Buried Secrets Read online

  “It’s a symbol of life,” she said. “It’s an Egyptian hieroglyphic symbol that represented the word "life.” The whole explanation then led to conversations about Egypt and Cleopatra.

  “I wear it because I’m hoping to channel some of the strength and intelligence and power that she had,” her mother said.

  From that day on, Dallas had looked at her mother in a new light. She realized that her mother was more than just her mother.

  Now, on the porch, she saw a glimpse of that side of her. She was playful and laughing.

  “Well, funny you should bring that up about Cleopatra,” her dad said. “That’s not exactly what happened. Just a story that’s been passed down.”

  “How so, Marcus?” Her mother said, tucking her legs under her on the cushioned chair.

  That’s when her dad told the real story of Cleopatra.

  He explained how Cleopatra’s suicide was considered the greatest possible insult to Octavian who had wanted to humiliate her by parading her as a prisoner through the streets of Rome. But also, how Cleopatra’s actions in the days leading up to her death seemed to indicate she was performing a religious ceremony.

  And then her dad said something that would change Dallas’s life.

  “They’ve never found her tomb.”

  “How come?” Dallas asked.

  “The city she lived in sunk into the sea.”

  “Wow. Like disappeared? A whole city?”

  “Most of it. Boom. Gone,” her dad said.

  Then the subject changed and they began talking about some old friends of theirs from high school. Dallas grew sleepy listening to funny stories about her dad getting into mischief as a young man.

  Her mother pulled a throw over Dallas’s body and then absentmindedly smoothed Dallas’s hair back as she spoke. Dallas closed her eyes. It was the most perfect night of her life. Her parents’ voices, the soothing night breeze, the creak of the porch swing. The next thing she knew her mother was gently whispering in her ear.

  “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “What about Dad?” Dallas asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Her Dad was gone.

  “He had to leave. He had a train to catch. Dallas was filled with sorrow and anger. Why, oh why had she fallen asleep and missed it all?

  “He’ll be back in two weeks,” her mother said. It made Dallas feel a little better.

  From that moment on, Dallas devoured every book and every movie and TV program she could about Cleopatra. And then in high school when it came time to think about college majors, Dallas didn’t hesitate. She wanted to study archeology. But her dreams had been crushed after graduation when she didn’t get hired by the Archeology school in Arizona. But Minnesota had offered her a job. She packed her things. She would go anywhere, even the frigid Midwest, and do anything to pursue her passion.

  One day she would visit a dig in Egypt. It would be a dream come true.

  Now, she was teaching archeology and sitting at a museum listening to two men who had finally managed to uncover artifacts from the sunken city. It all seemed surreal to Dallas. And somehow, the man had known her parents, which made it even more bizarre. And frankly, made no sense at all to Dallas.

  “Does anyone have any questions?” Caldwell asked.

  Several people did. Finally, Dallas raised her hand.

  “Yes, Ms. Jones.”

  Dallas hid her dismay at him calling her out by name. “Do you believe that Cleopatra’s tomb is somewhere under water in the seas you’re exploring?” she asked.

  His gaze nailed her frozen. It was too intense. Dallas didn’t like it. And she decided right then that she didn’t like him, either.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Do you think you’ll find it? In your lifetime that is?” She pressed on. Caldwell was older, maybe in his forties.

  “It is my destiny to find Cleopatra’s tomb,” he said. “It is the culmination of my life’s work.”

  The room grew silent at his intensity.

  Even Malcolm Land, his Crocodile Dundee partner, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  Dallas met Caldwell’s eyes for a long few seconds and then nodded, but was thinking, we’ll see about that. He must have read her mind because he spoke, asking, “You have another theory?”

  She smiled. His eyes widened. It was then she realized she was smirking. That she had a smug look on her face and that it had surprised the hell out of him. She also realized, as other heads in the audience turned to look at her in the back of the room, that she had made him look bad at his own event. And that meant, she had made an enemy.

  A docent from the museum cleared his throat and announced, “I think it’s time for Mr. Caldwell and Mr. Land to sign some books. Can we form a line over to the left-hand side of the room?”

  Just then a loud gasp erupted in the crowd and all heads turned toward the back where Dallas was standing. But they weren’t looking at her. They were looking at a man who had just come in the door. He seemed winded, and winked at Dallas as he unfurled a scarf he had wrapped around his neck.

  Like everyone else in the room, Dallas immediately recognized the man. It was Calvin Train, the famous motivational speaker, and one of the richest men in the world.

  He towered at least six-foot-four and had black hair, acne-pitted cheeks, and striking blue eyes. His palms were as large as Dallas’s face, she figured. His acne-scarred face was the only thing that kept him from being movie star handsome, that and the dead look in his eyes.

  “My apologies,” he said. “The weather was terrible and my jet was stuck in Chicago. I am terribly sorry to interrupt and even more sorry I missed your talk gentlemen.”

  The docent, who seemed puffed up with pride, smiled. “I’m sure Mr. Land and Mr. Caldwell would be available to speak to you privately after the signing, wouldn’t you gentlemen?”

  David Caldwell scowled, but Malcolm Land fervently nodded his head. “But of course.”

