“Like in your purse or something?”
Maria shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t have a purse. I use a backpack.”
“You know, most women carry fingernail clippers with them. Not a set of lock picks.”
“I can use a pick to cut my nails … in a pinch.” Maria smiled. “Okay, so not really. But I can’t tell you how many times these picks have saved me.”
“I guess I’d better get me a set then.”
Maria shot Beth a grin but then her face turned serious. Something stirred faintly inside the house. It didn’t seem loud enough to be human. Maybe a swamp cooler was running. Maria raised her index finger to her lips to indicate silence.
Beth pursed her lips and mimed zipping them together.
Maria pointed to the first of the deadbolts and then to Beth’s flashlight. Seconds later, a beam of yellow lit up the lock and Maria went to work on it with several of her instruments. It took less than a minute for the lock to click open. Proudly, Maria noted the click had been the only sound she’d made.
Beth moved her light down to the next deadbolt, and Maria began to poke and prod the opening. A minute later and it too was rendered useless. Maria stuffed her tools into her backpack, grabbed her six-inch Kubotan fighting stick out of a different pocket, and opened the door. She slipped into the darkened room. A quick intake of air from behind her reminded Maria that her friend was not used to this sort of stuff.
The first thing to greet Maria’s ears in the dark was a slow drip of water. Maria would recognize that sound anywhere. She’d spent many dark nights in her cell in Tehran listening to the slow drip of a water leak from a crack in the ceiling, She loathed the familiar plop when the droplet splayed itself on the solid surface.
Groping around, she found a ledge at waist height. A counter. She followed it with her hands and soon felt the shape of a kitchen sink. The drip was louder. Staying absolutely still and listening for a good five seconds, Maria could hear nothing else stirring. Time for a flashlight.
As her low-beam light flickered on, she saw Beth still in the doorway, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face. Maria waved her in. Beth shook her head and mouthed “no.”
Maria lifted her upturned hands and hoisted her shoulders. “Why not?” she mouthed.
Beth pointed down. Even in the dim light Maria could see a wet spot forming around Beth’s crotch.
Had she seriously wet her pants … again?
A belly laughed begged to burst from Maria’s lungs, but she shoved it back down. She mouthed the phrase “meet me at the car.”
Beth nodded sheepishly and slowly backed away from the door.
For their next escapade, Maria was going to have to buy her friend adult diapers. Good grief. They hadn’t even been giggling. Frankly, Maria was glad Beth had returned to the car. She hadn’t wanted her friend here in the first place. Too dangerous. But it also meant Maria would need to move twice as fast. She only had one set of eyes now instead of two.
Feeling for the sink faucet, she tried turning the knobs to stop the tortuous dripping noise. But the knobs were already turned tightly off. She’d have to do her best to ignore the sound. The day-old garbage smell wafting from one corner of the room would probably do the trick to distract her. She wrinkled her nose and began breathing exclusively through her mouth.
Now, if she were the Materfamilias of the Keepers, where would she keep her important records? A computer was the obvious answer, but Maria was not a computer forensics expert. She was hoping there might be some old-fashioned paperwork as well, especially since the whole place seemed to be a retro 70s gang hideout.
When she’d been there with Derrick, the living room had been devoid of any kind of filing cabinets. Maybe one of the bedrooms was being used as an office. She swept her light across the rest of the kitchen. No tables or chairs. Then again, if Maria remembered correctly, the entire living room had been full of picnic tables. In the middle of the kitchen there was a large dog house—the plastic igloo kind that attempted to look like an Alaskan habitat. The only other item in the kitchen, beside a fridge, oven, and microwave, was a Native American woven rug that hung on the wall.
