by Dana Davis
Bridgette followed and sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed, crossing her long legs. In her designer jeans, boots, blouse, and long red locks cascading over one shoulder, she looked like a model. Or maybe a former model, since she was two years older than Daisy, but still gorgeous. “I told her a hitchhiker mistook him for a mortal and he got scared and ran off. And since I don’t even know the whole story, it’s not completely a lie. You won’t even tell me what the hell happened last night, so how the hell can I tell anyone else?”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Daisy rustled through her shoe rack to find her brown ankle boots. Comfortable, yet stylish.
Bridgette’s hand gave a dismissive wave. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not your fault. I’m just feeling left out. My telepathy doesn’t work on those medium secrets you have now.”
“I figured as much.” She turned to her cousin and leaned against the door frame to slip on her boots. “I’d tell you if I could. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I know that.” Bridgette smirked. “I’d wrestle it out of you, if I thought it would work.”
Daisy chuckled and stepped to her dresser. She opened a drawer and took out the petroglyph rock. With one finger, she traced the ancient swirl design carved into one side of it. Part of her hoped to feel something, anything, while touching it, but it was just a rock with a symbol on it. Nothing more. I hope you lead me to the answers I need. She stuffed it into her jeans’ pocket.
Out of habit, she looked up at the dresser mirror to check her clothes, but the blue sheet covered it and she gave a quiet sigh. Damn ghosts. She turned to her cousin, who had those green eyes on her like a mother who could no longer protect her grown child. “Everything in place? Good. Now where did I put my purse?”
Bridgette cocked her head toward the door. “On the dining table.”
“Oh, right. Okay, let’s go.” She patted her bulging pocket as she followed Bridgette down the hall. Please, universe, help me find some answers.
* * * *
With the freeway traffic light today, the drive to the Native Southwest Museum took less than forty minutes. Since Daisy was the one who’d started this whole thing, she insisted on paying the entrance fee for Bridgette and Scarlet. Neither argued, thankfully.
“Is Paul Manny in today?” Daisy said to the white-haired woman at check-in.
The woman chuckled as she handed Daisy three paper bracelets. “He’d live here if he could. He’s in the workshop. Would you like me to call for him?”
“No thanks. We’ll find him.”
The woman frowned. “I’m sorry but only employees are allowed in the workshop.”
Oh, right. Little did this woman know Daisy, Noah and Bridgette had gone through that employee-only area the night they glamoured themselves into coeds and broke in to steel the Kachina. “Okay, well, we’ll stop back by here in a few minutes. We want to look at the petroglyphs first.”
The woman offered a toothy smile this time and handed over three pamphlets. “Just out that door behind me.”
Daisy thanked the woman, then gave Bridgette and Scarlet each a bracelet and pamphlet. She hiked her purse up higher on her shoulder and led them out the glass door to the petroglyph garden. According to the pamphlet there were real, as well as replicated, ancient rock carvings from all over Arizona in this garden.
Someday maybe I’ll get to come here and look at the exhibits without an ulterior motive. As many times as she’d been here, she still hadn’t seen the museum in its entirety. They passed a family with several children in tow, the kids giggling with excitement.
The only other people in the garden just now were two elderly couples with New York accents, obviously together. After the couples walked farther down the trail, Daisy took the rock from her pocket. She traced the spiral with her thumb as she scanned the displays, looking for the same symbol.
It didn’t take long to find similar carvings, but the information about this symbol was sketchy at best and there were several interpretations. Well, hell. Even archaeologists can’t seem agree on what it means. She tried her best to push down frustration but had little luck with that too. “Damnit. This doesn’t tell us anything. Why couldn’t that spirit have just told me what to do?” Scarlet shrugged. “You’re a big help.”
“Maybe there are more over there.” Bridgette pointed a long arm to where the elderly couples now stood taking photos of desert plant life they obviously didn’t have in their native state.
“Hi, Ladies. Enjoying our exhibits today?”
Daisy shoved the rock into her pocket and forced a smile as she turned to a man with graying brown hair. His badge identified him as a docent. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”
“Wonderful. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them.” He smoothed his hair and offered a smile similar to the one the lady at the desk had given them.
They must practice that. Bridgette covered a chuckle with a cough, obviously listening in now, and Daisy shot her a discreet look. Can’t hurt to ask, right? She didn’t wait to see if her cousin responded before turning back to the man. “Well, I do have one question.” His smile brightened. Guess he doesn’t get to chat with patrons that often. “Is there any other information on this symbol?” She pointed to the spiral on one of the rocks displayed safely behind a short metal fence. A nearby sign informed viewers not to touch.
The man studied the spiral petroglyph and proudly regurgitated the information on the accompanying display plaque. Water. Solstice. Directions. Migration. All guesses. No one knew for certain.
Well, that’s a great big fat bowl of useless help. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Enjoy your visit.” The man gave a brief nod then meandered toward the elderly couples, who laughed as they posed for more photos.
Daisy turned to Bridgette and Scarlet. “Let’s find Paul. Maybe he knows something.”
They went back inside the museum and straight to the front desk.
