Buried Secrets

by Kristi Belcamino

  “I thought you were cold,” Colton said, laughing.

  “Just turn up the heat. I’ll be fine!”

  A small part of her deep inside wanted to lean her body halfway out the window and scream at the passing cars—simply whoop with joy.

  Because for the first time in her life she didn’t feel alone.

  It was a good feeling.

  And she wasn’t going to waste one second of it.

  Instead of startling Colton by throwing her body half out the window and screaming like a banshee, Dallas settled on cranking up the radio as loud as it could get. Then, she winked at Colton and yanked the ponytail holder out of her hair, rolled down the window, and let the wind whip her hair as the strains of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” blared from the speakers.

  “You’re crazy,” Colton said laughing. “It’s freezing!”

  But Dallas had never felt warmer in her life.

  Twenty-Two

  Colton came back to her place and stayed the night.

  In the early morning hours, Dallas snuck out of bed and was in her office staring at the piece of paper she’d found in the safety deposit box. The one on which her mother had written a phone number. A number with an Arizona area code.

  She was staring at the paper when she felt Colton at her side. He leaned down and massaged her shoulders and kissed her neck.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

  She held up a strip of white paper with a phone number written on it. “This was in the safety deposit box. Well, in my father’s notebook actually, but it’s my mom’s writing.”

  “And you’ve never called it?”

  “I’m going to call it now.”

  “It’s three in the morning.”

  “That way I can make sure the person is home.”

  “Okay. But you could probably wait a few hours and still catch them home,” he said.

  “I need to call now!” Her voice was sharp.

  He was instantly contrite. “Do what you need to do. I know this must be tough for you.”

  Tears formed in the corners of Dallas’s eyes. She couldn’t speak, but just nodded.

  Suddenly Dallas felt stupid. No, she’d never called the number. She’d been afraid to do so. Her voice softened.

  “I’m sorry for snapping. I’m just afraid if I don’t do it now, I won’t do it. I’ve been sitting on this paper for weeks. For some reason, I’m terrified to call the number. I’m afraid of what the person on the other end is going to tell me.”

  Picking up her phone he said, “If you need me to, I’ll call.”

  She smiled. “I need to do it myself.”

  Taking the phone gently from his hand, she took a deep breath.

  “Well, hell, here goes nothing,” she said and punched in the number.

  Colton watched her carefully.

  “Hello?” Dallas said. “I’m so sorry to call this late, or this early. I just need to talk to you desperately. My name is Dallas Jones. My mother was Karen Jones. I found this number in her safety deposit box after she passed.”

  Dallas’s voice was trembling.

  The voice on the other end was soft. “Dallas? I have something for you. Your mother wanted me to keep it safe for you. I was wondering when you were going to call.”

  The woman lived in a northwestern suburb of Phoenix along the White Tank Mountain Range. Dallas had taken the earliest flight into Phoenix she could and rented a four-door Jeep Wrangler.

  Colton had offered to come with her, but she told him she needed to do it on her own.

  Pulling into the woman’s gated community was like entering an oasis. Palm trees and green golf courses and small lakes everywhere.

  Dallas gave a low whistle. “Wouldn’t mind living here one day.”

  She dodged seniors zipping around in golf carts until she pulled down the road where the woman lived.

  Parked out front of the house, Dallas found she was paralyzed. Her hand was frozen on the door handle and it wasn’t budging. Get it together!

  For a second she was tempted to turn the key in the ignition and just leave. She didn’t need to know what her mother had left for her. She’d gone this long without knowing.

  Before she could act, the door of the small bungalow was thrown open and a woman with a short blonde bob stood there smiling. And waving.

  Dallas found herself smiling back. And opening the car door.

  By the time she reached the door, all her anxiety had fled in the face of this beaming woman.

  “I’m Lisa.” The woman grasped both of Dallas’s hands and then leaned back examining her. “You are the spitting image of your mother. She was such a wonderful, beautiful woman. I miss her so.”

  Dallas fought back tears. The woman had bright hazel eyes and smile lines.

  With a jolt, Dallas realized that her mother would be about this age if she’d lived. A senior citizen.

  “Please come in,” Lisa said, backing up and holding the door open.

  Inside, Lisa offered Dallas coffee and led her to a small walled patio in the back.

  The bricked patio was shaded by palm trees and a small fountain gurgled in one corner.

  They sat at a wrought iron table and sipped coffee for a few seconds before Lisa spoke.

  “I’m not sure exactly what it is I’m about to give you.”

  “What?” Dallas was confused.

  “Your mother came to visit me about a year before she died,” Lisa set her cup down and focused her gaze directly on Dallas, who found herself leaning forward to hear more. “She had a tote bag. She came straight in and made a drink. She downed it and made another. I’d never seen her do this before. Finally, she sat down. Her cheeks were flushed and her hands were shaking. I was really worried at this point.”

  Dallas was starting to worry just hearing it and soon was lost in Lisa’s story.

  Karen confessed to her friend that she’d been secretly taking night classes in archeology online. She was going to surprise Dallas’s father when she received her degree with a trip to Egypt.

