Buried Secrets by Kristi Belcamino (best ebook reader for surface pro TXT) 📗

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