Shadows 01 Superstition Shadows Read online

  I turned my back on the city lights and strolled back to my tent, a twelve by twelve foot room that I had purchased years ago from an old prospector. The lantern burning inside cast flickering shapes on the canvas walls. I had furnished the tent with the necessities; a couple of hard folding chairs, a folding table, a laptop computer with extra batteries, research documents, and maps.

  My motor home, which served as both home and office, was parked in nearby Apache Junction, an untidy community at the foot of Superstition Mountain, but this night, like so many others of late, I was staying on site. Was it because I felt I was getting close to those I sought that I didn’t want to leave? Or was it that, in my reflective mood, I just needed to surround myself with the mystery of the mountain, the quiet of the night, and the light of the full moon?

  “What can I do, fella?” I sat on my hard camp cot and waited for Pup to join me. He sat with his chin on my thigh and huffed a weary sigh. “You understand, don’t you? I’m dependent on the Curtis money to complete my work. And I’m so close … so very close to finding them.”

  My fingers slipped through his thick ruff. We knew each other well, he and I. We each understood and loved the other without question or expectation.

  I had worked alone all my professional life, especially during the last five years, except for my student assistants. Even when I was teaching I was my own person, but now … being responsible for Curtis’s playgirl daughter was going to seriously cramp my studies. How was this woman’s presence going to affect my team of carefully chosen graduate students? Would she disrupt them, especially the young men? Would she claim their attention with her worldly art of seduction? Young men are so vulnerable when it comes to beautiful women and from what I had seen of Doctor Curtis in People and other publications, she was an attractive young woman.

  I hoped that Doctor Curtis would understand my not taking time to meet her at Phoenix’s Sky Harbor Airport. Even if she didn’t, that would be her problem, not mine. She’d get no preferential treatment from me. Sandy, the most responsible of my students, would greet her and escort her to the inn. She’d appreciate a little breathing time before meeting me for dinner anyway. Sandy was a shy young man and I hoped that this quality would be an effective barrier to the advances of a woman whose questionable reputation preceded her. I had toyed with the idea of warning him about Doctor Curtis, but decided that he was an adult and could take care of himself.

  After spreading my sleeping bag and air mattress on the ground under the stars, I boiled water for tea on my single burner Primus Stove. A few minutes later, I was sitting cross-legged on my inviting bed, cupping the warm mug in my hands. Pup stretched out in front of me, his head resting on his paws, eyes ever watchful.

  This expedition was so important to me and I felt that, finally, I was closing in on my quarry, the mysterious Lost Tribe of the Amazons. Much of my life to this point focused on this one project. While most people, even some of my contemporaries, believed the Amazons were legend, I felt there was much more to their story. Even while working other expeditions, which I did from time to time, my mind seldom strayed from this small band of women warriors who had supposedly reached North America. According to legend, they built a raft and with the aid of wind and currents made their way across the vast ocean.

  Francisco De Orellana, Spanish Adventurer and Explorer, allegedly fought a tribe of Amazon-like warrior women in the summer of 1542 near the Maranon River, later renamed the Amazon. Could those warriors be related to the tribe I sought? I had reason to believe my band had reached the New World and I was hot on their trail. Nothing would stop me or slow my progress, not the spoiled Doctor Curtis nor the local media who had been hounding me for a story. Frederick Curtis, at my urging, had seen to it that this site was concealed from public view with round the clock security.

  Lying on my back, I began counting the stars in the Milky Way, letting the majesty of my surroundings relax my brain and my body until I was just one more soul at peace with Mother Earth.

  I don’t know how long I’d been asleep before I awakened in a sweat. My watch told me it was two-forty. I pulled my sleeping bag up around my shoulders and began to analyze for the umpteenth time the strange dreams and visions that had disturbed my sleep these past months. Had I spent too many years chasing this small tribe around the globe? Was I obsessed with the chase? I was pushing fifty. Not old by a long way, but what to do if this latest lead ended at a blank wall? Could I risk taking my career farther along this path? Would it be better for me to start over and forget this lifelong search for the lost tribe?

