Hidden Heritage (20 page)

He reached for my hand and kissed my fingertips.

“Love you,” I said softly.

“I know.”

He went to bed long before I did. I sat in the dark and wondered how I had come to such a sorry state. My sister was acting like we were casual acquaintances. My husband was anxious and overly solicitous. A foolish KBI agent was trying to do Sam Abbott in. And I was worried that my stepdaughter might blow her brains out.

There were no stars and if there was a moon, I couldn't tell. Grayed wisps of ghost dry clouds lurked in the night sky, thwarting anyone who might enjoy watching the heavens.

There was nothing I could do about any of my problems. As near as I could tell, there was only one person who was thrilled when I showed up: Doña Francesca Bianco Loisel Montoya Diaz.

***

The next day I finally managed to put in a full morning's work at the historical society without a single personal or professional crisis. I thought about the best way to get a look at the map. The copy was hand-drawn, and obviously made before there were copy machines. Perhaps it wasn't an exact duplicate. I couldn't tell for sure until I saw the real thing. Ironically, just a week ago I had been seeking ways to avoid the Diaz Compound, now I was trying to think of excuses to get back into it.

Then I had a lucky break.

The phone rang. “Great-grandmother would like you to come out,” Cecilia said. Her voice conveyed quiet disapproval. Since any contact between Francesca and me seemed to end up in some sort of emotional upheaval, I couldn't say I blamed her. “She says you two have unfinished business.”

“We do, indeed.” I glanced at the clock. “I'll be there around two. I owe your grandmother some work in exchange for medical information about her plant collection.”

Exhilarated, I hung up the phone.

Chapter Twenty-five

My goal was simple and I rehearsed it on the drive over. I wanted to see if that mysterious map existed without trespassing on any confidential relationship Francesca had with Elizabeth. And while there, I intended to help mix some herbs she wanted to combine, but couldn't, because of her useless hands. Then we needed to develop a plan for finishing the project.

And just once, perhaps, I could spend an afternoon without causing turmoil. Surely I was mature enough to conduct myself with honor.

We got off to a good start.

Then Francesca blew all my intentions sky-high.

“I'm happy you and Elizabeth hit it off,” I said.

I wasn't fishing. I swear I wasn't. It simply would have seemed unnatural to not mention their alliance at all

“She'll do,” the old woman chuckled. “She'll not leave any stone unturned.”

Even though I was determined not to pry, I had a whole list of unasked questions. Had she told Elizabeth that she suspected the map was connected to Victor's murder? Had she shown Elizabeth a copy of the map? Did she tell Elizabeth where the real map was located? If there was such a map.

Despite all these questions, I intended to take the high road. I would only ask about things pertaining to the murder.

“Francesca, I'm sure Elizabeth has asked you not to discuss any aspect of your map with anyone. And naturally that would include me. I respect that. But you've already told me you think Victor was murdered by someone who wanted to get ahold of it. Please believe me that Elizabeth's responsibility has to do with defending your claim. My interest and responsibility has to do with finding your great-grandson's murderer.”

She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “As to Elizabeth's instructions, I will talk to whomever I choose, Lottie Albright. No one will tell me who I can and cannot speak with. Elizabeth Fiene will do nicely as my lawyer. She has the passion to take on the government. But I will not have her order me around.”

Oh, brother.
This was not my doing. My goal of honoring her professional relationship with Elizabeth was shot all to hell. If Francesca chose to tell me something, I wouldn't be able to stop her. For that matter, I had no way of knowing if Elizabeth knew Francesca thought acquiring the map was the motive behind Victor's murder.

“Today I will tell you where I keep the map. You will understand why it is the reason Victor was murdered.”

She sat very still. Her eyes sorrowful. They never left my face. “You've become like a daughter to me. One should trust a daughter. We will go to the well house. Now. Before you help me with the compounds.”

I helped her into the car. Even though the distance to the well is short, we still had to contend with the heat.

There should have been a sign over the door to the well house: “Peace to All Who Enter Here.” Each time I entered, I wanted to stay. We were met by a soft flutter of pigeons as they left the high beam and escaped through the slits at the top of the casing. It was moist inside and the light coming through the slits was filtered and welcoming. Francesca sat on the two-foot wide brick ledge that abuts and encircles the entire exterior wall like a bench.

