Buried Truth. Dana MentinkЧитать онлайн книгу.
concealed by construction equipment and the dip and swell of brown-covered hills, was the deepest mine in North America. Only, now the goal was no longer hauling out gold, but building the finest Deep Underground Science and Engineering Laboratory in the world. The best of the best, the most cutting-edge science so close, yet it might as well be on the moon. “Here’s my number. Please have Dr. Egan call me.”
She snapped out her business card and reversed the Jeep, suspecting the guard was laughing as he returned to his air-conditioned post.
Laughing that a seasoned forty-three-year-old reporter was so easily defeated? Or amused that Heather actually claimed she had written for Horizons? She groaned. If it weren’t for the framed copies of long-ago articles, she might have believed it was a joke herself. Now she was reduced to writing a piece about some piddly fossil find and covering the local town events. She eased the Jeep down the road a couple of miles, rounded a corner and pulled over to the shoulder. Turning off the engine, she sipped some iced tea out of the thermos and considered. In years prior, her Horizons press pass had given her access to anybody, anywhere. The who’s who in the science world practically salivated for the chance to air their discoveries in the magazine.
She recalled a time when she thought Rockvale might even become a home to her. She remembered a trip a year and a half before to this town, when she and Bill Cloudman had struck up a friendship. Her cheeks warmed. More than a friendship, on her side anyway. But things had ended badly after six months. Very badly. Shame licked at her insides again.
She’d decided to return to her father’s house in this nowhere town a week ago only after she’d learned that Bill had gone, checked out from the world after the murder of his partner. Where was he now?
It was probably good for him to have left. Maybe he’d found a new life. She shifted uncomfortably on the seat, remembering the emotion that had shimmered in his dark eyes the day he’d arrested her. There might have been love there, but she’d seen only betrayal, the same kind of betrayal she’d lived with since her mother had walked away from Heather and her father when Heather was just a child. Walked away. The only written contact she’d ever made was that one brief note.
I read your lagerstätte article. Excellent and well researched. You should be proud. Mother
The insanity of it still boggled Heather. Her mother had chosen to break her silence and comment about some ancient set of fish fossils buried in remote Montana?
She’d wanted to scream at the injustice of it. What about me? Aren’t you interested in me? Your child?
But even more unsettling was how much Heather had been moved by that one word.
Proud.
Why should that one word coming from her mother, the stranger, the betrayer, the woman she should hate, mean so much?
Heather flopped her head back on the cracked vinyl. Would her mother be proud now? Proud despite her daughter’s battle with alcoholism? Losing her job and relationship in one fell swoop?
When she felt the despair creep up again, she grabbed hold of her lifeline.
God, thanks for giving me the strength to stay sober.
It wasn’t eloquent or lovely, but she figured God was used to her constant stream of thankfulness mixed in with regular pleas for help. True, she hadn’t gotten her job at Horizons back and there was no hope that she would ever understand her mother’s abandonment, but she was sober and God got all the credit for that gigantic achievement.
Restlessly she twisted her long mane of curls into a messy braid. It didn’t do much to cool her, but at least it kept her hands almost as busy as her mind. Her phone rang and she snatched it up. Maybe Dr. Egan had decided to speak with her after all.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Hernandes.”
The unfamiliar voice was gravelly and low, tinged with a slight drawl.
“Hello. Who am I speaking with?”
“A friend. I have a story you will be most interested in, I’m sure.”
She frowned and pressed the phone closer to hear.
“Who did you say you are?”
“I didn’t, but you will be hearing from me soon.”
“I don’t talk to people unless they identify themselves.” She tried for a strong tone, in spite of a tickle of unease in her stomach. “Who is this, please?”
A harsh laugh filled her ear. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting. Yet.”
She sat up straighter. “Identify yourself or I’m hanging up.”
“Such rudeness doesn’t become you.” More laughter. “And your braid does not flatter, Ms. Hernandes. You should keep your hair loose.”
The phone disconnected.
Her body erupted in prickles of fear. She cranked on the engine and locked the doors. Breath coming in panicky bursts, she careened off down the road. No one in the rearview. No one following behind. Should she call the police? Remembering her DWI arrest, she knew she did not want to have anything to do with law enforcement again.
Calm down. Think.
Who was the guy anyway? His voice was unfamiliar. Probably just a crank caller.
But he’d been watching her.
She took a deep breath, starting violently when the phone rang again. After another look in the rearview, she pulled over. This time she checked the number and kept the engine running. With trembling fingers she answered, relieved when her editor’s voice boomed over the line.
“Some vandalism up at Bill Cloudman’s property. Need you to check it out and write it up.”
At the mention of Bill’s name, Heather felt an odd tightening in her stomach. “Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?”
“Just one person and that’s you. Go take a picture before it gets dark. And add a bit to the webpage about it.”
“But …”
He’d already hung up.
Heather disconnected. Vandalism wasn’t exactly a riveting subject and Bill’s property had been abandoned so long it was the perfect target for teenagers with nothing else to do. It was also remote.
The stranger’s voice whispered through her memory.
We have not had the pleasure of meeting.
Yet.
She considered calling someone to go along with her, but there was no one she could think of. Steeling her spine and saying another quick prayer, she drove along, ignoring the now-familiar knocking from her engine.
Her phone remained silent for the rest of the drive. The road sloped upward, twining through stands of trees. Every small movement drew her attention, every dart of a lizard on the shoulder made her jump.
“It was just a crazy crank caller, Heather. Relax and do your job before you lose this one, too.”
As the miles ticked by, she realized for the first time how utterly remote this little corner of South Dakota was. Acres of dry grass and rock-strewn hills, with not a soul to be seen anywhere.
Gritting her teeth, she continued on.
When she finally pulled onto Bill’s property a half hour later, her mouth dropped open. She wasn’t sure which shocked her more, the bloodred paint defacing the house, or the sight of Bill Cloudman, his dark eyes filled with thunder, staring right at her.
TWO
Heather tried to plaster what she hoped was a professional look on her face. “I … I didn’t know you were here.”
“Didn’t see a need to alert the press.”