Skeletons Among Us: Legends of Treasure Book 2

by Lois D. Brown

  Casually, she turned her head to optimize the range of her peripheral vision. A ridiculously dressed tourist wearing sunglasses from the 1970s and an oversized ball cap was about twenty feet to her left. The fake shaggy hair that hung down from the man’s cap was an enormous giveaway. He seemed intent on her and Rod.

  Well, that hadn’t been hard.

  “Hey.” Maria grabbed Rod’s elbow and steered him sharply to the right down the feminine hygiene aisle.

  A moment later, the man, who strangely resembled Chevy Chase in the 80s movie National Lampoon’s Vacation, turned down the same aisle. He wasn’t even pushing a cart for pity’s sake. So obvious.

  “Pick up the pace,” Maria whispered into Rod’s ear. “We’re being followed by a weirdo.”

  Rod shifted into higher gear and his stride doubled in length. Maria had to practically skip to keep up with him.

  “Hold on, cowboy.” Maria tugged on the edge of Rod’s nicely fitted t-shirt. “Not quite that fast,” she added quietly.

  Rod slowed, his face a puzzle of confusion.

  “Behind us, nine o’clock,” said Maria out of the side of her mouth. “Check him out.”

  Three seconds later Rod had to cover up a whole-hearted chortle. Or maybe, in an attempt to stop himself from laughing, salvia had gone down the wrong pipe and he actually was gagging. Either way, the look of amusement on his face was genuine.

  “Wow,” he said, pounding on his chest of few times. “Someone needs new sunglasses.”

  Maria giggled. “And a hat.”

  Rod chortled again.

  “Let’s turn the tables on him. First we shake him and then we do the following,” said Maria.

  “I’m game. Do you want to drive or do you want me to?”

  Maria pushed the cart his direction. “It’s all yours, ‘Bo.’” She liked to call Rod that occasionally after she’d caught him watching reruns of the Dukes of Hazzard on Netflix. He swore he watched it for the cars, but Maria maintained he had a man-crush on John Schneider.

  Rod grabbed the handle of the cart, flipped the plastic rectangle down in the seat of the cart as if it were a sunshade, and revved the engine—metaphorically of course.

  A sharp turn, hugging an endcap stacked with paper towels, put them in the cleaning supply section where Rod pushed the pedal to the medal and increased his speed again. His power walking skills were impressive. Competition worthy, truly. Maria had to practically skip to keep up with him.

  Rod swerved to the left, cutting off an oncoming vehicle, and trail blazed it over a mound of broken down cardboard boxes discarded in front of a refrigerator bin full of yogurt. Passing traffic on his left and right, Rod expertly maneuvered his way through cans of soup, bags of pasta, and loaves of bread. At the end of the next row, he spun one hundred and eighty degrees, hid the cart behind a large back-to-school Doritos display, and waited for their pursuer to walk past them.

  Which the man did, clueless he’d changed from the hunter to the hunted.

  Leaving the cart parked by the “snacks and chips” aisle, Maria and Rod followed the ridiculously dressed man for about half the length of a long aisle. Eventually, the man slowed. Stopped. Then turned around.

  Maria and Rod were inches from his face. Maria “accidently” knocked the baseball cap with its attached fake hair off the man’s head and onto the tiled floor. “Oh,” she said, “sorry about that.”

  The store’s overhead fluorescent lights reflected off a well-polished bald head.

  The man shuffled back a step and motioned for Rod to follow. “Pssst,” he hissed. “It’s me.”

  Rod squinted at the man, practically choked, and then stammered. “P-professor L-lankin?”

  The man dropped the sunglasses down onto his nose and nodded. “Well, it’s Representative Lankin now, but yeah, it’s me.”

  On the drive down to Arizona, Rod had told Maria all about his favorite law professor who had quit teaching and entered politics. He was now a member of the Arizona state legislature and, apparently, a Walmart stalker.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Rod opened both arms wide and pulled his former-professor-turned-politician in for a hug.

  Slap. Slap. Slap. The men pounded each other on the back.

  “It’s so good to see you,” said Rod.

