The Moses Riddle (Thomas McAllister 'Treasure Hunter' Adventure Book 1) (25 page)

Realizing that she might be working for the government, he was more intent on finding her than ever. He wanted to get the explanation he deserved. He knew she loved him. Knew it! And as time passed, he’d become more and more convinced that she had been forced to shoot him. Coerced. Faced with no alternative, he believed she’d shot him in the safest place she could. The only way to find out was to find Ann. This would be the most important search of his life. Unfortunately, this time, there was no riddle to guide him.

Thomas spent the next few days roaming Manhattan, wandering from one favorite place to the next. Sometimes he thought of Ann, and sometimes his mind was clear, only reflecting the images around him, like Jimmy Stewart after Kim Novak’s death in the movie
Vertigo
.

After four days of relatively aimless meandering, he found himself breakfasting at the Plaza. Sipping real orange juice and eating improbably fluffy pancakes. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he was beginning to form a plan. His search would start with basics. Ann had given him her full name, where she’d grown up, and where she went to both undergraduate and graduate school. If all three were bogus, he would scan graduate school rosters for archeology graduate students who had specialized in the Maya. One thing he knew was that she was a trained Mayanologist. Her knowledge had been too deep not to be real.

After breakfast, Thomas wandered for hours until he reached Union Square Café. Over perfectly prepared orange roughy, he realized that Ann had told him very little about herself. Had it been intentional, or was it his fault for not showing more interest?

Towards the end of the day, he stopped at the best tavern in Manhattan, PJ Clarke’s. He sat at the bar stool closest to the old phone booth. He’d been walking all day, and it felt good to sit and relax. He recognized the bartender as one who had been there many years and without a word spoken a Bass Ale appeared in front of him. He nodded, and the bartender moved away, aware, like any bartender worth a damn, that he wanted to think rather than talk.

The last couple of days Thomas had been trying to play back every conversation he had ever had with Ann. He wanted to remember every detail, no matter how insignificant. It was hard, because in trying to recount the conversations, he kept seeing images of her face. He remembered thinking she was beautiful from the moment he’d seen her, after he had fallen on the cactus, when she had crouched over him to remove the spines. Even in that reflected light he’d been able to tell that her face was unusually perfect.

Later, they’d argued about who had fallen in love first, each saying that the other had been first. But, ultimately, late one night, in a voice as soft as a child’s, Ann had admitted that she knew she’d fallen first. That something inside her had clicked at the bar that first night.

Because of their limited time together, and his desire to know her, he realized he remembered most everything she’d ever told him. And now, with a second pint of Bass in front of him, he was trying to remember the four or five specific things she’d told him that still remained elusive. They would float up, just out of reach, drifting close, before moving quickly away again. He wasn’t even sure that any of these elusive tidbits would help. They might be no more than trivia. But he had to recall them. They might lead somewhere.

He tried thinking about what topics they might relate to. Nothing. He tried not thinking about them. Nothing. He tried using techniques that had helped him remember things in the past; chronological or sequential recognition, context and association. Finally he did recall one of them. In Phoenix, they had rented a Land Rover Discovery identical to the one Ann already owned, to evade whomever was looking for them. Ann had used a travelers check rather than a credit card. At the time, it was no big deal, but now it was a potential lead. He could return to the car rental company and ask to see the check. Maybe he’d learn that it was issued under a different name.

He had one more beer and, feeling slightly buzzed, decided to end the day at the Met. Several artifacts from his digs had become part of the museum’s permanent collection so it held a special place in his heart. He also wanted to get a look at his favorite painting, the one he’d been looking at before going to the exchange a few days earlier, the
Joan of Arc,
by Dupais.

He reached the Museum and found that it was closed due to a VIP Behind the Scenes party. People dressed in formal evening wear were filing in. This was a night for large contributors to go behind the scenes and see the museum holdings that were not normally on display.

Thomas kept his Archeological Foundation Member Card in his wallet. It entitled him entrance into any museum anywhere in the world for free. The Met let him right in. He was wearing jeans, but luckily he’d taken a sport coat before leaving Taylor’s earlier in the day.