  “Please, please come up to the front,” the docent said.

  Before he made his way up the aisle, Train stared at Dallas for a long second that made her uncomfortable. She’d only seen him on TV and on magazine covers. In person, he was intimidating.

  During the commotion of people standing and talking about this exciting development—practically a celebrity in their midst—Dallas slipped out the door.

  After a stop in the bathroom, she was shrugging her coat on when the Crocodile Dundee man appeared before her.

  He stuck out his hand. “Malcolm Land,” he said. “My apologies for my partner. He is often arrogant and has terrible bedside manners.”

  The man was British and polite.

  Dallas shrugged. “Did you know my mother, too?” she said in a dry voice.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, my partner, he can be rude, as I was saying…if he wasn’t so good at what he does,” he said with an exaggerated sigh and a broad smile.

  Dallas turned. She was tired and anxious to get home and in bed, but the man continued.

  “I was wondering,” he said and then paused, his eyes growing bright. A big smile spread across his face. “If you had time to grab a drink.”

  “I’m sorry. I have to work early,” Dallas said. Oh, my God. He was hitting on her. He had to be like, her grandpa’s age.

  “In that case, I must ask you now. You said something in there that intrigued me. I was wondering if you would tell me: What exactly is your theory about Cleopatra’s tomb?”

  Dallas smiled tightly. “I don’t really share that.”

  She turned and left. But once she passed through the first set of doors, she happened to glance back and saw him still standing there staring. He was no longer smiling.

  Driving home she scrunched up her face thinking. What was it about the two men that seemed, well, so repulsive to her? Sure, Caldwell had been kind of stalker creeperish at the exhibit. And he’d grabbed her arm—touching a woman you didn’t know as a dumbbell mov
e for men nowadays. But it was more than that. It was the intense, challenging way he looked at her and his arrogance in believing that he was destined to find Cleopatra’s tomb.

  And his partner? Equally as odd. Asking her for a drink? Ew. They both were very interested in finding Cleopatra’s tomb, but Dallas didn’t think they’d find it in their searching.

  Because it wasn’t under the sea.

  Three

  It was something her father had said that long ago night on the front porch in the dark.

  He’d said that it seemed Cleopatra had spent the days leading up to her suicide in ways that appeared she was preparing for a ritualistic, religious death.

  Which meant she was preparing to be buried in a temple, not a commonplace tomb in Alexandria. There were several temples within a certain distance of Alexandria that made them possibilities for her burial site.

  Back at home in her loft, Dallas pounded away on the keyboard, searching temples within proximity of Alexandria, listing them on a yellow legal pad beside her computer’s mouse.

  When she was done, she looked at the list. There were ten possible temples. Her eyes were starting to blur. It was late and she had an eight-a.m. class to teach the next morning.

  “Whoever decided to schedule college classes before noon was an idiot,” she mumbled and then remembered: They were on break! She could sleep in! She could do whatever she wanted. But then she laughed to herself. She knew she’d be up early anyway, hitting the 6 a.m. CrossFit class. She was a creature of habit. She closed her laptop and stumbled to bed.

  In the morning after CrossFit and a shower, she swung by Perk Café on the way to campus to grab her usual Chai with added Matcha. Colton sat in the corner. She hated to admit that had been at least half of her motivation for stopping—hoping he’d be there, too. It was unusually quiet. Probably some students had already left town for the winter break.

  He was drinking his usual concoction—a large-sized white chocolate mocha latte with extra whip cream on top. The remnants of a glazed donut sat next to the morning newspaper he was reading.

  It was a full-page spread on Calvin Train.

  “Oh, brother, him again?” Dallas said, sliding in the seat across from him.

  “Huh?” Colton said looking up.

  “What’s Train up to now?” Dallas said, thinking besides crashing talks by archeologists in Minnesota.

  “The usual—jumping off cliffs, curing his depression with Psilocybin treatments.”

  “The mushrooms?” Maybe that’s what brought him to Minnesota. Maybe not mushrooms but a little peyote?

  “Uh uh,” Colton said and took another bite of a massive donut sitting on a plate before him.

  “Celebrating the end of the semester?” She asked looking pointedly at the donut.

  “Very funny.” He folded the newspaper and tossed it at her.

  They both knew he ordered the same thing every day: sugar-laden coffee and a sugar-laden donut.

  “That’s gonna kill you one day,” she said. It was an ongoing joke.

  “Apparently Train thinks sugar is evil, too. You guys could be BFF’s,” Colton said.

  “He was there last night.”

  “Where?”

  “The museum.”

  “Whoa. Really?”

  “Yep. He was a little odd.”

  “I heard he hangs out with Richard Branson and for fun they take hot air balloons up two thousand feet and swing from one to the other,” Colton said. “He sounds like the perfect friend for you—another adrenaline junkie.”

  “I’m not an adrenaline junkie,” Dallas said, tossing the paper back at him.

  “Yeah, right,” Colton said. His eyes took her in. “You look a little tired today. Did you go party with the archeologists after their reading?” he asked.

  Damn. The concealer she’d swiped under her eyes in a half-hearted attempt to disguise the dark circles had obviously not worked.