  “You too. You too,” said Rep. Lankin. “I spotted you and this incredibly beautiful woman,” he gestured to Maria, “in the store, but I wanted to make sure. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. You’ll have to excuse the outfit. I don’t like the press following me when I’m out on personal errands.”

  “You’re more than likely to be noticed in that get-up,” said Maria sternly, following up her comment with a more friendly, “Hello, by the way. I’m Rod’s friend, Maria.” She hadn’t meant to be rude. Sometimes things just came out of her mouth all wrong.

  “She’s ex-CIA,” said Rod in an attempt to explain Maria’s porcupine greeting, and then he continued chatting with his former professor.

  Ten minutes later, after Rod and Rep. Lankin had had the chance to catch up and Maria had retrieved the cart from the chip aisle, the friends parted ways with another back-slapping fest. They would see each other again in a few days during the overnight hike planned with Rod’s former ASU classmates. According to Rod, the hike was the representative’s idea.

  Standing in the long checkout line and watching Rod browse the messages on his phone, Maria realized the two of them had successfully navigated their first Walmart shopping trip. That was no small feat and a clear sign to Maria that Dr. Roberts was very wrong. She was not scared of intimacy. After all, what could be more intimate than walking down the feminine hygiene aisle in Walmart together? She reassured herself for the twentieth time that day that she was perfectly normal.

  Perfectly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Spaniards tried to explore the mountain on their own, their numbers were steadily decimated by mysterious disappearances. If one of them so much as strayed a few feet from his companions, he was never seen alive again. The few bodies of those that they recovered had had their heads cut off and carted away by someone or something … so Coronado dubbed it Monte Superstition, the origin of its infamous name.

  —“The Story of Superstition Mountain and the Lost Dutchman Gold Mine” by Robert Joseph Allen, Pocket Books (Simon and Schuster Inc.), 1971, page 4.

  DRIVING UP THE FOOTBALL-FIELD length driveway of Rod’s former law school classmate was like entering another world. Instead of being in Phoenix, Maria was positive she’d entered the world of Southern France with its quaint-sized chateaus. Granted, there was less grass than in La Loire. And what grass there was didn’t have that lush deep green that made it look soft enough to lie down and take a nap on.

  But the house was incredible. Marble steps. Ornate banisters. And turrets. Who built turrets in Phoenix? Really, who built them anywhere these days?

  “Uh, wow,” Maria said as Rod turned the ignition to off and set the parking brake.

  “I know,” answered Rod. “Total overkill. Brian always had a thing for money.”

  “Like he inherited a gazillion dollars thing?” Maria asked, all of a sudden feeling the need to check her lipstick and hair after the five-hour drive.

  “No, like he wished he’d inherited a gazillion dollars. He went into law for one reason—to get rich.”

  “Doesn’t everybody?” Maria responded. It was a low jab.

  “I didn’t.” Rod opened the driver side door. “Come on. Let’s go meet him.”

  A few minutes later both of them stood on the elaborate front porch. Rod rang the doorbell. Twenty seconds of Pachelbel’s Canon in D ensued. Maria fully expected a butler to greet them.

  The door swung inward revealing a tall, fair-skinned man with blond hair and long, flopping bangs. He had the arms and legs of a lanky teenager but the belly of a forty-year-old who had spent too much time in a bar. A petite woman with light brown beach wave curls stood behind him.


  “Brian!” Rod stepped into the door frame and wrapped his arms around his friend. Maria hadn’t realized what a hugger Rod was.

  “It’s great to see you,” said Brian, slapping Rod on his back.

  Yesterday, Rod had coached Maria on all of his old law school friends. She had taken the information and systematically created mini CIA profiles for each of them.

  Brian was the “playboy.” A probate attorney. On his third wife. No children. Traveled extensively. “D-student” who, apparently at some point, learned to apply himself.

  Rod didn’t know much about Amy, which gave Maria little to use for a profile of her. Hence Amy was the “Mystery Woman.” Brian’s former marriage counselor. Turned lover. Turned spouse (as of three months ago).

  The couple invited Rod and Maria inside. As they carried their luggage into the entryway, Brian told Rod at least ten times how great he looked, which was quite true, especially when compared to Brian.