  Unable to go back to sleep, I got up and walked the quarter mile or so to the mouth of the small canyon where we worked long hours each day. The beam from my flashlight played across the grid, the measured squares of promising dirt, then on, into the shadows. Why here? Why am I so sure the answer is here? I searched the low desert shrubbery illuminated by the moonlight. I marveled at the pure artistry; the feathery shadows cast by the Palo Verde Trees onto the canyon wall. Strata in the rock bent the shadows like sticks in a pail of water. Standing still and silent, I focused on my surroundings, hoping something there would speak to me … a voice from the past would be nice.

  Before crawling back into my sleeping bag, I swallowed a mild, across the counter sedative. Pup stretched his muscular body alongside me. Moments later, the howl of distant coyotes brought his head up. I stroked behind his ears. “Settle down, fella. There’s nothing you need worry about.” He gave me a wise look before laying his long muzzle on his outstretched paws. His ears twitched as another howl echoed across the ridges. A pair of coyotes spoke to each other across a draw below camp.

  I closed my eyes with my fingers buried in the comforting warmth of Pup’s ruff. Tomorrow was going to be a difficult day. Meeting Doctor Curtis for dinner was not something I contemplated with pleasure, but I intended to do what I could to make her feel welcome.

  Chapter Two

  Mitch and Stacie secured my gear and settled me into one of the plush seats in my father’s corporate jet. I buckled my seatbelt, opened a bottle of mineral water, and perused several articles written by Doctor Kimberly Blair.

  “Sorry, Doctor Curtis, this was all I could find for snacking.” Stacie dropped two packets of peanuts and cheese crackers on the table beside my seat and tucked a pillow behind my head.

  “Damn, what happened to the cashews?”

  “Your father has a fondness for them, too.” She fussed a bit more with the pillow and dimmed the cabin lights the way I like them. “The blanket is just to your left. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Besides cashews, you mean?” I said, half-seriously.

  “Next flight, I promise.”

  With a final glance about the spacious blue and gray interior, she wiped a smudge from the polished teak table and moved through to the cockpit where Mitch prepared for takeoff.

  Once we were airborne, I kicked off my running shoes and drew the blanket up around my shoulders, taking a last look at the photograph of Doctor Blair. The first thing I noticed were her piercing brown eyes. My stomach clenched at the thought of them boring into my soul on a regular basis. I’d call her face handsome rather than pretty. Threads of gray gave an air of distinction and maturity to her short, dark hair. Her lean body was a testament to many years of outdoor activity. I read further about her arduous and determined search for a tribe of lost Amazons, and experienced something akin to awe.

  “You probably don’t know me, Doctor Blair,” I whispered to her picture, “but I worked my butt off to get this assignment. If you knew how difficult it is to communicate with my father these days, you’d appreciate that effort. He thinks all I do is screw up. He’s never taken me seriously as an archaeologist … nobody has, really. I guess I can’t blame them. They read the tabloids, believe the rumors, and remember the photos. Damn it, I’m more than a blonde in a bikini on some beach. All I want is a chance to prove it. Father says you’re the most dedicated archaeologist
the Curtis Foundation has ever funded. I’ve read all of your papers and I agree with him. Help me, please. Teach me everything you know. Someday, I want to be just like you.”

  I snuggled down inside my fleecy jacket, letting its softness surround and comfort me. It had been cold and cloudy when we left Logan Airport. I knew Phoenix would be warm and sunny. Finding an outfit that transcended the climate and cultural change presented a challenge. The Polartec 300 fleece jacket would work, with shirts layered underneath. I could shed them as the temperature climbed. My khaki cargo pants, while lightweight for Boston, had proved serviceable on other digs above and below the equator.

  I felt silly worrying about first impressions, but it was unlikely that my new boss needed me as her assistant director. If she had heard of me at all, it would be by my less than stellar reputation. I planned to change that image, if Doctor Blair would just give me the chance.

  The cabin grew warmer. I must have fallen asleep because the warbling phone startled me. “PJ Curtis,” I mumbled.

