Chapter 8
8
V iper turned south on Highway 101 and guided them through Eureka, following the map connected to his bike’s display. Warmer than the night before, Lina didn’t press her body against his, but her hands still rested casually at his waist. As much as he enjoyed the feel of her behind him, depending on how complicated this adventure became, they’d need a different mode of transportation. He’d bet his bike that the map was only the first of many clues Dr. Kato left his daughter. And if they were indeed setting out on a treasure hunt, the quiet confines of a car would give them more opportunity to talk, plan, and strategize.
But for now, the sun hung high in the sky, the smell of the ocean surrounded them, and no one followed. He’d enjoy it while it lasted.
The houses thinned as they continued south toward the iconic redwoods. Fifteen minutes later, he turned left onto a road that no one would call maintained. Slowing his speed to little more than a crawl, he maneuvered around potholes deep enough to swallow his tire. Five minutes in, the “paved” road transitioned to a much smoother packed dirt-and-gravel one, easing the rest of their ride.
“Vanessa, the caretaker, lives another five minutes up the way near the main facilities, but pull off there,” Lina said, pointing to a cutaway near a three-rung metal gate. “She knows we’ll be here, but I don’t have a gate key, so we’ll have to climb.”
He dutifully pulled off the road and killed the engine. Behind him, Lina sighed and stretched her back.
“The picture my dad drew is from this end of the property looking south,” she said, nodding to the stretch of land in front of them.
“How can you tell?” he asked when they’d both climbed off his bike.
“Here,” she replied, pulling out the drawing he hadn’t yet seen. Taking the paper, he studied it. Aside from the elevation lines, it didn’t look like the land on the other side of the gate. His eyes traced the rough boundaries of the property before lingering on the odd scrawls clustered on the left hand side. A line with a capital E at the top, a square to its right with the letters FH inside, and on the left, a triangle with the word COO written in it.
“You can read this?” he asked, looking up and surveying the field again.
She inclined her head and started for the gate. He handed her the map before following. “I can get us to the area he drew, but once we get there, I’m not sure where to find what he left.”
“What do the scribbles mean?” he asked as she hopped the gate.
“The line with the E is an old elm tree on the east side of the property,” she answered, dropping down on the other side.
“And the others?” he asked before vaulting over.
“The FH references the former homestead. There’s nothing standing now, but the one time we camped here, my mom and I spent hours digging in the dirt for artifacts.”
He smiled at the image of a young Lina earnestly searching for clues about the past inhabitants of the land. “Wait, what year did you camp here?” he asked.
She flashed a smile over her shoulder as she led him through the calf-high grass. The field didn’t look as if it were in use, but he wasn’t much of a farmer.
“2000,” she answered.
“‘Camping 2000’ is what COO means, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I don’t remember why we came down here. Maybe a doctor in Eureka my dad wanted to meet, and my mom insisted on making it a vacation. We stayed for a week—at least she and I did. My dad was with us for the first and the last night but was off doing whatever he was doing in between. My mom and I dug around the old homestead, helped harvest vegetables, and learned about the experimental land management techniques the university was testing. They had several animals, too. Not sure if they still have any, but I also rode horses and played with piglets.”
“A kid’s dream,” he said.
She laughed, the sound echoing gently off the surrounding trees. “I’m not so sure. Most of my friends wanted trips to Disneyland or the Caribbean or somewhere warm. But I loved it.”
He fell silent as they walked. She knew where they were headed, so he didn’t take note of any place markers. Instead, he considered the woman ahead of him. As a cloud rolled in front of the sun, he realized he’d heard about her childhood and father’s death, but he knew little about the in-between—her ten years away from Seattle. The years when she must have picked up the skills he witnessed the night of the shooting. He hadn’t asked that night, nor had she offered.
“What do you do? For a living,” he clarified.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her ponytail swinging across her back with the movement. “I’m a CPA,” she said. He waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing more. Interesting.
Half the things he’d done in his prior life—hell, more than half—he couldn’t talk about, either, and he recognized avoidance when he heard it. But she didn’t strike him as former military. No, as he thought about it, one of the intelligence agencies made more sense. If she’d been an agent, it would explain a lot. Like her willingness to jump into the fray the night of the shooting, her instinct about being followed, and how easily she transformed herself last night with nothing more than a handful of items from his pockets.
It would also explain why she didn’t talk about those years. Frustrating for him—he wanted to know everything about her—but he knew the drill, so didn’t probe any further.
“We’re here,” she said, nodding at the stately elm tree fifty feet away.
“Where’s the old homestead?” he asked as they closed the distance.
“Thirty feet that way,” she said, pointing to their right. “And we camped over there by the creek.” She shifted her finger to the left. The three points—the tree, the homestead, and the campground—formed a shallow triangle. A minute later, they stopped in the middle of it.
“Where should we start?” he asked, turning in a circle and looking for anything obviously out of place.
“This field is regenerating now, so isn’t being used. Regardless, as I mentioned yesterday, the staff would notice something big. But something small?—”
“Or something buried,” he interjected.
She huffed a laugh. “Or something buried,” she conceded, “would go unnoticed. Let’s walk the area and see if anything catches our eye.”