The museum was only moderately crowded, and Thomas moved around easily. As he made his way closer to
Joan of Arc
, he floated slowly through the crowd, observing the Manhattanites who had bothered to pay enough to become VIPs. Very important people in the eyes of the Met. They were an excited, severely pretty, talkative group. Dressed to whatever the height of fashion was in their social circle. Thomas liked looking at them. They were fun to watch. Trying so hard. Knowing so little about the objects surrounding them.

He reached
Joan of Arc
and sat on the bench directly in front of her. He became immediately absorbed in the painting, picking up where he left off the day he traded the Ark for Ann. It was a painting that he’d gazed at countless times, but he had new and different observations each time. This evening, his eyes were drawn again to the colors; the muted flowers, the red apples on the tree behind the main subject. Apples, spaced sparingly so as not to overwhelm. They were perfect.

Thomas looked at one apple, directly above and to the right of Joan of Arc’s head. It had the deepest color of them all. It was not really red, but rather a deep, muted tone. Not maroon either. But what then? Thomas challenged himself to come up with a name for the color. He tried to remember all the reds in the large crayon box he’d had as a child. Not red. Not maroon. Not burnt sienna. Not fuchsia.

It was the color of something he’d seen recently.
But what?
Then, at lightening speed, it hit him, and in remembering, he brought back one of the elusive memories of Ann that he’d been trying to recall all day! The color of the apple was the same as the deep red Mexican Hot Sauce that Ann had used in Mexico. The one she carried in her purse, that he had tried the first morning when he’d been so hungover. It was her favorite. She was a hot sauce fanatic. She had made a point of saying how she always carried her own bottle because the brand was so hard to find. She’d said she liked the hot sauce so much, she ordered it by the case from the distributor.
Thomas smiled. His first lead. It was such a minor fact she didn’t even catch herself. Never even regretted saying it. But it was the single most important thing she had ever told him. It was the only mistake she’d made in what had been a perfect ruse.
Thomas’s stomach tingled as he walked back to Taylor’s apartment through Central Park. He had a spring in his step
. This could be it. But, damn it! I can’t remember the name of the hot sauce distributor. She’d said it. I remember her saying it
. He could picture her reading it off the back of the bottle she had taken out of her purse.
What was it?
He called Arturo and explained that he may have figured out a way to track down Ann. Arturo like the idea. He didn’t remember the brand of hot sauce that Ann used but he was able to provide the phone number of the Hotel Mercado. They had used the same brand. He then called the hotel and got Jose on the line. It was good to hear his voice again. It brought back memories of falling in love with Ann and of searching for the Ark. He described the bottle of hot sauce and told Jose he needed the address listed on the label. His pulse quickened as he waited. He was getting so close, much sooner than he’d ever thought possible.
Please have it, Jose
!
“Senor McAlister, I have a bottle right here in my hand. Are you ready?”
Thomas breathed a deep sigh of relief. Thank God. “Yes, ready, Jose.”
After writing down the address, he repeated it back to Jose, letter for letter. Salsa Picante, Hot Sauce. Distributed by Farmer Bros. Co., Phoenix. It was too late in the day to call the company now. He would call tomorrow.
Taylor was in the living room having a night cap when Thomas came out of the guest bedroom. “What are you having there?”
“White Russian. I decided against Cognac tonight. You look like you’ve already had a few. Up for one more?”
“You have to ask me if I’m up for a White Russian? Pour away, my friend. Plenty of ice.”
“How was your day?”
“I had a revelation!”
Taylor shot him a concerned look. “You might not want to use that word, while standing so close to the Ark of the Covenant.”
“You’re right,” Thomas said glancing nervously at the coffee table. “Anyway. I figured out how I’m going to find Ann!” He took a long sip of the drink, sank onto the couch, and explained it to Taylor.
“You’re basing your entire search on hot sauce?”
“The whole thing,” Thomas said confidently. “I just hope the company will give me her address. Otherwise, I’ll have to break in to their offices to get it.”
“Again? Another break in?”
“Yep.”
“Well, at least you can be sure of less security.”
Thomas grinned. “I don’t know. It’s was pretty good hot sauce.”

