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

the word "life.” The whole explanation then led to conversations about Egypt and Cleopatra.

“I wear it because I’m hoping to channel some of the strength and intelligence and power that she had,” her mother said.

From that day on, Dallas had looked at her mother in a new light. She realized that her mother was more than just her mother.

Now, on the porch, she saw a glimpse of that side of her. She was playful and laughing.

“Well, funny you should bring that up about Cleopatra,” her dad said. “That’s not exactly what happened. Just a story that’s been passed down.”

“How so, Marcus?” Her mother said, tucking her legs under her on the cushioned chair.

That’s when her dad told the real story of Cleopatra.

He explained how Cleopatra’s suicide was considered the greatest possible insult to Octavian who had wanted to humiliate her by parading her as a prisoner through the streets of Rome. But also, how Cleopatra’s actions in the days leading up to her death seemed to indicate she was performing a religious ceremony.

And then her dad said something that would change Dallas’s life.

“They’ve never found her tomb.”

“How come?” Dallas asked.

“The city she lived in sunk into the sea.”

“Wow. Like disappeared? A whole city?”

“Most of it. Boom. Gone,” her dad said.

Then the subject changed and they began talking about some old friends of theirs from high school. Dallas grew sleepy listening to funny stories about her dad getting into mischief as a young man.

Her mother pulled a throw over Dallas’s body and then absentmindedly smoothed Dallas’s hair back as she spoke. Dallas closed her eyes. It was the most perfect night of her life. Her parents’ voices, the soothing night breeze, the creak of the porch swing. The next thing she knew her mother was gently whispering in her ear.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“What about Dad?” Dallas asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Her Dad was gone.

“He had to leave. He had a train to catch. Dallas was filled with sorrow and anger. Why, oh why had she fallen asleep and missed it all?

“He’ll be back in two weeks,” her mother said. It made Dallas feel a little better.

From that moment on, Dallas devoured every book and every movie and TV program she could about Cleopatra. And then in high school when it came time to think about college majors, Dallas didn’t hesitate. She wanted to study archeology. But her dreams had been crushed after graduation when she didn’t get hired by the Archeology school in Arizona. But Minnesota had offered her a job. She packed her things. She would go anywhere, even the frigid Midwest, and do anything to pursue her passion.

One day she would visit a dig in Egypt. It would be a dream come true.

Now, she was teaching archeology and sitting at a museum listening to two men who had finally managed to uncover artifacts from the sunken city. It all seemed surreal to Dallas. And somehow, the man had known her parents, which made it even more bizarre. And frankly, made no sense at all to Dallas.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Caldwell asked.

Several people did. Finally, Dallas raised her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Jones.”

Dallas hid her dismay at him calling her out by name. “Do you believe that Cleopatra’s tomb is somewhere under water in the seas you’re exploring?” she asked.

His gaze nailed her frozen. It was too intense. Dallas didn’t like it. And she decided right then that she didn’t like him, either.

“Yes. I do.”

“Do you think you’ll find it? In your lifetime that is?” She pressed on. Caldwell was older, maybe in his forties.

“It is my destiny to find Cleopatra’s tomb,” he said. “It is the culmination of my life’s work.”

The room grew silent at his intensity.

Even Malcolm Land, his Crocodile Dundee partner, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Dallas met Caldwell’s eyes for a long few seconds and then nodded, but was thinking, we’ll see about that. He must have read her mind because he spoke, asking, “You have another theory?”

She smiled. His eyes widened. It was then she realized she was smirking. That she had a smug look on her face and that it had surprised the hell out of him. She also realized, as other heads in the audience turned to look at her in the back of the room, that she had made him look bad at his own event. And that meant, she had made an enemy.

A docent from the museum cleared his throat and announced, “I think it’s time for Mr. Caldwell and Mr. Land to sign some books. Can we form a line over to the left-hand side of the room?”

Just then a loud gasp erupted in the crowd and all heads turned toward the back where Dallas was standing. But they weren’t looking at her. They were looking at a man who had just come in the door. He seemed winded, and winked at Dallas as he unfurled a scarf he had wrapped around his neck.

Like everyone else in the room, Dallas immediately recognized the man. It was Calvin Train, the famous motivational speaker, and one of the richest men in the world.

He towered at least six-foot-four and had black hair, acne-pitted cheeks, and striking blue eyes. His palms were as large as Dallas’s face, she figured. His acne-scarred face was the only thing that kept him from being movie star handsome, that and the dead look in his eyes.

“My apologies,” he said. “The weather was terrible and my jet was stuck in Chicago. I am terribly sorry to interrupt and even more sorry I missed your talk gentlemen.”

The docent, who seemed puffed up with pride, smiled. “I’m sure Mr. Land and Mr. Caldwell would be available to speak to you privately after the signing, wouldn’t you gentlemen?”

David Caldwell scowled, but Malcolm Land fervently nodded his head. “But of course.”

“Please, please come up to the front,” the docent said.

Before he made his way up the aisle, Train stared at Dallas for a long second that made her uncomfortable. She’d only