Buried Secrets

by Kristi Belcamino

  They said a car approached at high speeds and then stopped at the guard shack firing into it. The two guards had been lying on mats on the ground napping so they’d avoided being hit. They’d fled out a back door and ran into the desert.

  But the crew member had fared worse.

  It looked like gunmen had opened fired on him, the police said.

  It was a nightmare, Dallas thought. And on top of it all—although it seemed incredibly selfish in the face of a murder—Dallas was dismayed that her dig was delayed. She was running out of time. She had only a few more days to find something to prove to the minister she was onto something big.

  It seemed like the morning couldn’t get worse.

  But then she saw Colton pull up with Abet.

  Anger flared across his face as he made his way over to her. “What the hell? Why didn’t you wake me? What is going on?”

  Dallas knew he had a right to be angry but she also knew his anger stemmed from concern.

  She explained everything. When she was done speaking, he shook his head.

  “This is terrible.”

  Just then the police inspector came over.

  “Ms. Jones? We need to ask you to leave as we investigate.”

  “When can we come back?”

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  Defeated Dallas climbed into the back of the car with Colton. They were silent the entire drive back to town.

  When they got to the Marriott, the desk clerk flagged them down.

  There was a message waiting from the minister. He’d already heard the news. The two-week permit was revoked “in light of the murder investigation.”

  Fourteen

  On the train ride back to Cairo, Dallas sat morosely staring out the window.

  Colton hadn’t said a word.

  For some reason, he seemed even more upset than she was. It made her feel bad.

  He was hunched over with his head in his hands.

  She patted his back and then in what she figured was a lame attempt to cheer him up.

  “Just think. In another week, we’ll be living the exciting life of college professors again. That archeologist on a dig in Egypt stuff was a little too intense for me. I’m ready for the quiet life. Work sixty hours a week, get paid for forty. You know the—.”

  Colton’s head jerked up and the look he gave her made her stop talking mid-sentence.

  “Dallas?”

  She tilted her head, fear coursing through her. He looked ravaged.

  “What Colton? Spill it. You look like your puppy just died.”

  He shook his head and closed his eyes and then opened them again.

  “When you asked me about getting your sabbatical, I didn’t really answer you, did I?”

  Dallas was instantly on alert. “What? What are you saying?”

  “They didn’t grant you one. They said you were suspended for leaving without permission and for representing school business without their permission.”

  “You’re joking?”

  “I’m not. I’m so sorry.” He was wincing. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. You were so excited, I didn’t want to break your heart. I lied.”

  Dallas almost felt sorry for him, but she was still trying to absorb the news.

  “I’m not sure an omission is a lie, Colton.”

  “It is. It counts,” he said, yanking at his hair. “I’m such a fool. I thought I could come over her and help you and we’d find something and get permission from the minister and then I could go back to the university and argue your case and then they’d grant you the sabbatical, but it all failed.”

  Dallas’s mouth was open as she heard his explanation. She felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She reached for Colton’s hand.

  “Do you mean you came over here—flew across the world—and did all this for me?”

  He swallowed and nodded.

  “Colton McCloud, you are a prince among men.” She held his hand and put her head on his shoulder. She yawned. She was growing sleepy from the soothing movement of the train.

  “Colton?” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Mmhhmm?” he murmured.

  “So, am I fired?”

  He didn’t answer for a few seconds. He took a deep breath and then answered, “Your employment status is under review.”

  Before their flight back home, Dallas and Colton spent an extra day in Cairo so they could visit the pyramids and the sphinx.

  Dallas tried to muster enthusiasm for the incredible sights—and she did enjoy them immensely—but when they returned back to the hotel, she said she wasn’t hungry, pulled on her pajamas, and crawled in bed to sleep. The shock of the past few days had hit her hard.

  Someone had been murdered on her excavation. Her dig permit had been canceled. And she was returning to the States—most likely—without a job or two nickels to rub together, as her dad used to say.

  “Dallas?”

  He was standing near her bed. She hadn’t heard him come in from the adjoining room.

  She was staring straight at the ceiling. She didn’t turn to look at him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she mumbled and rolled back over to face the wall with her back to him.

  Once upon a time she’d dreamed of having Colton in her bed. But right then, she barely had energy to lift her head. Any love life was out of the question.

  She held her breath for a minute until she heard his footsteps go back into the adjoining room. Then she closed her eyes seeking sweet oblivion until the next morning when they would fly home. All she wanted to do was sleep and not think.

  The depression that blanketed her was a familiar friend.

  She knew the signs. It wasn’t the first time it had happened to her.

  The first time she had been a kid.

  A chubby, unhappy little kid who ate too much because she missed her dad.

  Now, instead of eating away her depression, she knew if she let herself wallow in it for a day or two it often got better. At least it had worked that way in the past.

  But who knew this time. After all nobody had been murdered before because of something she did.

