Riddles that Kill Read online

  Riddles That Kill

  Legends of Treasure Book 3

  Lois D. Brown

  Levanter Publishing, LLC

  Riddles that Kill

  (Legends of Treasure Book 3)

  by Lois D. Brown

  © Lois D. Brown, 2017

  Published by Levanter Publishing, LLC

  ISBN: 978-1-940576-17-6

  www.loisdbrown.com

  Of Special Note: In this book, the quotes at the beginning of each chapter are from actual publications. However, Riddles that Kill is a work of fiction. While most of the areas in this story are actual places, the names, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or based on legends. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional.

  FRESH OFF THEIR vacation-turned-disaster, Rod and Maria return to the red hills of southern Utah to discover a kidnapper is on the loose in their small town. After an abrupt falling out with Rod, Maria must bury her raw emotions to focus on saving the son of her best friend—all while solving clues to a modern-day riddle that points to a chest of valuable artifacts somehow connected to the abduction. As she and Rod struggle to regain what they once had, Maria risks her life by trusting her unproven power of Sight in a wilderness haunted by legends of a monster. Will she find the boy still alive or will she die looking?

  For Kenneth, Renae, Ralph, Max, Eldon, and Keith. Thanks for being an important part of my compass.

  Contents

  Untitled

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Untitled

  About the Author

  Get behind-the-scene secrets about “Robbed of Soul” by joining Lois D. Brown’s VIP Fan List.

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  Prologue

  The lid was on tightly, as it should be. Even a particle of the powder inside could make a person quite sick. But the whole vial? That was enough to kill someone.

  Which was the plan, after all.

  Murdering someone wasn’t for the weak, especially when the victim was innocent. At least there would be no guns or knives. No blunt objects. Not even one drop of blood.

  Just a quick inhale of the purified ricin powder and the deed would be done.

  One simple whiff.

  Chapter One

  Kanab Creek is one of the many tributaries of the Grand Canyon. It flows through the Kaibab Indian Reservation of the Paiute people before its mouth in the Grand Canyon National Park. The valley of Kanab Creek was settled by … the Anasazi Indians. Ruins of their buildings and artifacts are found along its course.

  “Kanab Creek,” from Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kanab_Creek

  Pretending to be repulsed, Maria scooped up the wiggly tadpole with its overly large head and flattened tail. “Tell me again why you like these?” she asked eight-year-old Justin Hill, the oldest child of her best friend, Beth.

  The freckled, scrawny-armed boy rolled his eyes. “Cause they’re cool. If you put ‘em in a glass bottle they turn into frogs.”

  “Ahhh. I see your point.” A flashback to her own childhood reminded Maria that anything grown in a jar was pretty awesome—butterflies, sea monkeys, mold . . . hmmm . . . okay, maybe not mold.

  “Hey, look at that one.” Justin pointed to a particularly large pollywog crazily moving back and forth in the rust-colored Kanab creek water. “It’s huge.”

  “Definitely worthy of your collection.” Maria opened up the top of the gallon-size Ziploc bag that held Justin’s efforts for the last twenty minutes. He slipped his latest catch inside.

  While Justin busily increased his tadpole collection, Beth’s other two children, Brenna and Zach, hurled fist-sized rocks into patches of thin mud near the creek’s edge. They squealed hysterically each time the muck swallowed up the rock with a popping bloop.

  With wet sand in between her toes and the warmth of the sun on her face, Maria basked in the realization she had nothing else to do but watch Beth’s kids for the weekend while Beth and her husband were in Salt Lake at a hair show. So far it had been easy. Of course, it was only 11 a.m. Saturday morning. She still had a day and a half left. But the creek had kept the kids busy for two hours. If she’d had the forethought to bring food, they could have stayed all day—barefoot and covered head to toe with red mud that clung to their arms and legs like glops of fresh cement.

  But Maria hadn’t brought food and her stomach growled its disapproval. “Okay, guys,” Maria called out, “time to go.”

  “Noooo!” wailed Zach, who was only six.

  “Don’t you want to get an ice cream cone?” Maria asked.

  Zach’s pudgy cheeks widened into a smile. “Okay!”

  It was all about coercion. It worked in the CIA and apparently child rearing as well.

  “I want some, too,” said four-year-old Brenna, whose thick strawberry blonde hair was identical to Beth’s.

  “Let’s go find the car and get everyone a hamburger and a treat.” Maria handed Justin the Ziploc bag filled with murky water and swimming creatures. “This is yours to carry.”

  “Got it, Chief.”

  Maria grinned. The kid was funny. He’d told Maria he liked calling her that because it made him feel important that the chief of police was taking care of him. Personally, Maria preferred not being called by her title. After botching her final black-ops mission, she wished she never had to be in charge again. Though, to be honest, that would be hard for her micro-managing personality to take.