  But then something odd happened. Her professor was an elderly Egyptian archeologist who took a liking to Karen. Not only did she remind him of his daughter, but she was one of the best students he’d ever had. Her passion for the subject of Cleopatra matched his.

  When the name “Cleopatra” came out of Lisa’s mouth, Dallas gasped.

  But Lisa ignored it and went on with her tale.

  The professor and Dallas’s mother spent time talking outside of class, discussing theories on where Cleopatra’s tomb was located. The professor always acted slightly secretive about it and told Karen he had more to share about that subject. Then, one day quite suddenly, the professor grew gravely ill.

  “What was his name?” Dallas interrupted.

  Lisa took a sip of her coffee before answering. “I’m sorry. Your mother never said.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, he died unexpectedly and your mother said she was slightly heartbroken. She’d looked to him as a mentor and father figure,” Lisa said. “It derailed her studies. She told herself she was only taking a break but she’d lost heart for it without her mentor around. She tried to reach out to the man’s family through the school but found that he was a widow without family.”

  “Poor mother,” Dallas said.

  Lisa sighed. “Yes. She always cared so deeply about others.”

  Dallas waited knowing there was more and wondering if she could stand the anticipation.

  “A few days after his death, your mother received a package in the mail.”

  “From the professor.”

  “Yes.”

  “It contained something very dangerous, your mother said, along with a note saying that he’d sent it her way reluctantly and only because he was absolutely desperate. He said if she received the package it was because he was dead and he apologized saying he was worried that the same thing would happen to her—she would be putting her own life in danger to even possess i
t. He needed her to hide it, he said.”

  Lisa stopped and exhaled loudly.

  “Are you saying my mother and father’s deaths weren’t an accident?”

  Dallas felt a chill race down her spine. They never had arrested anyone in connection with the car crash. It had been a hit-and-run driver. They had found empty beer bottles at the scene and had assumed the other driver had tossed them out of his or her vehicle and then fled the scene.

  Lisa shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t answer that question.”

  Dallas sat back, stunned. The possibility that her parents had been killed had never entered her mind.

  “I’ll be right back.” Lisa pushed back her chair.

  The heat of the day suddenly hit Dallas making her feel weary. The slight breeze had died and the birds had flown away. She sunk into her chair and tried to wrap her mind around what she’d just been told.

  Lisa returned with a cardboard roll that would contain a poster. She handed it to me.

  “This is what the professor sent her.”

  “A poster?” Dallas felt her nose wrinkle.

  She looked at the return address. It said the initials K.P. and had a P.O. Box.

  Lisa shrugged. “I’ve never opened it. Your mother told me to put it somewhere safe and if something happened to her, you would come for it. But you never did. Until now. She said the professor had given it to her to hide so that some evil people didn’t get ahold of it.”

  Evil people? Train? But how long had this been going on. Her mother had been dead for years.

  Dallas took it from Lisa’s outstretched hand. It didn’t burn her fingers. It didn’t feel like anything. Just a rolled-up piece of cardboard. The ends were sealed with heavy clear tape.

  “This? This is what is so dangerous? What might have caused someone to kill the professor? What might have made someone kill my parents?”

  Lisa pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Dallas sat in silence for a few seconds. The sweat dripped down her temple. The shadows had grown long. In the distance, she could hear children laughing and splashing from a pool.

  “I think I should go now,” Dallas said.

  Lisa frowned. “Are you sure? Are you okay?”

  Dallas stood and swallowed. Her legs were a little unsteady. She tucked the cylinder under her arm. “I’m fine, but if it’s okay with you, I’d rather open this in private.”

  “Of course,” Lisa said.

  She walked Dallas through the house to the front door.

  As Dallas turned to leave, Lisa said, “I’d love to talk to you more about your mother. We were actually childhood friends. I’d love to share some stories with you. I tried to dig out some photos before you got here, but I think they are in storage at my summer home in the mountains. I’d like to give them to you. Please let’s keep in touch?”

  Dallas smiled. “I would love that.”

  Lisa reached out and grabbed Dallas’s wrist. “Dallas? Please be careful. I don’t know what that contains, but it scared your mother.”

  Dallas nodded. She dared not speak.

  The rolled cylinder sat on the passenger seat beside Dallas as she drove back into Phoenix where her hotel was. Every once in a while, she’d side-eye it. What was inside? Who was K.P.”

  She wanted to wait to open it until she was safe in her hotel room with the door dead-bolted.

  Once she was behind closed doors of her room, Dallas did something she normally didn’t do—poured herself a stiff drink from the mini bar. Sitting on her bed with the cylinder before her, she lifted her glass in a toast. “Here’s to you, mother.”

  She took a sip and then another and finally downed the glass entirely.

  Slamming it down on the nightstand, she pulled her shoulders back and tugged the cylinder toward her. She tugged off the tape and then popped open the plastic insert that sealed the end. She held the tube upright. Nothing slid out. But there was something inside.

  Sticking her fingers and thumb in, she grasped the scrolled paper inside.