  “It’s never helpful to tell a woman she looks tired. Not if you like your fingers still attached to your hands.” She swatted at him with the fork lying next to her. “And yes, I did go to that book signing.” While you were busy on your date or whatever. “But I came home right after.”

  “I thought the signing was early, like at eight?”

  “Yeah. Well, I got some ideas and stayed up late checking them out.”

  “Aha,” Colton said. And then smiled. “I wasn’t at a date. I was at this ridiculous dinner my mother set up.”

  Dallas tried not to act too interested and took a huge sip before answering. “Oh, yeah.”

  Colton shook his head. “My mom’s old college friend’s daughter was in town, so …”

  He trailed off awkwardly.

  It was sort of a date, Dallas thought and to her surprise was filled with jealousy. Speaking of ridiculous. She and Colton weren’t even dating.

  “So?” She said, watching his eyes carefully.

  “She had a boyfriend that my mother didn’t know about and spent the whole dinner telling us about him.” He burst into laughter.

  “Them’s the breaks, Romeo,” Dallas said.

  “So about last night? How was it? Anything interesting?”

  “Oh yeah,” Dallas said smiling. “Very, very interesting.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Well, I’m going to put in for a sabbatical.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” He looked dismayed and Dallas felt a little bad.

  “No.” Did that mean he liked her? Like liked liked her? “I’m going to need your recommendation, though first. As department head and all. As my boss.” She emphasized the word.

  “Oh yeah. That.” He always grew uncomfortable when she reminded him that he was technically her boss. Hey, she didn’t like it, either, but it was a fact.

  “Wow. We can talk about it, but I’ve got a meeting with the provost this morning,” he said. “Want to grab lunch?”

  “As long as I don’t have to watch you eat something disgusting like a hot dog.”

  “No guarantee there.” He stood. “Let’s just meet back here at noon.”

  Dallas spent the morning cleaning her office, which ultimately involved two large plastic trash bags of scribbled notes, used coffee cups and take out containers. She hefted the bags into the hall and saw the janitor.

  “Hey Chris, want to hear my New Year’s resolution?”

  The young man shrugged his slim shoulders. “Why not? I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”

  “Ha ha,” she said. “I’m going to be more environmentally friendly. I’m going to get a really cool to-go coffee mug and I’m going to buy these neat glass containers with lids and actually bring my lunch to school each day. Hey! I bet I’ll even save money, too.”

  “About time.” He didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

  Dallas smiled back. She liked Chris. He took twenty credits a semester and also worked at the co-op, in addition to working as a janitor in her department. He was ambitious, and apparently, put on the planet to make her feel bad about her terrible choices.

  He was wearing those environmentally goody-two-shoe shoes, Tums, or whatever, and a shirt that looked like it was made of tree bark bamboo or something equally sustainable.

  “You young kids are so sanctimonious about recycling and organics. I want to be like that. Believe me, I’m trying,” Dallas said. “But have pity on me. We old people had to learn all this later. You guys have been taught this stuff since the womb. Not us.”

  “How old are you, anyway?” he asked.

  “29.”

  “Damn. That’s hella old.”

  Later, when Dallas walked into Perk Café she immediately spotted Colton seated with his head bowed looking at his phone. He was frowning.

  “What’s up? Something wrong?” she asked.

  “Oh. Just regular academic red tape. Same old B.S. One of the perks of my new job. Perks? Get it?” He gestured at the menu.

  “Hardy har har,” she said.

  But sh
e frowned. When they’d first met, they’d bonded bitching about the higher ups. But now that Colton was a higher up. Dallas wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  After they ordered—Dallas a tuna poke bowl, Colton a platter of tempura vegetables—Colton sighed loudly.

  “How long do you want to be gone for a sabbatical.”

  Dallas swallowed. “If my hunch is right, could be a year or more.”

  Colton blew air loudly out of his mouth. “I’m not going to stand in your way. I will definitely submit my recommendation, but after that, I don’t know what the provost will do. I’m new so I don’t have a lot of clout, honestly. They made that pretty clear to me today during this morning’s meeting.”

  “What happened?”

  “Not even worth bringing up.”

  “Oh.” Dallas’s voice was quiet. She was thinking about what he said. He would recommend her sabbatical, but who knew if it would be approved.

  Colton smiled. “The good news is with that grant there’s a good chance if your sabbatical is anthropological in nature and if it’s approved, it would be partially funded.”

  “What do they pay?”

  Colton took a big bite of his tempura just as she asked the question. He held up a finger until he finished chewing.

  “I’ll have to double check but I believe you get fifty percent of your normal pay.”

  Dallas breathed out. “That’s what I’d need to survive.”

  “You seem really excited about your ‘hunch.’ Care to share?”

  She liked how non-pushy he was. Even though he really had a right to know—and would eventually find out as her supervisor—he still asked if she wanted to share what she was doing.

  That’s when Dallas told him her theory: Cleopatra’s tomb was in one of the temples surrounding Alexandria.

  “I know you’ve obviously thought this through,” he said, “but I have to ask: what makes you think that these temples haven’t already been thoroughly excavated? I mean don’t you think if there was something there it would’ve already been found?”