The woman called Paul as the three of them waited. “Okay, I sure will, Mr. Manny.” She hung up. “If you go around that staircase and into the next display room, he’ll meet you there.”
Daisy smiled, hoping Paul could help her. “Thank you.”
The three of them walked around the cement staircase and into the carpeted area where the ancient Kachina had once been displayed. Paul had removed the fake one Bridgette had put in its place when Rebecca became suspicious. Now, a black and white decorated Pima basket sat in its spot behind the locked glass door.
Daisy sighed. I still have to find him a replacement. Though she was beginning to doubt she ever would. I’ve looked online and sent emails to everyone I know. And a few I don’t know.
A small group of what looked to be volunteers was putting up a new display against the far wall. Daisy didn’t know any of them. An eager young woman, probably a college student, adjusted a Native dress with beaded fringe on a headless mannequin, oblivious to the horrors Daisy had witnessed these past few months.
Before she could dwell on those thoughts, Paul sauntered around the corner. As usual, he wore a plaid shirt and overalls with paint stains on them. A photo ID badge dangled from one pocket.
For some reason he always made Daisy smile. “Hi, Paul. Thanks for seeing us.”
He grinned, laugh lines deepening around his eyes and mouth, and dusted his hands on his overalls. “Daisy. Bridgette. I didn’t know you were coming. Was I supposed to know you were coming?”
Daisy had always liked those laugh lines. This man always seemed to be in a jovial mood, unlike the stereotyped Indians in old westerns who often frowned. Or worse, were hideously portrayed by white people. From his slender nose and caramel-colored skin, he obviously had other bloodlines besides Pima Indian. Hispanic or white, perhaps. She had never asked him about it. He’d been raised and educated off the reservation. That much she knew. And he now managed this museum, owned and operated by his tribe.
She took his hand and he pulled her in for a Hollywood-type peck on
the cheek. A surprise, since it was the first time he’d been so intimate with his greetings. He did the same to Bridgette then studied Scarlet a moment.
“Oh,” Daisy said as she pulled her purse strap up. “Paul, this is Scarlet. My cousin-in-law.” Well, ex cousin-in-law, but he didn’t need to know all the details of her familial drama. Family seemed important to Paul and she wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible, in case he had information.
He shook the medium’s hand. “Nice to meet you. So, what can I do for you, Daisy? I don’t have any more information on Becky Miller if that’s what you’re after. I’m sorry. She hasn’t even come in for her last paycheck.” He chuckled and shrugged. “We’re still using paper. A little behind the times on that, I know. But I have to chop the budget somewhere.”
“Thanks, but we actually came by for another reason.”
He read her solemn look and motioned them to follow him away from the tiny crew working on the display.
She pulled the rock from her pocket and offered it to him. “I found this. Well, that’s not exactly true. It was given to me. It means something but I don’t know what. Thought maybe you might have an idea.”
He took the rock and studied it a moment. “It’s a spiral petroglyph.”
“Really, Paul? ‘Cause I couldn’t get that info on the internet.”
“What?” He chuckled. “Right. Sorry. Did you check out our petroglyph garden?”
Bridgette crossed her arms. “That wasn’t much help, either.”
Paul eyed the tall redhead with a slight smile. “That’s because this symbol predates writing, so we don’t know much about it. The Hohokam and Anasazi used it, as well as many others. This rock looks extremely old. Where’d you get it, Daisy?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He raised a brow and something in his eyes said that he just might. After all, Paul was a paranormal and, like a lot of Natives, had strong ties to his ancestry. Then he winced. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“Paul! Just because we had to borrow that – you know – without permission, doesn’t mean we’re thieves. This was given to me. By a very special – person.”
“I see.” Though she doubted very much that he could even guess where it had come from. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t been there. He studied the rock in his hand with deep concentration and pursed his lips.
Movement caught Daisy’s corner vision and she saw a middle-aged woman move past a nearby display case. The woman had a black line around her body, like someone had outlined her with a magic marker. Oh, come on. At a museum? Really? “Did someone die here?”
Paul pulled his head up with what looked like the effort of a man absorbed in his work. “Sorry, what?”
“Never mind. It’s imperative I find out what this symbol means.” She placed a brief hand on his arm and widened her eyes in a comical manner. “Fess up, Paul. It’s from aliens, isn’t it?”
He laughed as he handed the rock back to her. “Depends on who you ask. Try wrapping foil on your head and go back into the petroglyph garden. Maybe they’ll communicate with you. Or you could always find a crop circle. Stand in the middle and wait for a ship.”
She huffed. “I would if it’d get me the answers I need.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That important, huh? Okay, well, I’ve got a map of where some of the local spirals were found. Some are still in their original places. As long as vandals haven’t destroyed them.”
“Vandals? Is that a problem?”
“Not here, but in the parks. Kids mostly. Probably drunk. Or just stupid. Some go into the state parks and carve or spray paint over precious artifacts.”
Scarlet made a sound of disgust, exactly the way Daisy felt about it, as they followed Paul across a carpeted area. “Isn’t that against the law?” the medium said.
“Of course. But they have to get caught to get prosecuted. And anyone can get in if they pay the fees.”