  Immediately, Dallas knew she was touching parchment. Her breath caught in her throat. She tugged. After a slight resistance, she pulled out a scroll slightly smaller than the cylinder. It contained two layers—one was a thin protective scroll of blank paper. She could see the brilliant colors of the other parchment shining through.

  It rolled back into a circle. She used her palm to smooth it out on the bed, placing a hand in opposing corners and then gasped.

  It was a piece of parchment covered in brilliant hieroglyphics.

  Quickly, Dallas realized that the danger her mother had warned of, lay in the tale the hieroglyphics told.

  Although her knowledge of the ancient language was rudimentary, she knew immediately that this scroll told the story of the book of knowledge and the whereabouts of Cleopatra’s Tomb. A chill ran through her. She jumped off the bed and paced, raking at her hair.

  Holy shit. No. It couldn’t be that easy. No. It just couldn’t. What the hell was going on?

  Sitting back down, she studied the parchment again. She didn’t know enough to read it exactly, just the general idea.

  It was clearly Cleopatra and Antony in the pictures. And there was a book. One with a cobra on the front. The Book of Life. And a picture of Cleopatra with only a towel on her, hiding her naked body, but on one part of it was a small portion of a map peeking out from the cloth. A man with a black mask was standing peeking around the corner of a wall trying to watch the naked queen and see the map. Further down the scroll, boys with loincloths carried the bodies of Cleopatra and Antony on open-air gilded palanquins. They were followed by men carrying palanquins dripping with jewelry and gold coins.

  It was clearly showing the Queen of the Nile with the Book of Life, showing how the location of the book was tattooed as a map on her body, and then showing her body and Antony’s body being taken to the tomb.

  Dallas carefully studied the hieroglyphs, but nothing seemed clear. So many of the symbols and images meant nothing to her. They included trees, the sea, a boat, things that could mean everything, or nothing.

  Heart pounding, Dallas grabbed her laptop and spent the rest of the night trying to decipher the hieroglyphs. She ordered coffee after coffee from room service, ignoring the strange looks the hotel bell boy gave her. She also searched for online schools that had degrees in archeology. She wanted to know who the professor was that had sent the parchment to her mother.

  Finally, she narrowed it down to two schools that seemed to have potential candidates. One school had only started since her mother had died, so she concentrated on the other one.

  She dug through the website, but couldn’t find anything except current instructors. She typed in the name of the school and “deceased professors” and hit search. And then the name of the school and “former professors” and then just the name of the school and “archeologists.”

  Who was K.P.”

  Finally, she found an article about a former professor named Kris Paul who had worked at the school. She clicked on the article and saw a picture of the man. He was standing with another man at a dig site. She froze. The man beside Kris Paul was David Caldwell. The picture showed a much younger and cleaner cut man. But it was him. He had taught at the school. He had been partners with Paul.

  She studied the two men. Kris Paul had a friendly smile and a hook nose. He looked a bit sickly, though. Dallas wondered how he died. She skimmed the article. Yep. Cancer. A year after this photo was taken.

  Seeing the two men together explained so much. Caldwell must have known that Paul had sent the parchment to her mother. He must have thought that Dallas had it this entire time.

  “Good God,” Dallas said. “That’s the connection. That’s how he knew my mother.”

  Caldwell must’ve been the one who broke into Dallas’ house and office. He must’ve thought she had the parchment with the hieroglyphs. That’s why he was convinced that she knew where Cleopa
tra’s tomb really was.

  She fell asleep at dawn, slouched on the pillows on the bed, no closer to answers.

  When she woke close to noon, Dallas had a plan. She needed help. Taking out her camera, she took a dozen pictures of the parchment scroll. She loaded the photos onto her laptop, but also into her online cloud account and then also emailed them to a secret email address that nobody else knew about. Then, taking one last look at the scroll, she carefully rolled it back up and put it in the cardboard cylinder. She showered, changed into clean clothes, and packed her bag. There was only one person Dallas trusted with the scroll—and she lived in Sedona. Safra would help her. The Daughters of Isis would keep her secret safe.

  Twenty-Three

  When Dallas pulled up, Safra was standing in front of the house as if she’d been waiting for her. She had her hair in long cornrow braids and wore a flowy white draped sari-type dress. Her arms, including upper ones, glittered with gold jewelry.

  She looked like royalty.

  A little flustered, Dallas took her time gathering her bag and the scroll before getting out.

  When she did, Safra’s eyes went immediately to the cardboard cylinder.

  Then she raised her eyes and nodded at Dallas.

  She knew.

  Safra knew what it was.

  Dallas’s mouth suddenly lost all moisture. She was dragging her feet a little as she walked toward the imperious-looking woman she’d considered a friend.

  But just as quickly as it happened, the awkwardness and anxiety fled as Safra smiled and reached to hug her and kiss her on both cheeks, European-style.

  When she pulled back her eyes were warm. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  “How did you know I was coming?”

  Safra smiled. “It’s not important. What is important is that you brought that to us. It shows that you trust us and that we were well guided to put our trust in you. Not that I ever doubted.”