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVETEEN

  Two Months Later

  The phone rang waking Dallas from her pill-induced slumber. It was long past noon. She’d been up most of the night before watching mindless fail videos with idiots trying to tempt fate. She finally popped more sleeping pills and fell asleep around dawn.

  From the fog of her sleeping pills she saw that she’d been awaken by Colton calling. She let the call go to voicemail.

  For Christ’s sakes. Couldn’t he leave her alone? Just forget about her?

  Ten minutes later she sat up in bed and listened to the message.

  “Dallas? I did what I could but the board of regents officially let you go at last night’s meeting.” He was quiet for a second. “I’m sorry.”

  At first Dallas didn’t know what to think or say. She’d blown it big time, hadn’t she? But she’d known from that moment on the train in Egypt that her job was dust.

  She’d created this. And she didn’t care. Right then all she felt was sorry for herself.

  And why shouldn’t she feel sorry for herself? She was alone in the world.

  An orphan. Once again, she tried not to think about her parents.

  It had seemed like a dream. They had decided to get back together. Her father was going to settle down. He’d gotten a book deal with a big New York publisher. He was going to live with them in the desert and write his book. Her parents went into town to celebrate and on the way home a drunk driver T-boned them. They both died instantly.

  Dallas had just turned 18 two weeks before that and was headed to college a month later.

  She knew she’d never get over losing them.

  And right now, she felt as sorry for herself as she did when they’d first died. She was alone in the w
orld except for a boy, a young man, who was on the verge of giving up on her. She could tell.

  A few weeks before Colton had pestered her for days about going to his mother’s house for dinner. Finally, to appease him, she’d agreed on a day. Then flaked. She’d pleaded a terrible cold. But then he showed up at her place with a plate made up by his mother. She sat in her bathrobe and avoided his eyes as she ate.

  Colton’s call made it clear she couldn’t dodge him forever. Yesterday, when he’d reminded her about the regent’s meeting, he’d told her that there was this new exhibit at the science museum that he wanted to go to and hoped she could come too.

  He wouldn’t stop. A small part of her was grateful that he didn’t give up, but the other part of her, the small dark, ugly part of her that felt sorry for herself thought his persistence was slightly annoying. Even thinking that filled her with guilt. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. But she didn’t deserve him. He just didn’t realize it.

  She clicked on her iPad and scrolled through YouTube videos, looking for an idiotic fail video to take her mind off her pathetic life.

  As she did, she saw another video in the sidebar. It showed David Caldwell standing in front of a sphinx the size of a small car. He had a smug look on his face. At least that’s what Dallas thought.

  Despite herself she clicked on the video. It was some sort of TV interview in Cairo. She looked down at the date scrolling across the bottom of the screen. It was only filmed this morning.

  “It is my destiny to find Cleopatra’s tomb.”

  “Blah blah blah,” she said. He went on spouting his arrogant theories and Dallas was making fun of him and tuning him out for the most part until he said something that stunned her.

  “We have a new theory on where the tomb is. We now have proof that the tomb is not actually under the sea but at a temple that was close to Alexandria. We are in Cairo to apply for an excavation permit from the minister of antiquities.”

  Now Dallas was sitting straight up. She threw a pillow across the room. “Son of a bitch!”

  She stood up and wanted to punch something. He was stealing her theory. He was using her research. How dare him?

  He must have found out she’d narrowed it down to Taposiris and had a temporary permit and now he was going to swoop in and find the tomb. She pulled back her shoulders. Not if she could help it.

  She believed in her theory and she—not him—had proof. She reached for the small black velvet pouch she kept under her pillow. She withdrew the small coin. It had been one of the coins she’d found at the dig site. The one bearing the likeness of Cleopatra. She’d smuggled it out of the country. Afrim had a much better reason to smuggle an artifact than her. She had no excuse. She was a common thief. A new low for her.

  But at the same time, it was tangible evidence that she was on the right track.

  Despite accounts of the queen as homely, but charming, this coin showed a beautiful woman. The rest of the coins had ended up in Cairo where the antiquity of minister’s department was deciding what to do with them now that the dig had ended.

  Despite the discovery, the public had no knowledge of the find. It was thought that keeping it under wraps would prevent grave robbers and looters from overtaking the site, causing the government to step up security. Dallas held the coin in her palm for a few seconds before slipping it back into its velvet shroud and placing it underneath her stack of two thick pillows.

  She’d had a setback. That was it. It wasn’t the end. After all, weren’t all successes built on a small mountain of failures. Yes!

  Time to fight back.

  She did some push-ups.

  After months lounging around, it would take some hard-core working out to get back in shape, but she was up for it. She did sit-ups. Then some side planks.

  “You still got it, baby,” she told herself.

  As she pushed her body, her mind formed a plan. It was hazy, but it was a start.

  She was flat broke. She’d spent all her savings on a futile attempt to find Cleopatra’s tomb. How naïve and stupid she’d been. But she still had a car with a full tank of gas and about one hundred dollars in cash.