  “You sound all fuzzy and soft around the edges, just the way I like you.”

  “Stephen? Where are you?”

  “Still in Rio. I should be back in New York next week. They’ve taken my advice on reinforcing that wall with high-grade steel beams. The job’s almost finished, though I must say; it’s boring as hell, now, with you not here to amuse me. Do you really have to do this, Cilia?”

  “Yes, Stephen. Soon, I’ll be face to face with the legendary Doctor Kimberly Blair. Then, we’re off to the Superstition Mountains to search for Amazons.”

  I heard him sigh and pictured his ‘little boy’ pout, but I wasn’t falling for that act… not this time.

  You’re a master at manipulating me, Stephen. The society pages predict marriage for us, but something is missing from our relationship. You’re handsome and successful and I can’t complain about the sex, though I rarely see fireworks. We share beds but we never manage to share our hearts. My father seems to love you. I don’t know why I can’t.

  “Cilia, don’t you think you’d have better luck finding Amazons here in South America?”

  “Not these Amazons. Really, it’s all very Top Secret right now. I promise to call you in a day or two. Are you still at the same hotel?”

  “Until Friday. I just keep hoping you’ll change your mind and come back to me. You left your toothbrush and some silky unmentionables in the bathroom.”

  “Oh shit! I knew I forgot something.”

  “You forgot to stay here with me.”

  “Stephen, we’ve been over this ground before. You know it’s important for my career…”

  “Gotta go, hon. I’m late for a meeting. God, I miss you. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

  “You’ll survive, Stephen, and I promise I’ll call you.” I replaced the phone and closed my eyes, picturing his curly, brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. With a little more effort, I could feel his body on top of me, and his possessive kisses on my throat, neck, and … a couple of other places.

  The phone rang again. I took a drink of mineral water before answering.

  “Priscilla, I’ve just got a moment.”

  “Hello, Father. Is something wrong?”

  “Should there be?” His laugh was somewhat brittle. “I just wanted to tell you that I leaned on the people at the University of Arizona and they’ll let you folks use their labs.”

  “That’s wonderful. They have all the latest equipment.”

  “Well, that’s good then, Priscilla. Remember you begged for this assignment. Doctor Blair is a highly respected professional. Don’t embarrass me.”

  Stacie poked her head into the cabin and drew her hand across her neck.

  “I’ll do my best Father. I’ve got to hang up now. Either we’re about to land or Stacie wants to slit my throat.”

  “Probably both.” This time there was no humor at all in his voice. “Call me if you need anything further.” The line went dead.

  I sighed. How about a father who cares about me … and some more cashews?

  It was warm and sunny in Phoenix. Sky Harbor teemed with travelers. I shed the fleece jacket, leaving a dark brown camp shirt unbuttoned over a white tank top. I pulled on my favorite pair of Oakley sunglasses and an old safari hat as a defense against the relentless sunshine. Mitch and Stacie took my bags and helped me through the gate and into the terminal before refueling for their return flight.

  The air was filled with the aroma of southwestern cooking, reminding me that I was a long way from Boston and hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I ignored my rumbling stomach and scanned faces in the crowd for the illustrious Doctor Blair. A rectangular cardboard sign with ‘Doctor P. J. Curtis’ in black marker caught my eye. Holding it over his head was a handsome, muscular young man with a dark tan and hair so bleached by the sun it appeared white. As I made my way through the crowd toward him, I got a glimpse of a silver belt buckle, slim hips encased in faded jeans, and a plaid shirt displaying well-defined biceps. His blue eyes twinkled and he favored me with a shy grin.

  “I’m Doctor Curtis.”

  He tucked the sign in back of his sweat-stained straw cowboy hat and nodded, extending his right hand. “Peter Arnold, ma’am. Just call me Sandy. Doc Blair sent me to getcha.”

  As we shook hands his gaze hovered politely near my shoulders, not my chest. I was accustomed to getting the once-over by men, some brazenly overt in their perusal. Not that my breasts merited any great attention; they were adequate, but nothing spectacular. This chivalrous attention was incredibly refreshing.

