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

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 Cleopatra’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.”

“I didn’t know where else to turn,” Dallas said. As soon as the words passed her lips she couldn’t help but think. Lame. She sounded like a scared child.

But in some ways, she felt that way.

Safra was holding out her palm. It took Dallas a moment to realize she wanted the scroll.

For a dark second Dallas was seized by the desire to turn around and run, to get in her car and speed away and hide the scroll from this beatific woman.

Put something deep inside her urged her to turn the scroll over.

So, she did.

As soon as the cardboard left her hands and was in Safra’s possession, Dallas felt a surge of relief. It was if an enormous weight had been lifted from her. At the same time, Safra’s smile had faded and her brows had drawn together in consternation.

“Oh my,” was all she said.

“It’s got something,” Dallas said, trying to explain but falling short. “It’s got something about it.”

Safra exhaled audibly and nodded, her crimson lips pressed tightly together. “Yes, that it does.”

Then, as if she was shaking off the ominous foreboding feeling herself, Safra gave a wide smile. “Let’s go inside. I have just made some sweet tea.”

As soon as they walked inside the cool house, the other women scattered in a flurry of colorful skirts and dresses. Dallas noticed a few of them look at the scroll. Safra walked over to the mantle and casually set the scroll on top of it, near a mirror, but then she carefully gathered some white candles from different end tables and pressed them up against the roll as if propping it so it wouldn’t roll off.

Without giving it another glance, Safra led them into the kitchen.

Dallas waited until she’d had at least one glass of the sweet tea and they’d talked about Dallas’s new job and budding relationship with Colton before she brought up how the scroll came to