They followed Paul Manny through the children’s area, where two toddlers had their hands in a display of sand, looking for “artifacts”. The mothers chatted nearby. One kid picked his nose and stuck his hand back into the sand.
Remind me not to let my future kids near that display. Bridgette let out a small chuckle. I knew you were still eavesdropping, Bridge.
They left the children’s area and headed down a concrete hallway that led to the workshop and offices. Paul’s tiny office had just enough room for the four of them, what with the computer table, shelf unit, and boxes filling the space. The last time Daisy had been in here, he’d had numerous boxes stacked against one wall. Now, a few still tilted precariously against one another, but what caught her gaze were bones that lay scattered on the metal shelf unit.
“Are those real?” Scarlet said, voicing Daisy’s thoughts.
“What? No. Just replicas. They look real, don’t they? Big Bertha’s on loan from ASU.”
Daisy’s brows climbed. “Big Bertha?”
Paul chuckled as he rummaged through one of the boxes. “The mammoth. That’s what my volunteers call her. I was moving the rest of her into the workshop when Irene told me you were here. Now, where are you? I know you’re here somewhere?” Paul often talked to himself so Daisy let him chatter on without interruption.
Scarlet must have understood because she said nothing, just studied the man like a scientist with an interesting specimen. Bridgette watched Paul with a smirk on her lips. Daisy had expected the maps to be on a computer, but she held her tongue as he rummaged through yet another box.
“Ah, here you are.” He plucked a white, spiral notebook from a box, put it on the table that held the computer, and unfolded a map from inside. “These blue dots are where the known petroglyphs are located in the Phoenix area. These black lines show you what the petroglyphs look like.”
Daisy leaned over the map and saw that several of the black lines led to the top of the page and right to the spiral image. She pointed. “The McDowell Mountains.”
“Yes. You live near there, don’t you?”
She nodded as she studied the other blue dots. “Do you have a digital version of this?”
“No. We don’t have everything scanned into the computer yet.”
“Can I take a picture of it?”
“Well, this map is for museum use only.”
“Paul.” She offered her best “You’ve got to be kidding” look.
“Oh, all right. Just don’t show it to anyone if you don’t absolutely need to.”
“Thanks.” She took out her phone and snapped a few photos of the map. “I owe you. Again.”
“You could donate that rock to the museum. That would pay down your debt a bit.” He smiled and gave her an eager grin.
“Maybe I will. After I’m done with it. Anything else you can tell me about this symbol?”
He eyed her and shoved his hands in the pockets of his overalls. “Why don’t you just tell me how you got your hands on such an ancient rock? Then I might be of more help.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at Bridgette, who shrugged. She looked at Scarlet but the medium didn’t offer an opinion. Some help you two are. Thanks a bunch. “A Hohokam gave it to me.”
Paul shook his head. “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me—”
“No, I’m serious. A spirit guide gave it to me up in the McDowell Mountains near my house. A Hohokam spirit.”
The man in front of her paled and said something in what she suspected was his native language. Definitely wasn’t Spanish. Pima Indians claimed to be descendants of the Hohokam, which was part of the reason she came to him about the symbol. That, and he was the only paranormal contact she had at a museum.
Not used to seeing him so shaken, she narrowed eyes on him. “You okay?”
He swallowed and licked his lips. “I always knew you were a special person, Daisy. But I never thought you’d be this special.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
“Y
ou’re a witch. You keep genealogical records, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, what do you know about your bloodlines? Where they originate.”
“Celts mostly. Ireland and Scotland. A few British and Welsh ancestors mixed in.”
“That all?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, why?”
“You sure?”
She crossed her arms, her purse swaying from her elbow now. “I oughta know my own ancestry, Paul. What’re you getting at?”
“Well, my family has a legend about spirit guides. And a Hohokam spirit doesn’t visit those outside the family line.”
“So, you’re saying I have some Indian blood in me? Pima? That’s impossible. I have information on all my family lines. They all came here from Europe.”
“You’re positive. Not even by marriage? I mean your family’s been in Arizona a few generations, right?”
“Paul, when I say that I have information on all the family lines, I mean all of them. Every marriage, every baby, even how many times they coughed.” Not really on that last part, but a witch’s family tree would make even the most ardent mortal genealogist green with envy. She didn’t tell him about Zoey’s line and that, until very recently, she knew nothing of the powers on that side. But they’re not related to me so it doesn’t matter.
“All right, Daisy. I believe you. But that makes it even more incredible that a Hohokam spirit guide would visit you.”
“You mean me being a whitey and all.” That got a chuckle from him. “Well, a lot of strange things have happened to me lately.”
“Yeah, I gathered that.” Paul turned his gaze on Scarlet. “You sure it wasn’t meant for you?”
The medium shook her head. “No. My Native line goes back to the Aztecs in Mexico. And I was there when this spirit showed himself. He was definitely here for Daisy.”
Daisy turned back to the man. “What about you, Paul? I mean you’re Pima ancestors go back to the Hohokam. Maybe this guide wanted to get a message to you and I just happened to be a handy courier.”