“I love it here so,” she whispered. “When I was young, I would come here with my children. My dear children. It was always cool. We would nap here on these bricks sometimes. I brought pillows and blankets. I would come with my knitting and tell them stories. We would stay here until evening.”

“It's never hot in here.”

“No, never.” We sat quietly for another ten minutes before she spoke again. “Now, I must show you where the map is kept.”

She rose slowly and once upright walked over to the well itself. It had a high covered peaked roof anchored to wooden uprights large enough to have been railroad ties. An oaken bucket hung from a beam that spanned that spanned the diameter. An elaborate pulley system attached to this beam.

The structure was strong enough to hang a man, but because of its size and the elaborate exterior physical structure, it was anything but commonplace.

“We do not use this well anymore,” Francesca said sadly. “It's wasted. One of my children added the bucket because he thought it was cute. Cute! As though anything dealing with water has ever been cute.”

“I guess I assumed the well was watering your yard and garden.”

“No. There's a stream. A large stream beneath the well. Technically, the well has nothing to do with it. The well is an entry point to the stream. It could have been put anywhere along the course of the stream. Years ago the pulley system was needed to lower buckets into the water. The well's depth ends just below the roof of the cave the stream flows through.”

“Where does the underground stream start? Where are the headwaters?”

“I'm not sure. At one time the well was out in the open. Then my great-great grandfather built this structure to deter passersby. He didn't want our well to attract cutthroats heading farther west. So he built the enclosure to disguise the well. I'm sure you've noticed it looks like a small granary.”

“Or a small silo. When I first saw it, I thought it looked like a silo.”

“Now I will show you where I keep the map.”

My heart pounded.

“We used to simply draw the box up with the pulley system. After the…incident, my husband said we needed to do a better job of hiding the map. We couldn't take a chance on one of the grandchildren drawing it up accidentally. This apparatus is more complicated than it looks. One of the beams rotates. It's important for you to remember that.”

What incident? Why would a rotating beam be important? This was the second time she had hinted that something dark and terrible had affected her family.

“Before I show you everything, I want you to pledge on your sacred honor that you will keep the location of the map secret until such time as you are sure it is the last step to proving ownership.”

My sacred honor.

Perhaps I no longer had any left. But I did not take this kind of pledge lightly. “Francesca, all I can promise is that I will guard this secret as a sacred trust and only reveal this location if in my judgment it becomes absolutely necessary.”

“It will have to do. Someone must know. I cannot let this secret die with me.” Her seamed face fell even further. “People have died to keep this secret.”

“You can trust me. You do understand don't you, that it might be necessary to tell my husband?”

“Yes. That is only proper. You will watch and think and decide if Elizabeth's efforts have progressed to the point where it will be necessary to bring forth the map. And your watchful husband who worried about your involvement with me will watch over you like an eagle.” She smiled wryly at the image of the watchers watching the watchers.

“You can trust my judgment.”

“Yes, I am ready to do that now.” She walked over to one of the beams. “Stand next to me.”

I did.

Ruefully, she glanced at her own disfigured hands. “Now spread your fingers and walk your hands back around the rim, pivoting off your pinky to your thumb, one, two, three, four times.”

I hoped my hands were the same size as hers used to be.

“There now, look at your little finger. Look straight down the side of the well. You should see a little zinc washer.”

“I see it.” It was barely visible and blended with the soil.

“Don't disturb it. I don't want any dirt dislodged before we have to bring it up. The ring is attached to a cord—very strong—and when the time is right, wrap the cord around the center of the pulley and then connect it to the rotating beam. There is a gold case at the bottom of the stream. It is very well-sealed and weighted to prevent it from shifting. Inside is the map and deed.”

All this, and I still was not going to see the “real” map.

“So there is a deed, too?”

“Yes.”

I had not seen a copy of the deed. Just the map.

“And is the copy of the map you showed me an exact replica of the one in the well?”

“Of course.”

“And won't Elizabeth need a copy to decide whether or not to go to court?”