He had no idea what Ann’s real name or address might be, but he thought he knew a way to get both of them. He would act like he didn’t know exactly what kind of sauce he was looking for. That way he might be able to get the person to read the names of the people who had ordered it to him. He didn’t know what he was listening for, but intuition told him he’d know her real name when he heard it.

The receptionist answered on the third ring and transferred him to the sales rep who handled special requests. “Mary Jean. How may I help you?”

“Hi, Mary Jean. My name is Thomas McAlister and I think I could use your help with something.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“My fiancée loves a product your company distributes. She likes it so much she orders it by the case and carries a bottle in her purse. I always tease her about it, but I’d like to buy some for her as a surprise. I’m afraid I don’t know the exact name of the hot sauce. Do you make more than one kind? I do know that she’s ordered some within the past six months. Would that help?”
“Many people buy our products directly from us, especially when they purchase by the case. I have one old gal calls me every month. Says she hates to grocery shop. Did you say you didn’t know the product name?”
“All I know is that it is a hot sauce. She uses it every morning on eggs.”
“That’s probably our Salsa Picante. You say it’s a hot sauce, right?”
“Yes, the stuff is really hot. She made me try some once and it burnt my mouth.”
“We distribute two versions. Medium and the Hot. Do you know which one she likes?”
“No. I’m not sure which.” Thomas continued. “Do you get a lot of special orders?”
“Enough to keep me busy here full time. I do special event orders and consumer orders, too. Just taking consumer orders takes 40 percent of my time.”
“That’s a lot. You must be very busy. Let me ask you. Is there a way you could go through the small orders for those two hot sauces for the last six months? If you can quickly read off the names of the women who purchased, I’ll tell you when I hear her name. You do keep track of that information don’t you, Mary Jean?” Thomas knew Ann used the Hot. But he didn’t know what name she used. He needed Mary Jean to read the names.
“Yes, of course. We keep all the records right here. I created the system myself. They don’t have me on a computer yet. They offered to get me on one of the old ones, but I told them no. I told them I’d keep hand writing orders and filing them myself. I asked them, what if the electricity goes out while I’m on the computer? What if the computer goes on the blink and we lose all our records? No, I keep all files myself.”
“That makes perfect sense.”
“I got these files by product. I’ll start with the Hot, and read you the names, from the most recent to six months ago. You tell me if you hear her name. Okay?”
“Yes, that will be fine. I can’t begin to thank you. My fiancée is going to be so surprised.”
After listening to four months of names, he hit pay-dirt. An Ann
Davenport
had purchased two cases four and a half months ago. That had to be his Ann. Good technique. Use an undercover name that rhymed with your real name and you’ll be more likely to respond immediately, without giving yourself away.
“That’s her! I knew she ordered from you!”
“I guess she likes the Salsa Picante. Too hot for me. Would you like to buy a case then?”
“Oh, yes, I definitely want to buy a case. And Mary Jean, can you give me the address she used for the delivery? I want to make absolutely sure we’ve got the right Ann Davenport.”
“You want your own fiancé’s address?”
“No, of
course
I know where she lives, but I want to make sure we’ve selected the
same
Ann Davenport. You never know. I don’t want to buy her the wrong kind, or worse, buy some other Ann Davenport a case.”
“It’s against policy to give addresses over the phone, but you sound nice enough. You’re not one of them serial killers, are you?” She laughed nervously at the thought.
“No, ma’am. I can promise you that.”
“We sent it to 12 Magnolia Lane, New Haven, Connecticut.” Thomas smiled and shook his head. Yale! She’d gone to Yale! No wonder she was such a strong Mayanologist! She studied under Michael Coe.
“That’s my Ann. Thank you so much, Mary Jean! You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”
“Don’t you want to place an order for the hot sauce?”
“Oh yes, yes, sorry.” He gave her Taylor’s name and address and thanked her again.
So Ann was Ann Davenport and she lived in New Haven! She was a Yale graduate and probably taught there! Now, with the sudden knowledge of her location, he had to decide if he really wanted to confront her.