“Together or separate?”
“Together. It’s not a big space and won’t take long even if we don’t split up.”
He nodded and gestured for her to start. She headed toward the old homestead first, where he spotted the low remains of a wall no more than four inches high. He wasn’t the kind of guy who lived in the past, but he couldn’t help wondering about the people who’d lived on this land all those decades—more than a century—ago.
In silence, they scoped out the area around the homestead. After finding nothing out of the ordinary, they worked their way toward the elm, following a grid-like pattern. When they reached the wide trunk, they each circled it twice, looking for anything tucked into the ground or buried under the roots. They came up empty-handed again, so started toward the camping area.
Dutifully, he followed the grid pattern until they reached the final spot, and Lina stopped. Planting her hands on her hips, she eyed the area. “It was a long time ago, but I would swear this was where we pitched our tent.” She cocked her head, studying the tree. “I could be wrong, though. I was just a kid. But I remember being close to the water.” She twisted and looked at the creek. “We collected it in buckets each morning and boiled it for the day,” she said, lost in the memories. “It was too heavy for me to lug what we needed in one go, so I had a small pail and made a lot of trips.”
“Did you swim, too?” From where they stood, he spied a small pool formation in the otherwise not-too-deep creek.
“Bathed,” she answered. “Not with soap, of course, but we got in every day and rinsed off.” She stared at the creek and again tilted her head.
“What?” he prompted, her mind clearly working.
“That rock,” she said, nodding to a large flat gray stone about five feet from the creek bed. “When we finished our ‘bath,’ we’d sit on that rock, facing the sun, and let it warm us dry. We’d talk about the day, the end of summer, all sorts of topics. My mom would tell me about her life in England before marrying my dad and make sure I knew how big the world was.” She paused. “I’d forgotten about that ritual. It was my favorite part of the day. Except riding the horses,” she added with a smile.
“Would your dad have known that?”
“Emotions weren’t things he tuned in to, but the two nights he stayed here, he would have seen us basking in the sun, laughing, talking.”
“We should look.” The stone was outside the “boundary” of the triangle, but not by much.
She exhaled. “May as well,” she agreed. “If we don’t find anything, we’ll start again.”
He nodded and started toward the rock. They were fifteen feet away when he noticed a pile of dirt that looked as if someone had shoved it underneath the ledge of the stone. He lifted his hand to point it out, but Lina had already picked up her pace. Dropping to her knees in front of the pile, she began digging. Going down on his haunches, he joined her.
Three minutes, and twenty dirty fingernails, later, Lina held a small tin cigar box in her hand. They both stared at it, almost unbelieving, then, in unison, shifted and leaned their backs against the stone. Lina set the box on her lap but made no other moves.
“Not to pressure you, but are you going to open it?” he asked. This was her journey, and she got to set the pace, but curiosity coiled through his body.
She continued staring at the box. “Will you hate me if I say I want to wait? Until we’re somewhere…less exposed.”
Whether she meant physically or emotionally exposed, he didn’t know. “It takes a lot for me to hate someone,” he replied with a grin.
She exhaled. “Good to know. Not that I plan on testing that.” She looked down, her fingers lightly brushing dirt off the tin. “I keep saying this, but thank you. Not just for coming and driving me around but for, well…”
Everything went unsaid. He wasn’t doing all that much, which made him wonder what kind of people she had in her life other than her mom. But instead of following that train of thought, he pushed to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. Sitting in the dirt in her jeans, leather jacket, and ponytail falling over her shoulder, he could almost see the young girl she’d been.
She took his hand and rose. He pulled a little too hard, and she stumbled into him, her chest landing flush against his. Reminding him that Lina Kato was definitely not a kid anymore.
He cleared his throat and stepped back. “How about we find a lunch spot? We can decide where to open the box while we eat.”
She nodded and tucked the tin against her side as they traipsed back across the field to his bike. After inching their way down the poorly maintained road, they turned north on Highway 101. Remembering a diner in Arcata where he’d eaten before, he decided it made for a good destination. If it didn’t appeal to Lina, there were plenty of other restaurants in the area.
They coasted through Eureka, and habit had him checking his mirrors. He noted a couple of cars behind them, not unusual on the popular highway, and he filed the details away in his mind. He doubted he’d need them again, but after all his years in Special Forces, his brain didn’t work any other way.
After pulling into a spot in downtown Arcata, Lina withdrew her backpack, which now carried the tin, from the saddlebag and slung it over her shoulder. The hard-shell containers had a heavy-duty lock, but he didn’t blame her for wanting to keep it close. Instead of saying anything, he nodded to the diner he had in mind, then followed her across the street.
Students lingered in the square and hovered outside a few of the coffee shops. He scanned the area but felt reasonably certain they were on their own. No one had followed them out of Redding the night before, and there’d be no way for Sam and his partner to connect her to the area. Not unless they linked the property to Lina and knew she’d been heading there. Or…another possibility struck him. One that had his pulse jumping.
He leaned forward, his lips almost brushing her ear. “Any chance they put a tracker in the pink backpack, too?”