She frowned. “She will. That and the deed. But I will only give it to her when I'm convinced she will be able to make some progress.”

“Why are you showing this to me instead of to Elizabeth?”

“Because I can't let the secret die with me. I have chosen you. I believe your stepdaughter is a trustworthy person, but she has too much confidence in her own abilities. She needs to prove herself to me first.”

“Did you show her the copy?”

“No. Only you. Besides you, only Victor. I told Elizabeth a copy existed and I would let her examine it later on after she conducted her research. I might have put you in danger by taking you into my confidence. Why would I want to risk putting Elizabeth in danger unnecessarily? She will research very thoroughly and I will know in a very short time if she intends to take my case to court.”

She saw my face. “Now, don't get in a snit. I think your life is sacred. I wish you no harm. But Elizabeth is a lawyer. She is trained in logical thinking. She would never, never help me mix my herbs. She would dismiss it as superstitious nonsense. I knew at once not to tell her about the magical properties of plants. She was interested in their healing purposes, of course, but nearly everyone is. That same mindset would insist on seeing the copy before she began her research.”

Even though I still hadn't seen it, I was now convinced the map existed. I had seen the little zinc washer, the rotating beam. Whether or not a valuable document lay at the bottom of a stream was another story altogether. The problem was, I needed a duplicate of that hand-drawn copy to take to Sam, and I doubted Francesca would let it leave the compound. I would have to bring out a portable scanner, or use a special camera.

“Francesca, I need to ask you something. Have you ever seen this map?”

“No, because it was placed there generations ago. But on my father's honor, it exists.”

My heart sank. What if it was a myth? She had never seen it.

“Let's go back to the Old House now and take care of the tasks you want done.”

Once there, she went immediately to the workstation on the west wall. It was still well-lighted and pleasant, but in another couple of hours rays from the setting sun would hurt my eyes.

“Light the candles first.” Her voice rose. “With each herb you mix, sprinkle a little in the flame of the candle. That enhances the effectiveness of the herbs.”

I obediently sprinkled pinches of snapdragon, yarrow, and maidenhair fern in the candles before I blended the supply of herbs in a mortar.

“Dog's Mouth, Devil's Plaything, and Hair of Venus,” Francesca said, supplying their magic names. There were other combinations. I funneled each batch into a jar and labeled the contents with names she dictated in old Castilian, which I had to record one letter at a time. The sun dropped below the top of the window. It was time to quit. Soon George and Teresa and all the children would be returning home.

“Before you leave here today, I will fix you an amulet. You need protection. I know that now. Your problems are caused by other…other things than the herbs. Go get another square of leather.”

I went back to the drawer and selected a silky tan patch.

“First, trim it into a perfect circle. Then we will put the protective herbs and stones in the center. Then remove very small stones of malachite, obsidian, and onyx from the labeled jars to your left.”

I rubbed the skin between my fingers before I rounded the square. “It's soft.”

“It's from your power animal. So is the cord.”

“I have a power animal?” I looked at her.

“Yes, we all do. Yours is the owl. You put a very high premium on wisdom. You treasure your mind. Now put protective herbs and stones in the center. Add a lodestone, too.”

I tied it with a thin leather cord.

You must wear it at all times.”

“Francesca, I can't work as an undersheriff with a medicine bundle dangling from around my neck. It wouldn't look good.”

“Tuck it inside your bra,” she snapped. “You also need to know about returning hexes and how to bring yourself out of a mirror if your soul is captured.”

I was tired. The sun was in my eyes. She was the only one I knew who had any knowledge of hexes and spells. I doubted anyone in Carlton County wanted to send my soul inside a mirror. They might want to send me to hell, but not inside a mirror. I yawned while she recited the combinations of drugs. The snapdragon was the only flower that sounded familiar.

To my credit, I didn't so much as raise a skeptical eyebrow when the process was accompanied by her chants and the tossing of herbs in a candle flame. Her excitement grew with every compound.

She asked me to mix one last batch.

That was the last thing I remembered clearly. I remembered hitting the floor, hearing her screams. I remembered being loaded into my Tahoe.

I remembered Keith hauling me out.