Buried Secrets (2 page)

Shoving away from the truck, she scanned the ranch.
Mine now.
The feelings she’d held at bay for three days inundated her all at once. Anger, bereavement and a bone-weary tiredness flooded her and made her steps leaden as she trudged toward the house.

On the porch she paused, not wanting to go back to the chaotic mess in the house that had once been so neat and orderly. She whirled around and stared off into the distance, at the top of the mesa near the highway. She watched a lone hawk circle, looking for its prey. Then suddenly the bird swooped down for the kill. Maggie closed her eyes. She couldn’t take seeing the hawk rise triumphantly with its catch in its talons. That man today had made her feel like helpless prey, vulnerable, afraid and not in control. She’d struggled never to feel those emotions again.

“What am I going to do, Gramps?” she whispered, needing to hear the sound of her own voice. With his death, she had no family left. She was as alone as that bird’s quarry. As alone as that time…No, she wouldn’t think about the past.

A dull throb began to pound behind her eyes. She massaged her temples, putting off for a few more seconds what she knew must be done.

When she went inside, the raw impact of the destruction hit her all over again. Everything she loved and cared about was strewn and ripped apart before her. Drawers were emptied, their contents flung all around. The cushions on the chairs and couch were sliced open to reveal the stuffing. Cherished photos were tossed on the floor, the glass from the frames shattered.

In the midst of the disarray, pages of the old family Bible, torn and crumpled, lay scattered about the room. She might be angry with the Lord for taking yet another loved one, but the sight ripped through what composure she had left. What kind of monster could do that to the Bible?

A picture of the intruder invaded her thoughts and iced her blood. Tears pooled in her eyes and streaked down her cheeks. Her grandfather’s possessions were her last link to him. All destroyed! Bewildered, she took a few more steps into the middle of the living room. Slowly she turned in a full circle, feeling as though she were in a dream, none of this real.

But it was very real.

She bent down and found the Bible partially hidden beneath the couch. She sank down onto the coffee table and fingered the black leather of the book, which was missing most of its pages. Her grandfather had treasured this above all, and it was beyond repair. It had been in her family for almost a hundred years. Through the sheen of tears she tried to gather the crushed pages into a pile. Her vision blurred, she blinked several times. The tears flowed even more. She gave up and allowed them to fall.

Finally, when she had no tears left to shed, she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and started once again to pick up the pages of Gramps’s beloved Bible. Once she had collected all of them, she moved to the contents of the drawer covering part of the coffee table and tried to bring some kind of order to it. Then she went to another disheveled pile and did the same.

Evening shadows crept into the room, forcing Maggie to switch on a light. Still she labored, determined to make the living room look like it had when she had left for the funeral that morning. No one was going to come into her life and totally disrupt it as that man had earlier. She’d had too much of that in the past. She wasn’t going to allow it. She’d finally managed to have some control over her life, and she wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

After hours of working nonstop, Maggie rose and stretched her cramped, aching muscles. The pounding in her head had subsided to a dull throb, but her eyes felt heavy, gritty. She glanced at the mess still about her. It wasn’t going anywhere, and she needed coffee.

In the kitchen, she waited at the sink for the brew to percolate, staring out the window at the darkness. The feeling of total isolation swamped her again, suddenly making her quake in the warm night air. The lock on the front door was flimsy, obviously not a good deterrent. She should leave and return some other day with several friends to help her, to keep her company, she thought to herself.

She would only stay a little longer.

The scent of coffee infused the night, temporarily reviving her spent body. Reviving her soul was a lost cause.

She poured herself a cup, took a few sips and started for the living room. She would finish the cabinet and then call it quits. As she reentered, the phone’s jarring ring startled her, and she nearly dropped her mug.

Hurrying to answer the call, she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Maggie, this is Tom. Just wanted to tell you we let the man go.”

Her grip tightened. “Why?”

“Because his story checked out. He’s a respected professor at Albuquerque City College. He had an alibi for most of the day, except the time it would have taken him to drive to the ranch. There’s no way he could have been there long enough to do the kind of damage I saw.”