A dog house the size of a Smart car was a pretty good indicator that she might bump into a pet. Maria pulled out the sleeping pill-laced premium can of dog food and set it by the opening of the igloo. Sliding through the kitchen door into a hallway, Maria bumped into the four-legged owner of the prime kitchen real estate. A wrinkled-faced mastiff stood looking up at Maria. Its black nose glistened. The skin around its teeth sagged, revealing gums that should have been pink but had faded to practically white. The dog hobbled closer to Maria. She hoped the canine’s teeth were in good enough shape to eat the dog food she’d left it. From the look and smell of the animal, a can of vanilla-flavored Ensure might have been a better choice.
The dog blinked, yawned violently, and half trotted, half stumbled into the kitchen.
No threat there. Maria needed to stick to the task of finding an office with papers—preferably something that would shed light on Derrick’s situation with the Keepers. And maybe what sort of relationship Rep. Lankin had with them, as well.
The first bedroom door down the hallway was slightly open. Maria poked her head inside.
Bingo!
Several filing cabinets, stacks of papers, a desk and chair adorned the room. This was definitely what she was looking for.
She increased the brightness of her flashlight and went straight for the filing cabinets. Alphabetical order was always a good thing.
The files, however, were a mess. Nothing was in order. Very little was marked with any sort of identification, and most things had been shoved in any which direction.
A silent wish for Beth’s help penetrated Maria’s thoughts. She pushed it away. It was better for her to be doing this alone, in case something did happen. But so far, tonight had been as easy as buying a Slurpee from 7-Eleven.
Her eyes scanned the papers in the drawer. Bank statements? Contracts? Titles? Deeds? Nothing.
There were more hand-drawn maps of the Superstition Mountains. But these were stamped with red ink that spelled out “Unauthorized.”
The contents of the next drawer were as useless, but the bottom drawer yielded something different. It contained stacks of manila envelopes that were dated on the outside with a black permanent marker. Maria opened one and found photos of hikers that were all taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. Spy photos. So the Keepers really did have people that watched the mountains.
The pictures were of different people, but from the lighting and background, all seemed to have been taken on the same day. Maria wondered if she could find photos of her and Beth’s illfated trip into the Superstitions, but that was too recent. But what about the day Dakota was killed? Would they have pictures from that day?
A quick search on her phone gave Maria the exact day of Dakota’s disappearance— Oct 22, 2010. Thumbing through the envelopes, Maria couldn’t find anything even close to the date. Everything in the drawer was at least fifteen years old. How long had the Keepers been spying in the Superstitions?
Darting to the next cabinet, she searched its drawers. The photos in these were somewhat newer. Ten years old. Nine. Eight. Seven.
The last filing drawer held envelopes marked from six years ago—the year Dakota disappeared. Frantically, Maria sorted through the photos. She scanned the scribbled writing on the envelopes and realized they weren’t in order by day, but they did seem to be grouped into months.
Putting her secretarial skills on high alert, she systematically gathered every envelope from the month of October. Next, she put those in chronological order. The first, second, third, etc. All the days were there except for when she got to twenty-two. It was gone. The day Dakota had supposedly been killed in the Superstitions was missing.
Of course.
Out of frustration, she shut the drawer with more force than needed and moved to peek out the window. She thought sh
e heard a car motor lingering outside and was double checking to see that it hadn’t stopped in front of the lodge.
But it had.
Of course.
She kicked the wall and succeeded in hurting her big toe.
Calm down.
The car wasn’t the police. It was a Yukon—an older model—that looked like it had seen its fair share of rough mountain backroads. For the moment it was parked across the street from the lodge. She could make out several figures inside, but they weren’t moving.
Maria must have triggered a silent alarm of some sort. She had to get out of there. But she wanted to find the photos taken on the day of Dakota’s death. The fact that the envelope wasn’t in the drawer with the rest of them was significant. It made her want to keep snooping. If those people weren’t going to get out of the car yet, then she wasn’t going to leave immediately either.
Keeping her ears tuned to any outside noises, Maria shuffled through every stack of papers she could find on the desk and bookshelves. No manila envelopes.