  Then, I absorbed his message and its implication.

  “I see. And just where is Doctor Blair?”

  “She uh … well … she’s still out at the site. I’m to get you settled at the inn and she’ll meet you ‘bout six for dinner.”

  I felt a flush warm my cheeks. There ya go PJ. I guess that says it all. You’re just her second in command. Now, you know how much she values your ability. “Well, Sandy, it seems I have all afternoon with nothing to do. Can you suggest how I might while away the hours until our boss manages to fit me into her schedule?”

  He raised his sights to my face this time. “Ma’am, I’d be proud to show you around some, if you’d like.”

  I smiled. “I’d like that just fine.” His grin widened. “And you know what else I’d like?” I grabbed my two bags, while he shouldered my duffel and suitcase.

  “No ma’am.”

  “I’d like you to call me PJ. None of this ma’am stuff. That’s for much older women.”

  I flashed one of my sexy, sweet smiles and he turned an adorable shade of pink.

  “Yes, ma’…uh…PJ.”

  It promised to be a fun-filled afternoon. I looked forward to getting more intimately acquainted with this handsome cowboy. We loaded my bags into his dusty Jeep and set off to see the sights of the cactus fields…or as the locals called it…the Valley of the Sun.

  Chapter Three

  The shower stall in the motor home was small, but adequate. Warm water cascading over my body felt like the touch of a lover massaging the stiffness from my shoulders, but did little for the weariness I felt after having had another night disturbed by strange dreams. Truth be known, I felt more like sleep than dinner.

  As I towel dried my short hair, I wondered how I would hit it off with Doctor Curtis.

  Would she take the job seriously? The last thing I needed was a playgirl whose interests would more likely focus on my male students than on the project. Would the young women on my team be affected by Curtis’s overt attention to the men? Would she be a disruptive force on a team that had worked so well together?

  I tucked a blue-checked, crisply pressed shirt into my lightweight slacks, threaded a leather belt through the loops, and secured the turquoise buckle, all the time wondering why Sandy hadn’t returned to the site. Perhaps her plane was late. Unlikely though, since Frederick Curtis had mentioned she was to arrive on the company jet. I turned back
the cuffs of my sleeves. One last look in the mirror and I was ready to meet the notorious Doctor P. J. Curtis.

  I spoke briefly with the hostess, a pleasant, well-endowed woman in her late fifties. She showed me to my favorite corner table with a fine view of Superstition Mountain. Having eaten many times at the Casa Grande, I was welcomed by the staff and treated in a relaxed, friendly manner. I liked the Casa Grande mainly for its convenience, close to the mountain and my motor home headquarters.

  “I’m expecting someone,” I told the hostess.

  I had the waitress bring me a pot of hot tea. While waiting for the tea to steep, I glanced about the dining room and its occupants. About half the tables were occupied. Later, when the snowbirds gathered for the winter, this place and others like it, would be overrun by seniors gathering in Arizona for the winter, but right now, the season had barely begun. I glanced at the old utensils displayed on the walls, along with prints of western scenes. Art appreciation is in the eye of the viewer, I thought to myself, and none of this appealed to my sense of decor.

  I removed the teabag, wrapping the string tightly around the spoon and squeezing the liquid from the bag before setting it in the saucer. Glancing at my watch, I realized that Doctor Curtis was late, quite late. I didn’t want her to arrive and catch me toe-tapping and drumming my fingers on the table, but I was feeling put out so I turned my attention to Superstition Mountain, framed as it was by the window. Now that is art, I thought.

  Doctor Curtis arrived a half hour late. I did my best to conceal my displeasure. Her blonde hair was expertly styled and she wore just the right amount of makeup, making me conscious of my weathered complexion doctored only with moisturizer and a hint of lip color. I smiled at the differences between us. She wore white shorts and a body-hugging green tank top. A couple of lecherous old men followed her every move as the hostess led her to my table, their wives stared with distaste. Doctor Curtis could turn heads, no doubt about it.