“Who is he?”

“Dr. Zach Collier.”

The man’s name renewed her seething emotions. “I want him arrested for trespassing, then.”

“Now, Maggie, I know you’re upset about what happened, but the man only came inside because he thought you were there and in danger.”

“A Collier would never feel that way about a Somers. He’s lying.” Ever since she could remember, she had heard that from her grandfather, and after what Red Collier had done to Gramps, she believed him.

“Sleep on it. If you still feel that way tomorrow, come see me. Go home, Maggie.”

After hanging up, she lifted her mug to her lips and drank. The brew flowed down her throat, warming her cold insides. The sheriff might believe Zach Collier didn’t have anything to do with this destruction, but she didn’t. Somehow he was behind it. First thing tomorrow morning, she would be at the sheriff station, demanding Tom file trespassing charges against the man.

The sound of a car approaching the house diverted her attention toward the front door. For a second she thought of calling the sheriff back, but it would take twenty minutes for him to get to the ranch. Besides, it could be any number of Gramps’s friends.

Maggie hurried across the room. Flipping on an outside light, she stepped out onto the porch and saw a red sports car come to a stop. She flew back inside and rushed to the mantel, where Gramps kept his shotgun. With no time to call the sheriff, she grabbed it as she heard a car door slam closed.

Back out on the porch, she lifted the shotgun and said, “Come any closer and I’ll shoot you.”

Z
ach unfolded his long body from his Corvette and stood, wondering why in the world he was back out at Jake Somers’s ranch.
Fool.
He’d called himself that several times as he’d driven to the scene of his earlier humiliation. And now, seeing Maggie Somers pointing a shotgun at him, he berated himself for not listening to that little voice inside him.

But she was in danger, and he couldn’t walk away and live with himself.
Father, protect me and help me make her see the truth.

“Put the gun down. We need to talk.” He schooled his voice in a calm cadence, hoping to soothe her. He had to believe that a doctor wouldn’t take his life, even if there was a long-running feud between their families.

“I have nothing to say to a Collier. Get off my land.”

“You’re in danger.”

“You think?” She moved to the top of the steps, the shotgun still leveled at his chest.

“And I’m not the cause of it. I came here to warn you.”

She laughed, a humorless sound that filled the quiet. “Do I have
stupid
written on my forehead? Why do you think I would believe you?”

“Because your grandfather was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Maggie stiffened, the shotgun wavering, dropping slightly from her shoulder. “My grandfather died in a riding accident. The sheriff didn’t find any foul play.”

“I believe it was murder because my grandfather died under similar circumstances recently.”

She again secured the weapon firmly at her shoulder. “I’ve listened. Consider me warned. You’ve done your good deed for the day. Now, leave.”

Father, give me the right words to say to this woman.
“I’m not my grandfather. The feud was between them, not us.”

“You’re a Collier. That’s all I need to know.”

“Three weeks ago my grandfather died in a rehabilitation center. His death didn’t raise any questions because he had a stroke. But his room at the center was searched. At first I didn’t think too much about it, thinking an employee had been rummaging through his things. Then, while I was at the funeral, someone ransacked his house, too, and stole something of great value to my grandfather. Now I’m not so sure he died from natural causes, but he was cremated, so an autopsy can’t be performed. I don’t like coincidences. This is too similar to what happened at my granddad’s house.”

The throbbing in Maggie’s head returned with an intensity that left her reeling. She needed twenty-four hours of sleep. She needed to be alone, safe. She needed to be in control. “There’s no connection between your grandfather and mine. Yours took care of that almost sixty years ago.” Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. Arms aching, she lowered the shotgun but kept a tight grip on it.

“The diary is the connection.”

His words brought her up straight. “Father Santiago’s diary? But my grandfather could never find anything. He had decided it was a legend after all.”

“He only had half the information.”

