slip? And why go around telling wild stories that only serve to draw attention to you? If he believed there was gold on his property, wouldn’t he go about his business as quietly as possible?”
“Maybe he was crazy,” Spenser said.
“Maybe, but we also know he was a successful author and screenwriter—a professional storyteller. What if the Striker the locals thought they knew was just a character of Striker’s own creation? A mask he wore to hide some deeper secret?”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group.
“What kind of secret?” Spenser asked.
“That,” Maddock said, “is something I think we need to investigate.”
Chapter 12
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Evening shadows hung low over the valley. The last rays of the setting sun painted the mountains in shades of purple. The desert heat was fast giving way to a cool night. Terry Gold paused to scan the horizon.
“Over there,” he pointed. “That’s where we’ll set up camp.”
The spot he’d chosen was no better or worse than the ground upon which they currently stood, but his crew didn’t know that, and neither would the viewers who would someday watch this. He was, in fact, an experienced outdoorsman. When not touring, he spent most of his free time hunting, fishing, camping, and even dabbling in a little treasure hunting. It was the treasure hunting that had led to this contest.
He’d been thrilled when his friend had come across tantalizing clues that pointed to the Lost Arch Gold Mine being real. What was more, the clues pointed to its location being in a very different place than where the legends said it was. It was then, during a bout of gold fever, that inspiration had struck. A treasure hunting contest between himself and his longtime nemesis. It was an opportunity to expose Segar for a phony, as well as guaranteed income whether they found treasure or not.
“I’m going to go find dinner,” he said to no one in particular.
“We’ve got hot dogs in case you don’t kill anything,” a young man with shockingly red hair called out to him. Roddy Green was an up and coming actor. He was there to draw in younger viewers.
“Like that would ever happen,” Gold said. “And you don’t kill your prey, you take it.”
“I’m sure that’s a comfort to the dead animals.”
Muttering a curse under his breath, Gold hefted his rifle and strode out into the dying light.
Up ahead, he spotted a flicker of movement, and something large and furry sprang out from behind a cactus and dashed away. Jackrabbit. A big one, too. And where there was one, there might be more.
“Hold up! I’m coming with you.” Roddy came trotting up behind him, carrying a single-shot, bolt-action .22 rifle. It was the only weapon Terry trusted the young man to carry. Because, although Roddy had starred in war and action flicks, he was utterly clueless about weapons.
Gold gritted his teeth. He had hoped the young man would remain behind, along with the camera crew. Watching the actor pitch a tent made for hilarious television. Then again, this was day three of the contest and the joke was growing stale.
“Ace and Platt told me to bring the crew and join you,” Roddy said, glancing back at Ray and Becka, the brother-sister duo wh
o handled sound and audio. It was a small team, mobile, and more important, inexpensive.
“I’ll have a talk to them when we get back,” Gold said. Ace was his best friend, and Platt his son, and both had a mean-spirited sense of humor.
“I thought you had a problem with hunting.”
“No, I was just roasting you. So, what are we hunting for?” Roddy asked.
“Peace and quiet.”
“I understand,” Roddy said. That was apparently a lie, because he went on.
“Where do you think Segar is right now?”
“Hampton Inn. I hear they have free breakfast.”
Roddy laughed, then turned and gave the camera a thumbs-up. “That’s my partner.”
Somewhere out of sight, but very close by, a coyote let out a yip. Seconds later, its pack had joined in. To the untrained ear, the high-pitched yelps and yowls sounded unearthly, but they brought a smile to Gold’s face.
“Run wild and free, my brothers,” he whispered.
“Aren’t they dangerous?” Roddy asked.
“Sure, if you’re a domestic house cat. But you’re not a pussy cat, are you, Roddy?”
Roddy forced a laugh. “Well, I’m no Terry Gold, but hopefully I haven’t slowed you down too badly.”
Gold reached out and put his arm around the young actor. “Roddy, my friend, it would be impossible for you to slow me down.” He paused. “Because I will leave your ass behind in a heartbeat.”
Roddy gaped, blinked twice, then guffawed. “You are a trip.” He looked around.
“We need to do our end of the day talking head. How about over by that boulder pile?”
“Works for me.”
When they were positioned satisfactorily, the cameras rolled, and Gold leaped into character.
“All right, all right brothers,” he began, leering at the camera, “we’ve just wrapped up another day of exploration out here in the Mojave Desert. And we are closing in. I can feel it. Terry can smell gold!”
“It’s been another amazing day.” Roddy paused, frowned.
“What’s wrong?” asked Bert, the cameraman.
Gold heard it, too. Something behind them, moving closer in the darkness. He held up a finger to his lips then turned in the direction of the sound. Roddy raised his rifle, too, but Terry grabbed the barrel and pushed it down.