Using a technique she’d learned in the CIA, she started in the top left-hand corner of the room, and let her line of vision run over every square inch of that wall. She was looking for anomalies—something that shouldn’t be there, or something that should be there that wasn’t.
The first wall was bare. Literally. There wasn’t even a calendar on it. The second wall was mostly window, the third wall had another Native American rug hung on it for décor. The last wall held the desk and filing cabinets.
The rug on the wall.
Maria shot another glance at it and noticed it did not rest completely flat against the wall. There was a slight bump on the right-hand side.
A wall safe. Maria peeked through the window blinds again. The Yukon was still there. Dark inside, but clearly occupied by at least two people. Maybe more. The back passenger windows were tinted and she couldn’t see into them.
Pulling up the wall rug, Maria saw she was right. A safe was mounted into the bedroom wall. Seconds later, with her lock picking tools in hand, Maria was working on opening the safe. She had definitely worked on harder locks, but that was with better equipment. This safe was decently secure, especially when compared to the rest of the house.
A minute ticked by. No luck.
Maria had to get into the safe. She was sure the pictures she wanted were inside. Maybe more.
A second attempt to bypass the safe’s combination code by picking the safety key lock failed.
Breathe deeply.
Adjust the light.
Get a better grip on the tension wrench and—
Outside a car door shut.
Sweat broke out on Maria’s forehead. Time was up. Her mind’s reason center told her to check the window to see how many were coming into the house. But her “I’ve almost got it” plea argued to keep trying. A few more seconds and she would be into the safe. She could feel it.
Footsteps on the road. Whoever was coming was certainly no ballet dancer.
One more prod with her pick and …
Voices.
She was out of time. But still her fingers worked.
One more twist and …
They were at the front door of the lodge, using a key in its lock.
Click.
The safe opened.
So had the front door.
In a split second, Maria spied a manila envelope, grabbed it, and shoved it in her backpack. She closed the safe, letting the rug drop back down. She sprinted into the hallway. There were only seconds before whoever was turning the front doorknob would see her. Gliding across the shag carpet, Maria slipped into the kitchen. The hinges on the front door creaked.
She was no longer alone.
“Sierra sounded the alarm. I’m sure of it.” It was a man’s voice. A deep masculine tone with a backcountry accent. The ceiling lights in the front room burst on, illuminating the house, including the messy kitchen.
With the added light, Maria saw a second kitchen doorway on the other side of the room that lead directly into the front room, making the door she was about to go out of visible to men who had entered.
Change of plans. She’d take the hide-and-wait approach.
“I’ll start in the office,” said a different man whose voice was high and whiny. “You check if the back door has been messed with.”
Maria needed to disappear. Immediately.
Grimacing, she threw herself onto the floor and slid into the dog igloo. The odor of urine mixed with wet dog filled her nose. The saggy, elderly dog was already inside its house, curled up to one side. The can of premium dog food Maria had left for it half eaten.
Men’s boots clomped into the kitchen.
To better conceal herself, Maria scooted next to the sleeping mastiff, pinching her nose shut. She covered herself with the urine-laden towels that served as the dog’s bedding. She was certain she was going to end up with fleas after this.
Oh well. She’d made it through lice in Tehran. Certainly a few dog fleas wouldn’t kill her.
“You said the old lady triggered the alarm?” the man with the whiny voice asked.
His partner answered from the hallway. “Yeah, she did.”
“Well, I don’t get it. Sierra’s not even here. How would she know someone had broken in? Her voodoo stuff again?”
Footsteps approached the igloo. Maria snuggled deeper into her coverings that reeked of dirty dog.
“Knock it off, Kenny,” came the deep voice. “Don’t talk about the Materfamilias that way. I’ve seen her do some pretty amazing stuff. She helped me find my wife’s lost wedding ring like she was magic. I couldn’t believe it.”
“I guess you had to be there to believe it. She doesn’t seem like anything special to me.”