Fury chased away her weariness. “Only because your grandfather stole the map from him. Do you know why my grandfather kept the diary instead of donating it to a museum? It reminded him of a man’s potential for evil—one particular man’s potential.”

Zach Collier took several steps closer, charging the air with his power. “There’s always two sides to an issue.”

“Issue! A man’s betrayal isn’t an issue. Leave now, Dr. Collier.” Contempt laced her voice.

“Think about what I said. You’re in danger, especially if the person who did this didn’t find the diary. When you come to your senses, you can reach me at Albuquerque City College. I have an office there in the science building. But don’t wait too long. I’m leaving soon on an expedition.”

Maggie didn’t say anything as he left, the tension in the air evaporating as quickly as water in the desert. Her legs weak, her pulse pounding, she sank down on the top step. As she struggled to bring some kind of order to her thoughts, she scanned the terrain, inky darkness surrounding her. She couldn’t stay another moment. She had to leave.

She quickly reentered the house, turned off the lights and locked up—not that it had done much good earlier. Stepping out onto the porch again, she inhaled deeply, the fresh air calming her frayed emotions. The man’s theory of murder unnerved her more than the break-in. Zach Collier had obviously set out to frighten her, and for a little while she had allowed him to. Well, not anymore. She headed for her white Mustang.

She inserted a classical CD into the slot and turned up the volume. The music of Tchaikovsky filled the car. She emptied her mind of all but the music and the road stretching ahead of her.

Until she reached the outskirts of Santa Fe, Maggie didn’t think much about the car behind her on the highway. But in town, every turn she made, the vehicle behind her did, too. She switched off the CD player and sat up, alert, tense. She was being followed.

Who was it? Collier?

She pressed her foot down on the accelerator. The car behind her increased its speed, too. In the dark she tried to see if it was Zach Collier in his red sports car, but all she saw were the headlights glaring brightly, obliterating her view. She wouldn’t put it past that man to try to intimidate her further. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she thought of him behind her, intentionally trying to frighten her.

Maggie neared an intersection and at the last second swerved across two lanes of traffic to turn down a side street. When she chanced a glance in the rearview mirror, she noticed the car following her had copied her actions.

Sweat beaded on her forehead.
I can’t go home. I won’t lead whoever is behind me to my house. I need people.

An idea took root in her mind. She headed for the hospital she worked at. Parking at the emergency entrance, she hopped out of her Mustang and ran into the building, glancing over her shoulder. She glimpsed several cars coming into the parking lot—none red Corvettes.

“Al, will you be a dear and park my car in the doctors’ parking lot?” she asked an orderly when she saw him in the hall.

“Sure, Dr. Somers.”

“Thanks.” She flipped her keys to him as she hurried down the hallway, the swish of the automatic doors to the emergency room sounding as they opened. “Just put the keys in my mailbox when you’ve got a chance.”

She again looked back, but all she saw were a mother and her son coming into the hospital. Was the person still outside waiting for her to leave? Was it Zach Collier? Had she imagined being followed?

The bustle of people comforted her as she made her way to a doctors’ lounge on the second floor. She crossed to the window overlooking the main parking lot, to inch open the blind’s slats. She searched the rows of vehicles. Still no red sports car. But there were other places for someone to sit and wait for her to emerge from the hospital, especially now that the person had been alerted to the fact that Maggie knew she was being followed.

She snatched up the phone and ordered a cab to pick her up at the service entrance in fifteen minutes. Pacing the room, she kept glancing at the window as though that would produce the car that had been behind her since she left the ranch. She hoped that if it was Zach Collier he would sit in his Corvette for hours waiting for her to come back outside. Too bad it wasn’t freezing. And if it wasn’t him—She wouldn’t think about that. It had to be him. He had to be wrong about her grandfather being murdered.

Ten minutes later, she eased open the door to the doctors’ lounge and checked the hallway. Two nurses stood at a counter at the end, and the elevator opened to reveal an older couple getting off. She hurried toward the elevator and slipped inside, punching the button for the basement level, where the service entrance was. Her heart hammered a maddening beat. She took several deep breaths to slow its pace.