  It was enough.

  An hour later, she’d showered, done some research online, and packed a crate full of canned foods. Then she threw her laptop and some clothes into her backpack, and soon had the city in her rearview mirror.

  On the seat beside her was a bag that contained the patch. The one someone slipped into her bag in Cairo. It meant something. Her online research had showed a Daughter of Isis chapter in Sedona, Arizona. She’d only been there once as a child. It was a tourist destination for some, a place to hold a fancy wedding for others and an ideal spot for the rich and famous to vacation and buy art.

  It would take a few days to drive there. She didn’t care. She’d sleep in her car at rest stops.

  The first night, she pulled over at a rest stop and called Colton’s desk phone, knowing he wouldn’t answer because she’d timed the call so he’d be home in bed.

  “Colton? Thanks for everything. You’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had,” she said. Then paused. For crying out loud, it sounded like a suicide message. She mustered up some enthusiasm in her voice. “I got this great opportunity. I have some family in Sedona and I’m heading out to stay with them for a few weeks. I’ll call when I get back in town so I can take you out to crappy coffee and donuts to thank you for being such a …” nice guy? “good friend.”

  Dallas hung up. She’d lied to Colton. Only because she didn’t want him to worry or go after her. She was going to visit the Daughters of Isis and she was going to figure out what the hell was going on.

  She took the small patch with Isis’s profile on it and rubbed it between her fingers.

  “You left this for a reason. Now I’m going to find out why.”

  It was dark by the time she reached the red rocks of Sedona a few days later. The address for the chapter was outside of town–about twenty miles west of the main downtown area.

  Soon, the driveway was before her. Her headlights reflected white numbers painted on a red boulder. Only when she pulled up close could she see the small round circle painted underneath the address—it was the profile of Isis. Just like on her patch. Her heart beat double time. Was she being stupid? Should she text Colton and let her know where she was and what she was up to.

  She shook her head. No. If these women had wanted her dead, then she would be. They wouldn’t have returned her bag with the rip carefully sewn. They wouldn’t have left the patch for her to find them.

  She took a deep breath and put her foot on the gas. She would just throw herself into it. Her plan was basically to walk in, ask who was in charge and demand some answers.

  The paved driveway soon turned to gravel and her car was soon dipping down into a small valley area surrounded on three sides by red rocks the size of a small mountain.

  As she rounded a corner, she saw several small fields with crops and a large barn. To one side, nestled close to one of the red rocks sat a massive farm house with a wrap-around porch. It was festooned with party lights. Candlelight flickered from small votive candles placed along the wide porch rail. Through her open window, Dallas could hear the strains of some soft music that sounded like what you’d hear in a French café. Women in colorful dresses were seated in love seats and hanging swings and chairs on the porch and seemed to be chatting animatedly until her headlights flashed on them and all their heads turned.

  Dallas stopped her car twenty feet back from the house, killing her headlights and then her engine. She didn’t want them to think she was any sort of threat so she slowly got out and stood by the car, waiting.

  Eventually the women on the porch parted and a tall figure emerged. She had ebony skin, high cheekbones, red lips and spiked black hair. As she came down the porch steps and seemingly glided toward her, all Dallas could think was that the six-foot-plus willowy woman should be an internationally renowned model
on Parisian runaways instead of being out here in the sticks in this remote farmhouse.

  The woman grew closer. She wore a red silk Sari cut with gold thread. Her eyes were dark but sparkling as she smiled and stuck out her hand.

  “Dallas Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Safra.”

  Dallas took her hand warily and gave it a brief shake.

  “I’m here to find out more about this,” Dallas held out the patch. “And how it ended up in my bag.”

  The woman smiled. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “You know me, but I’ve never heard of you. Why is that?” Dallas asked. Although the woman’s open manner and smile made her want to let down her guard, Dallas also couldn’t help but remember the dead man on her crew.

  “I know this must seem very odd and disconcerting, but I promise you we mean you no harm,” the woman said. “I’d love to explain it after dinner. We are just about to sit down to eat.”

  Dallas shrugged. She was ravenous. And there were some amazing smells coming from the house.

  “Okay.”

  “Wonderful. This way,” the woman turned and Dallas gave one last glance back at her car before following. On the porch, she joined the throng of women lining up to enter the front door to the house. The woman shot her friendly glances but when she met their eyes, they seemed to be shy and looked away.

  The other women were dressed in bright clothing. Some wore traditional African garb, while others wore dresses or skirts. None wore jeans or pants of any sort.

  When it came to Dallas’s turn to enter the house, she followed the women through a living room area with couches and armchairs and overflowing bookshelves into a massive three-season porch at the rear of the house containing several long wooden tables. Each table contained a massive pot of something that smelled delicious. The table also contained several smaller bowls. Dallas recognized shelled peanuts, cilantro and hot chilies in the smaller bowls.