  Surprisingly, Amy seemed rather down to earth, with a nice smile and gentle eyes. She sported basic jeans and a button blouse, off the rack.

  Thank heavens.

  Ever since seeing the house, Maria had been gearing up for Amy’s Barbie-doll physique and some hoity-toity fake persona.

  “It’s good to meet you, Maria.” Amy raised her hand and she and Maria shook.

  Excellent. No awkward hug. Maria liked her more and more.

  The four exchanged a few pleasantries about the drive, the weather, and the size of Brian’s estate before Amy, in a loud voice so everyone could hear, said, “We need to leave soon to make our dinner reservation.”

  Rod stretched. “Food sounds great,” he said. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to change before going out.”

  “Our guest rooms are on the second floor,” Brian said, grinning widely and flashing his neon white teeth. Maria hadn’t realized white could actually be neon.

  He continued. “We weren’t sure if you need one room or two so Amy—”

  “Rooms are perfect,” answered Rod, emphasizing the “s.”

  Maria blushed, which, she reassured herself, was not a sign of a fear of intimacy. It was a normal, awkward moment for any dating couple.

  “Great.” Brian brandished his arm toward the stairs. “Don’t take too long. We’re meeting everyone else at La Lena at six o’clock.”

  “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready,” said Rod. “How about you, Maria?”

  “I’ll be ready in five.”

  Rod and Maria each grabbed their own travel bag and made their way up the stairs to their rooms—with an “s.”

  ***

  Maria took another bite of the best guacamole she’d ever tasted. The chips, light and salty, made her mouth water. The salsa had a kick, but not too much. If the food was going to be this good, she might eat Mexican every day on this trip.

  “If no one else is going to ask you, then I might as well,” said Melissa, one of the four other people sitting at the restaurant table besides Maria, Rod, Brian, and Amy. “How long have you and Maria been together?”

  Maria mentally pulled up her CIA profile for Melissa Putram. Criminal lawyer. Witty. Intelligent. Confident. A devout vegetarian who only drew blood when she was in the courtroom. Happily married to the shy Jay Skunkard (of course she hadn’t taken that last name) who sat next to her and had hardly said more than ten words. If that wasn’t enough to show they were opposites, then their hairstyles were. Short blonde professional for her. Jet black and messy for him.

  Rod glanced at Maria for a moment before answering Melissa’s question. He knew from past experience she didn’t like this line of questioning. Maria squeezed his knee under the table letting him know she was fine.

  “We’ve been seeing each other a couple of months.” Rod scooped up a chunk of tomato smothered with salsa on a chip. “She takes pity on me and hangs around if I bribe her enough.”

  “You must pay her a lot to deal with you,” joked Melissa, who then gave Maria a welcoming smile. “I think she’ll fit in with the gang fine.”

  The “gang” was made up of Rod’s old law school cronies from ASU. The five of them had been inseparable during their three years of grad school. At the time they’d all been single and carefree.

  “What do you do for work, Maria?” asked Tom Clark, the handsome man sitting across the table from her. He was a dead ringer for the actor Denzel Washington.

  Maria reminded herself of the profile she’d made for Tom. “Mr. Straight A.” Flirt. Silicon Valley transplant. Tech geek turned entrepreneur of some sort. Never married.

  “Well,” said Maria, never sure how much to divulge when it came to her job. “I’m the police chief of Kanab. I used to work for the federal government.”

  Rod chimed in. “If she tells you which department, she’ll have to kill you.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “My dad was in the CIA, too.”

  “CIA?” Rod’s eyes widened and a smirk spread across his face. “Did anyone say anything about the CIA?”

  Everyone laughed except for the quiet, tall redhead who sat diagonally across from Maria. He hadn’t cracked a smile all night. Granted, he hadn’t frowned either. His expression was monotone, which is exactly how Rod had described Derrick Madison.

  Derrick, “The Lumberjack.” Six feet, seven inches. Broad shouldered. Outdoor enthusiast. Environmental lawyer. Born and raised in Phoenix. His wife, Nicole, was home tending to their sick toddler. He had inherited Rod’s dog named Clyde after Rod had moved back to Kanab.