Maria glanced at the drooling dog that had begun to snore. She hoped the men weren’t big talkers. Or card players. Or insomniacs who took any excuse to stay up in the middle of the night. She hoped they got bored quickly and took off back home.
“I don’t know, Lester.” It was the man called Kenny speaking again. “I’m not interested in anything but finding the treasure. Ya know, the reason we joined this crazy group. I keep thinking we should’ve found at least some gold by now. I wanna be rich, not hanging around and obeying orders from some old lady who finds wedding rings.”
“It’ll happen. We’ll find it.”
“Sheesh, I’m starting to wonder. I mean, she sends us up there in those mountains to take pictures of people, and tells us that it’s somehow part of finding the Dutchman’s gold. It doesn’t make sense.”
The men moved about. So far, neither had thought to looking inside the dog house.
“The Materfamilias sees the bigger picture,” said Lester, the man with the much more masculine voice.
“Like tonight? Like how she told us someone was in the lodge when clearly they’re not?” Kenny’s voice was getting higher and more agitated.
“We don’t know that yet. Keep looking. I’m gonna check out the root cellar.”
Root cellar? How long had it been since Maria had heard of a house having one of those?
Footsteps marked the departure of one of the men, most likely the one called Lester. The other walked about the kitchen. He opened the fridge. “Should’ve guessed. Not a darn thing to eat.”
He walked to the back door, fiddled with it a moment and grunted. “Hey Lester?” He opened the back door. His heavy breathing disappeared for a few moments and then returned. “Lester?” he called again. “You hear me?”
Lester must have been in the depths of the root cellar. He gave no answer.
“I wonder where the old girl is?” muttered Kenny. He made clicking, kissing sounds with his mouth.
What on earth was he doing?
“Come on, Misty. Are you here, old girl?”
More strange lip noises.
“Where’d that old dog go?”
Not good! He was trying to get the mastiff’s attention. Misty, however, was dee
p into REM mode—if dogs had such a thing—from her midnight snack laced with Ambien.
“What are you making those stupid noises for?” Lester was back.
“Trying to find Misty. And, hey, I thought you should know that the back door wasn’t locked, but I’m sure I locked it when I left the meeting tonight. Maybe the old woman is right. Maybe someone did break in and then left.”
“Or maybe they’re still here, hiding.” Lester’s voice grew conspiratorial. “Now where would I hide if I’d been caught breaking in?”
This was it. One look around and they’d figure out the only place to hide was in the Igloo. Maria quietly slid the zipper open of another of the pockets in her backpack. She pulled out a smoke grenade. It was the last of her tricks she’d brought. When she saw her break she had to take it.
“If I had to find a hiding place, I’d go in the bathtub with the shower curtain pulled,” said Kenny.
Was he kidding? Maria braced for takeoff. Even if he was serious about the bathtub idea, the men would eventually look in the kennel. If not to find her, to at least make sure Misty was still in the house.
“Okay,” said Lester. “Go check out the bathtub.” His voice had grown considerably quieter since learning about the unlocked back door.
“Why don’t you go check out the bathtub? I’ll stay by the back door to make sure no one runs out,” Kenny said.
He actually had a point, because that was exactly what Maria planned on doing.
“The bathtub was your idea,” Lester argued. “You should go check it while I stay in the kitchen.”
As the two men debated who should go and who should stay, Misty, the sleeping dog next to Maria, let out an enormous dog yawn, its mouth opening wide to reveal a row of yellowed teeth. Next, its eyelids fluttered. As if she didn’t have enough going on, Maria now worried she would soon have a barking dog to contend with. But the dog didn’t wake. Instead, all the movement was a precursor to its need to pass gas, which it did, unfettered, directly into Maria’s face.
Lovely.
“Let’s both go.” It was Kenny who spoke. His negotiations skills were about that of a ten-year-old. I’ll hold the baseball bat while you pull back the shower curtain.”
Skeletons Among Us: Legends of Treasure Book 2 Page 14