  Ten minutes later they’d made very little progress toward Maria’s car, parked half a mile north. The kids walked on the edge of the creek where the light-colored quicksand entertained them, enveloping their feet with gurgling, sucking noises. Each step was like wading through plaster.

  “Everybody has to walk in the middle where the ground is harder,” Maria ordered, “or we’re never going to get back.”

  “I don’t want to,” complained Zach. “There are rocks there.”

  “There’s not that many,” argued Maria. “Just step over them.”

  The kids grumbled but obeyed. Justin took the hand of his younger brother and guided him to where Maria waited. As they walked through the shallow water of the creek that curved and twisted with the natural grade of the land, Maria focused her thoughts on an extremely serious matter—should she have bacon and mayo on her hamburger, or just bacon? Really it all hinged on whether or not avocado was an option.

  “Hey, Chief?” Justin tugged on her arm.

  “Yeah?” Maria looked down at the boy’s shocked face.

  “That woman is naked.” He pointed to the right.

  “What?” Maria’s head jerked that direction.

  To the east, near the bank of the creek that ran close to Highway 89, were two figures. While there was a lot of flesh showing, they were not naked.

  A man was stripped down to his skivvies and a woman was in nothing more than a skimpy bra and thong. They smeared each other with mud as they giggled.
Instinctively, Maria covered Justin’s eyes.

  He pulled her hand away.

  She shielded his vision again.

  “Come on, I’m eight,” said Justin.

  “Exactly.” Maria pulled Brenna and Zach closer to her. “Turn around, kids, and don’t look.”

  They all continued to stare exactly where she didn’t want them to.

  The man used the red mud to write something on the woman’s back. While Maria couldn’t read it from this distance, she worried the kids might be able to. Horrified, she envisioned Justin using his newfound vocabulary when his mom returned.

  The problem was, because of the tall creek banks and dangerous highway, the only safe way back to Maria’s car was by passing the scandalous couple.

  “The three of you stay here.” Maria spoke sternly to underscore that she meant business. Then, turning around, she walked toward the laughing duo.

  The couple was oblivious to Maria, and their antics escalated. The woman slapped the man on the shoulder and shouted, “You’re it.”

  The quicker Maria resolved this situation, the better.

  Squelch.

  Squerch.

  Maria turned around to see all three kids following her. “What are you doing? I told you to stay put. And Justin, close your mouth. Your jaw is hanging open.”

  “But I’m scared,” said Brenna, her bottom lip quivering.

  Maria rushed to her, squatting down to make eye-to-eye contact. “Bren, sweetie, you’re just fine. Those people are just playing games, but they need to get their clothes. Can you wait right here while I tell them that?”

  “Okay.” The young girl didn’t seem convinced.

  Maria stood back up. “I need all three of you to stay put. Okay?”

  Justin and Zach nodded. Brenna wiped at her nose and smeared more mud on her face.

  “I’ll be right back.” Maria began to turn around but stopped. “Oh, and Justin, quit staring at them. Pretend they’re not there.”

  Brenna squeezed her eyes shut. Justin mumbled something, but Maria didn’t try to figure out what he said. More pressing matters were at hand. Like finding some much-needed clothing for the woman who was falling out of her Victoria Secret wardrobe.

  “Excuse me,” Maria called out. “I’ve got kids with me.”

  For the first time, the couple stopped frosting each other with mud and noticed Maria.

  “No thanks,” the man called back. “We don’t want any.” He burst out laughing. The woman joined in with a high-pitched staccato—an incredibly unattractive one. The pair weren’t locals. Their accent wasn’t right.

  “Listen.” Maria spoke calmly as she approached the couple. She passed a duffle bag lying on the ground that had toiletries spilling out of it. “I’m the chief of police. You ought to know a lot of kids play around here. You need to keep it G-rated. Maybe a few more clothes?”

  “We’ve got all we need. You need to loosen up, lady. And you ain’t the chief of police. We’re not that dumb. Cops don’t look like you. You’ve got yourself a pair of nice-looking—”

  Maria didn’t hear what the man said. Instead, she strained to hear if Justin, Brenna, and Zach had stayed put. She feared they hadn’t.

  The scantily clad woman swatted the man’s mud caked arm. “Hello? I’m standing right here. Don’t flirt with that lady like I’m some kind of pile of garbage.”

  The man raised his hands in defense. “I wasn’t flirting. I was just statin’ the obvious. She does have a good set of—”

  Maria spun around to find Beth’s children only a few paces behind her. She could hardly blame them. They were scared and wanted to be close. Tears fell onto Brenna’s cheeks as Justin unsuccessfully tried to wipe them off.

  “I don’t care what she does or doesn’t have,” hollered the woman, “you don’t call it out in front of me.”

  Torn between whether to stop the half-naked quarreling tourists or to comfort the scared kids, Maria had to make a decision.