She was letting a Collier’s fantastical ravings get her all worked up.
Lord, why are You doing this to me? Wasn’t it enough You took Gramps?

When the elevator reached the lower floor, Maggie peered up and down the hallway. Empty. Where was everyone? Home, where she should be. She realized most of the labs and offices were on this level and that the majority of the people were gone by now.

She stepped out, and the doors swished closed. The click of her heels echoed down the long corridor as she walked toward the exit. The hairs on her nape tingled. She quickened her pace and peered back several times. Nothing. Yet.

Reaching the service door, she pushed it open and surveyed the area. Again, nothing. Lights from a car swept through the darkness and blended with the security lights. She squinted and made out the lines of a cab. It came to a stop ten feet away. She rushed toward it.

Slipping inside, she gave the driver her address, then slid down in the backseat so she wasn’t visible to someone on the street. Several blocks away from the hospital, she inched up and glanced around. The empty street calmed the frantic beating of her heart, and she inhaled enough air to fill her lungs.

Leaning back against the cushion, she closed her eyes, and immediately the image of Zach Collier materialized in her thoughts. She shivered. Never in her life had she had a day like this one. She tried to get a handle on all that had happened, but her exhausted mind refused to think beyond one thought: she could be in danger.

When the taxi pulled up outside her house, she scanned the street, searching for anything unfamiliar. She felt as though she were in the middle of a spy story, caught up in the intrigue. She paid the driver, then walked quickly toward her front door. After fumbling around in her purse, she withdrew her key and inserted it into the lock.

A dog barked next door.

She jumped, her purse slipping from her grasp. Her nerves raw, she snatched up the large leather bag and threw a quick look over her shoulder, as if she expected someone to rush up the sidewalk or leap out from the bushes by the porch.

A sigh trembled past her lips. Empty. She hurriedly entered her house, immediately flipping on a light. The bright glow killed the darkness, and she sank back against the closed front door, her body quaking. When she peered into the living room off to the right, half expecting to see a chaotic mess, she slid to the tile floor. Relief mingling with exhaustion swept through her. Everything was in perfect order, as neat and tidy as always.

She should get some rest—put this whole day behind her—but the blur of the past few hours numbed her. She clasped her legs and lay her head on her knees. This time she didn’t close her eyes, and yet she pictured Zach Collier as though he stood in her entryway, as arrogant and audacious as earlier.

What if he was right, and someone had killed Gramps? What if he hadn’t been the person behind her on the highway? What if Gramps’s killer had been tailing her into town, watching her at the ranch? Maggie sat up straight. She realized in that moment that she wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew the truth about his death. And the place to start was the diary.

She shoved to her feet and headed for her bedroom, the first room she’d put in order when she’d moved in a few weeks ago. She spent most of her time in it. When she entered, she bypassed her king-sized, four-poster bed and headed for the armoire. She opened the bottom drawer. An old black book, protected in a temperature-and humidity-controlled case, lay nestled among her sweaters. Her hands quivered as she carefully lifted it out.

Had Gramps died for this?

She opened the case. Cautiously, because the aged pages were fragile, she perused the diary, written by a Spanish monk during the sixteenth century. His handwriting was bold and daring. She’d often thought the man must have been like his handwriting, if what he had written about his journey was true. Had he really found evidence of a lost group of Aztecs who had settled in the southwestern part of the United States? Had they carried with them some of the codices that experts thought had been destroyed by the Spanish conquerors? Could the diary and map really lead to where the codices were hidden? Or was it all a legend, as Gramps had come to believe in the end?

She settled onto her bed, carefully laying the diary, still in its case, in her lap. Her grandfather had given it to her on her thirtieth birthday, two years before, because she had always loved hearing about it. The diary had been one of his most prized possessions, yet he had parted with it because of his love for Maggie. If he had been murdered, she had to find the person responsible and make sure he paid for it. And if that meant working with Zach Collier, then she would—just as soon as she checked out his story about his grandfather’s death.