  “Have you all decided what you’d like to order?” The waitress had returned for a third time to take their orders while the former law school cronies took time to visit instead of deciding on what to eat.

  “Yes,” said Melissa, taking charge of the situation. “I’ll go with a chicken salad, without the chicken, please.”

  As everyone else ordered, Maria thought about what a strange bunch of eclectic people Rod’s old friends were. But in college, apparently, they’d clicked. Now, it didn’t seem like they generated the same energy. People change. She certainly wasn’t the same woman she’d been six years ago.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Tom asking her what she’d done in the CIA. He clearly wasn’t going to let the subject drop.

  “I was an analyst. Pretty boring stuff, really. I’ve seen more action since I moved to Kanab than I ever did in the CIA.” A lie, of course.

  “Hey, that’s right,” said Brian, who was on his second Tequila. “Rod told me a little about the mayor getting murdered by the local journalist. Crazy stuff.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You know, Rod. Out of all of us, I still can’t believe that you became the small town lawyer. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t need to earn money. Small town wages are fine when you’ve got plenty in the bank.”

  Plenty in the bank? Maria looked at Rod. What did Brian mean by that?

  Rod dodged Maria’s stare and shrugged. “I’m a simple man, Brian. No turrets for me, thanks.”

  Everyone but Derrick laughed.

  “Sounds like you’ve seen Brian’s mansion, then,” said Tom, grinning.

  “Yep,” answered Rod. “I’m afraid I’m going to get lost in it while Maria and I are visiting.”

  For the next few minutes everyone teased Brian about the size of his Phoenix estate. Brian loved the attention. And the Tequila.

  Their food arrived and the night wore on. When the conversation went down memory lane at ASU, Maria would chat with Amy. Melissa’s husband, Jay, would check his email. At one point, however, the conversation got so loud that Maria and Amy both stopped what they were discussing to hear what was going on. Jay even looked up from his phone.

  “Of course Professor Lankin is coming with us to the Superstitions,” insisted Brian. “It was his idea in the first place.”

  “You mean Representative Lankin.” Melissa finished off the last bite of her chicken-less chicken salad. “He’s gone big time on us.”

  Rod held up hi
s glass. “A toast to our favorite professor turned politician.” The five of them toasted.

  Amy scooted closer to Maria. “One of their professors, named Ted Lankin, ran for state representative last year and won. Brian was so excited about it.” Amy’s voice was low. “He was more like one of the group than their professor. But I’m—”

  “We bumped into him at Walmart before going to your house. Interesting guy.” Maria appreciated Amy’s attempts to include her.

  “When we are in the Superstition Mountains in a few days, we should take a poke around for the famous Dutchman’s gold mine,” said Melissa to the group. “Professor Lankin told me once he had a map that showed exactly where the treasure was.” She laughed, “He was always making up stories.”

  “I’m in,” announced Brian. “I could use a treasure. My house payment is plenty big.”

  “That’s not what I heard.” Tom folded up the napkin in his lap. “I hear you paid cash for the place.”

  “Honestly,” said Melissa, crunching a tortilla chip, “I refuse to go hiking with you men if you have to argue the whole time about who makes the most money. I pretty much double all of your salaries. So there. I’m boss. Now let’s talk about other stuff. What do we need for the trip? Who all is going? Jay, are you going to be able to come?”

  Melissa’s husband shook his head. Amy added that she too wouldn’t be able to go. After a bit of discussion, it was settled. Professor Lankin, Derrick, Brian, Tom, Melissa, Rod and Maria would be spending Friday night in the Superstitions with more hiking the next day until dinnertime.

  “Here’s to finding the gold,” slurred Brian, downing his … well … who knew what number Tequila. Maria wondered how the guy was still sitting upright, though she did notice he leaned heavily into the window behind him.

  “Guess I’ll be driving home,” said Amy with a forced half-smile.

  Melissa lifted her hand to the waitress who walked by and asked, “Can we please get the check—”

  Before Melissa could finish, Rod was on his feet. His face beet red. “What the—” he shouted at the restaurant window.

  Maria would have expected a drunken outburst from Brian, but not Rod. He hadn’t had a drop all night.