  Take care of the couple. That would fix the problem, right?

  Maria shot the kids a “please-stay-put” look and turned back around. The man made a rude gestured toward the woman, and she pelted him with a string of choice words.

  Great. More vocabulary for Justin to tell his mother about.

  Maria cleared her throat forcefully. “Both of you need to take it down a notch. I see a pile of empty beer cans behind you. I doubt either of you are in any condition to get back into the car and drive. I suggest you get your clothes on and take a breather. I’ll find somewhere for you both to let the buzz wear off.”

  “Those aren’t our beer cans.” The man sneered at Maria.

  Maria pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’m calling my partner to have him bring the breathalyzer up here.” She pressed Pete’s name on her screen and continued walking toward the couple, closing the gap.

  “Hold on,” the man said, his voice taking on a serious tone at least. “What would you need to do that for? We’re not breaking any laws. You leave us alone. We leave you alone.”

  Maria felt something … or someone … at her side.

  Brenna!

  “Pete, here,” said a voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hey Pete,” began Maria, “I’m down at the north end of creek and—”

  “Zach, don’t!” shouted Justin at the same moment that Brenna started to cry out loud.

  The mud-covered man yelled, “Kid, don’t touch that!” Beneath it all, Maria heard Pete repeat her name.“Maria? Maria? Maria?”

  Things were going downhill fast. It was time for her to regroup before something really bad—

  “Look what I found!” It was Zach’s voice. Maria spun around to see what was going on. Standing next to the duffle bag on the ground, Zach held up a clear plastic bag of multi-colored pills.

  Narcotics—a lot of them.

  “Is it candy?” the six-year-old asked.

  “No, Zach.” Maria shoved her phone into her back pocket and sloshed a few steps in the water trying to get closer to him. “It’s not candy. Put it down right—”

  A scream from Brenna filled the air. Not a blood curdling one, like those Maria heard in Tehran before the executioner fulfilled a death sentence. And it wasn’t a fake scream, like the kind in high school when the cheerleaders wanted attention from the football players practicing in an adjacent field.

  This was a tentative scream, like when a person faces danger for the first time.

  Maria spun around to see that Brenna was perfectly fine. She was standing in the creek, small and filthy, but all in one piece.

  What had the scream been about?

  An inky dread oozed into Maria’s chest. In her peripheral vision, she saw Justin next to the couple.

  How had he gotten so close to them so fast?

  Maria shifted to get a better look. The man pressed a blade of a pocket knife against Justin’s throat. The oldest of Beth’s children looked like he might have just met one of Maria’s ghosts. His face was ashen and he was hyperventilating.

  Beth would never trust Maria with her kids again.

  Chapter Two

  The Anasazi occupied the region now known as the Four Corners. They lived in the open or in easily accessible sites within canyons. About 1250, many began constructing settlements high in the cliffs—settlements that offered defense and protection. These villages, well preserved by the dry climate and by stone overhangs, led the Anglo explorers who found them in the 1880s to name the absent builders the Cliff Dwellers.

  “Riddles of the Anasazi” by David Roberts, Smithsonian Magazine, July 2003.

  The man held the knife like an amateur. All the same, even an amateur criminal with a weapon was no light matter. Maria took a step forward, mentally noting exactly where her gun was on her body.

  The muddy woman held up her arms in surrender style. “Whoa. I have nothing to do with this. This is crazy, Karl. Let him go. He’s a kid.” She stepped backward, away from the unfolding scene. Then
to Maria she said, “I met this guy in Vegas. I agreed to a cross country adventure. A little beer. Getting high. But I had no idea. This . . . this is insane.”

  Maria believed her. She clearly was not armed, and the expression on her face, under the red mud spatters, was complete surprise.

  “Shut up, Roxy,” the man snarled.

  “Karl, is that your name?” Maria asked the man slowly, “Listen, you’re not thinking right. Too much alcohol can get you confused. Let the kid go and things will go a lot better for you.”

  “Don’t pretend you know what’s going on in my mind.” The man tightened his grip on Justin. “Take your shirt off.”

  “What?” asked Maria.

  “Take it off. I want to know if you’re really a cop. If you are, you’ll have a gun hidden under there. Take it off so I can see.”

  Now it was Justin who began to cry.

  “I already told you I am a police officer.”

  “Take it off!” the man screamed, his face red from rage.

  Maria grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up and off, the neck getting stuck momentarily on her thick ponytail in the back of her head. Maria’s Glock along with its holster was now visible.

  The man grunted. “That’s better. At least I know. Take the holster off with the gun in it and toss it to me. Don’t get the gun out. No funny stuff. I know where to find this kid’s jugular.”

  Brenna clung to Maria’s side, making it impossible for Maria to make any sudden moves. “Sweetie,” Maria whispered to the little girl as she undid the Velcro of the holster, “let go of my leg.”