Dangerous Minds (Knight and Moon #2)(19)

“Oh man,” Vernon said. “That’s awful. His head exploded. There’s brains all over the place. And I think I see guts squishing out of him. Did he poop himself? I bet he pooped himself. Dead guys always do that. ’Specially if you crush them. I mean I don’t know firsthand, but it seems reasonable, right? This is making me sick. I might hurl. I feel faint. I gotta sit down.” He did some deep breathing. “Okay, I feel better now. Anyone want an ice cream sandwich? If I hurry I might get to the snack bar before it closes.”

“We’ll meet you outside the front entrance,” Emerson said.

Vernon ran off to get ice cream, and Emerson studied the photo on the iPad.

“Interesting,” Emerson said. “Very interesting.” He enlarged a part of the picture to show Riley. “You have to see this.”

“I don’t want to look if there are brains or guts,” Riley said. “I haven’t totally got it together. My heart is still skipping beats, and my stomach is queasy. It was awful to get thrown off the balcony. Seeing a dead guy with an exploded head isn’t going to help my stomach.”

“I want you to look at a close-up of his hand,” Emerson said.

Riley looked at Wayan’s iPad.

“He has the same tattoo as Tin Man,” she said. “Two crossed sabers and a number one above them.”

“It’s a symbol for the 1st Volunteer Cavalry Division in the United States Army.”

“So, they’re both military?”

“Not unless they’re both 120 years old. This insignia hasn’t been used by the army in about a century. It’s the insignia of the Rough Riders,” Emerson said.

“As in Teddy Roosevelt?”

Emerson smiled. “Precisely. The same Teddy Roosevelt who led the Rough Riders in the Spanish-American War. The same Teddy Roosevelt who, as president, signed the Antiquities Act of 1906, allowing the president, with the stroke of a pen, to seize control of any lands he deems of natural, cultural, or scientific importance. It’s been used hundreds of times since 1906 to create national parks and federal monuments. Millions of acres have been put under permanent conservation. That’s why Teddy Roosevelt is often seen as the father of the national parks system.”

“It’s a pretty cool emblem,” Riley said. “I could see why someone might want it as a tattoo. Not me, of course, but someone.”

“It might be more than that. The Rough Riders were officially disbanded in 1898, but maybe Teddy Roosevelt had some use for them other than fighting Spaniards. Something important. Something he wanted kept secret.”

“Oh boy,” Riley said. “Now you’re going to drag poor Teddy Roosevelt into this.”

“Yes,” Emerson said. “I think it might have all started with Teddy. Although at this point in time there’s no way to know for sure if it was the man himself or someone close to him.”

“And you think Tin Man and the dead guy are both members of some underground Rough Rider society?”

“That’s my theory.”

“Seems like a stretch,” Riley said. “One hundred twenty years is a long time to keep a secret.”

Emerson did a full-on smile. “It must be a real doozy!”

Riley spent the night at Mysterioso Manor. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts, and Emerson’s house felt safer than her apartment. She woke up slowly, assessing her injuries from the day before. Her knee had scabbed over, and she was generally achy. All minor issues. Her life’s direction was more serious. Her life’s direction was panic-attack material.

She got out of bed and saw two suitcases in the middle of the floor. Medium size. Black. New. The nice kind that rolled around on four wheels. One had an orange tag that said “Yellowstone” and the other had a red tag that said “Hawaii.” She looked down at herself and realized there was a Post-it note stuck to her pajama top.

Flight for Jackson Hole, Wyoming, leaves Dulles at noon.





“Crap on a cracker,” Riley said. And she padded off to the bathroom.

A half hour later she was showered and dressed in new undies, new bootcut jeans, a new plaid flannel shirt, and new Ariat cowboy boots that she had found in the Yellowstone suitcase.

Emerson, Wayan Bagus, and Vernon were already halfway through breakfast when Riley walked into the kitchen. Vernon’s and Emerson’s packed bags and three backpacks were sitting by the table. Wayan Bagus was trying to fit an assortment of supplies from Emerson’s guest room into his little duffel. L’Occitane shower gels, bath salts, and Charmin Ultra Soft toilet paper.

It was clear it wouldn’t all fit.

“The root of suffering is material attachment,” Emerson said.

Vernon was eating a big stack of waffles smothered in butter and maple syrup, with orange juice, bacon, and sausages on the side.

“Well, I’ve got to differ with you there, Emerson. I kind of like all my attachments.”

Riley sat down next to Emerson. “Do you think it’s weird that you’re a multimillionaire with lots of stuff who believes that material possessions are the root of all suffering?”

Emerson shrugged. “What choice do I have but to be myself? Everyone else was already taken.”

“Is that more Buddhist wisdom?” Riley asked him.