Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(2)

Tearing off the paper, she lifted the lid. Inside, she discovered Bubble Wrapped packages of various sizes, and when she unpacked the largest and heaviest, she discovered the red stone figure of a man squatting on his haunches, an immense penis protruding between his legs. She was so startled she dropped the grotesque thing. It landed on the mattress, and she stood breathing hard.

What was that?

She opened another, smaller package and found a similar stone carving of a woman’s naked pregnant body. Then a series of broad-cheeked faces with glaring eyes and ferocious scowls. Finally, a flat stone carved with weird symbols. She lined everything up and looked at the hideous things.

Someone was sneaking around for this? Her knees were wet and dirty for this? For a bunch of ugly rocks?

She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She intended to go to bed, damn it, go to sleep, and… Okay. Those statues looked old. They were worth something to somebody. One quick online search and she found photos of those very statues in an article about Central American tomb looting. In Guatemala, armed thieves had held archaeologists at gunpoint and stolen statuary worth millions on the private collectors market.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. She stared at the ugly statues lined up on her nightstand. Millions.

She double-checked to make sure the blinds were tightly closed.

One of the archaeologists claimed the symbols on the flat piece of stone were a tomb curse that had been chiseled out, and whoever possessed that would be doubly cursed.

Yeah, sure. Cursed with money.

She should turn this find over to the authorities. Maybe there was a reward. Or maybe she’d be in trouble for…for stealing the statues.

Millions. That meant someone around here was going to be plenty mad not to find the box by the tree. Better return these at once.

Except…she’d never before been this close to anything worth millions. She deserved something for knowing about the smuggling and keeping her mouth shut. This was her opportunity. If she had the guts.

Getting the resort stationery and the resort pen, she wrote, “Leave $2,000—”

She threw that note away and started again. “Leave $5,000 in a—”

She threw that note away. She took a photo of the stolen tomb treasures. She printed the picture, put it in a plastic bag and wrote, “I know what they’re worth. Leave $25,000 in cash here in an envelope on Sept. 12. When I have the money, I’ll return the box to Ocean Notch Park beside the high schoolers’ painted rock.” She’d make the drop-off in broad daylight, on her way out of town, when there were people around. She’d be safe.

She reread the note. The handwriting was shaky, but she sounded clear and tough. She knew the smuggler—who could it be?—would follow directions. Because…millions. All she had to do was put the letter in the bag with the photo, return to the tree and drop them off, and not get caught by someone who… Briefly, she shivered. Someone who might be violent.

She would not chicken out. Better do it now. She donned dark clothes, pulled a dark wool hat over her blond hair and ran in a crouch back to the tree. She put the plastic bag in the hole at the base and a rock on top of it. She raced back to her cottage, and every moment she felt the back of her neck crawl. When she was inside, she locked the doors, checked the rooms, sat on the bed and stared at the collection of statues.

They stared back, solemn, angry, cruel.

They gave her the creeps, so she packaged them up again and stashed the box in the closet.

The next morning, the sun was shining. She went to work and apologized for being late. Annie was, as always, a sweetheart. That skinny exercise freak and spa director, Mara Philippi, invited her to attend the new self-defense class. One of the pilots who flew guests into the airstrip confided that he was a war hero and hinted at a tragic disposition that only a woman’s true love could cure.

As Priscilla worked on the resort’s supply orders, she began to think she had a future here. She began to have second thoughts about demanding money from a smuggler who, well, might be willing to kill for a fortune. Millions. Maybe she shouldn’t have sucked down that entire bottle of wine…

At noon, she returned to her cottage, got the box, brought it to the resort and stashed it. But now what? She couldn’t give those statues to the authorities. She had incriminated herself by writing that note. She needed to retrieve the note. Then she would take the box of horrors to Mr. Di Luca and tell him…tell him what happened, but say she forgot about it. Or she didn’t realize what was in it.

No, not that. Better to pretend she hadn’t opened it.

Whatever. She’d figure it out.

She spoke to Sheri Jean Hagerty, the guest experience manager, and volunteered to lead a tour of the property. Sheri Jean was surprised, but civil. She gave Priscilla a stern lecture about how to behave to the paying guests, then anointed her official Yearning Sands expedition guide.

Priscilla promised to do everything precisely right. She put on the charm for the guests, made a point of taking them to the tree and explaining why it was called the One-Finger Salute and glowed when they laughed. She directed their attention to the nearby stack of boulders and explained it was called the nut sack, because the rocks were shaped like walnuts, and she pulled a disbelieving face. They laughed again. With some surprise, she realized she could be good at this. She directed them to the path leading to the Butler Lighthouse Viewpoint, told them it was a great spot to watch for whales. While they were off exclaiming about the panorama, she checked on the plastic bag.