Falling for the Lost Dutchman E-Book

Joslyn Chase

• Herausgeber: Paraquel Press
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Somewhere in the Superstition Mountains of southern Arizona, a fabulous gold mine lays hidden. Hundreds have searched for it and many have surrendered their lives in the pursuit.

When Jay Bohmer’s best friend buys a historic item at auction that contains a new clue to the Lost Dutchman’s location, the two of them set off on a treasure hunt adventure.

But only one of them will return.

For fans of C.J. Box, Nevada Barr, and J.A. Jance. If you love a suspenseful mystery with a vibrant, fascinating setting, grab Falling for the Lost Dutchman today!

Leseprobe

Falling for The Lost Dutchman

Joslyn Chase

Paraquel Press

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WHAT READERS ARE SAYING

about Joslyn Chase

"Author Joslyn Chase has now confirmed my first impressions of her being a formidable suspense writer bound to make readers sit up and take notice."

~ Manie Kilian (reader, Amazon.com)

"As always in her writing, the settings and action scenes are vividly portrayed and the relationships between the characters are seamless and authentic. Ms Chase has a talent for bringing characters to life."

~ ReadnGrow

"There is a reason Chase is an award-winning author. Highly recommended.”

~ Justin Boote, author of Badass

“The author is a great storyteller."

~ AstraDaemon

"Joslyn Chase skillfully connects subplots, then injects a few surprises, then connects things again in an interesting cycle; weave, disassemble, weave, repeat."

~ Ron Keeler, Read 4 Fun

"In the movie Field of Dreams, there is a now famous line, "If you build it, they will come." Apply this sentiment to Joslyn Chase--if she writes it, we will come and read it."

~ William DeProspo, author of Unlikely Outcome

"Joslyn Chase paints intriguing pictures with vivid, colorful descriptions…you feel like you have a front row seat from which to watch as everything unfolds."

~ Gabi Rosetti (reader, Amazon.com)

"The flow of her writing is a delight to me, elegant and soothing, woven like fine linen."

~ Margherita Crystal Lotus, author of The Color Game

Contents

Prologue

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

Author's Notes

More books by Joslyn Chase

Sample from Steadman's Blind

About the Author

Copyright

Prologue

On a clear summer day, the kind with a breeze that lifts the hair off your sweaty forehead and makes a tall glass of lemonade go down like an elixir of the gods, I think about the day I cheated Death.

I’d felt like such a lucky son of a gun. I hadn’t an inkling that Death had marked me down in his little book and was coming back to claim his due. If I had known, I swear I’d have laid out the red carpet for him rather than have it happen like it did.

But on that July day, I was only twelve. I hadn’t earned the perspective or wisdom that age and experience put on a person. I’ve had plenty of time between then and now to marvel over what happened that day and to speculate whether my moments going forward have been colored by those events in unexplained ways. As a man in my forties, I sometimes wonder if the setbacks, tragedies, and disappointments in my life were Death’s way of garnishing my wages until he could collect in full.

As I remember that day, I’d woken and rolled lazily onto my back, staring at a ceiling painted bright by a band of dappled sunlight. Glinting motes floated on the air like a sprinkling of fairy dust and I pictured a magical day ahead, filled with barefoot wanderings, swimming holes, and stolen cookies.

A door slammed somewhere down the hallway and I guessed my older sister was getting an early start on her pouting and flouncing routine. I threw back the sheet and stripped off my pajamas, tossing them in a corner. As I zipped into a pair of jeans, the old staircase outside my room groaned, telling me mom had mounted the first few steps.

“Jay! Mandy! Breakfast!”

On the landing, the smell of bacon and pancakes greeted me, setting up a rumbling in my stomach. Dad had left already for the office, his chair empty, a syrup-smeared plate and half a glass of orange juice on the tablecloth in front of it.

“Don’t forget to say grace, Jay,” mom reminded, her back to me as she flipped another batch of pancakes.

Bowing my head, I said a quick and sincere prayer of thanks for bacon and long summer days before digging into the short stack on my plate. Just as the morning looked to be shaping into something glorious, mom turned from the counter and pointed the spatula at me.

“Chores today, kiddo. Downstairs bath, and clean your room. Honestly Jay, how do you find anything clean to wear in that mess?”

I kept my head lowered and hoped mom wouldn’t notice the strawberry jam staining the front of my T-shirt. I tried to keep a whine out of my voice as I made my considered argument.

“Come on, mom. It’s nice outside, but it might rain this afternoon. Can’t I do my chores later?”

“Not a chance, dear one. You’ll finish them before you go out to play.”

I huffed a loud, long-suffering sigh, but mom only rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove. Starting in the bathroom, I scrubbed the sink, tub, and toilet, polished the mirror, and swept the floor.

After that, I headed up to my room, stomping on each step as a form of protest, and stared around at the heaps of dirty clothes, scattered game pieces, and old homework assignments discarded at random among the rest of the chaos.

Sorting clothes and shoes into one pile, toys into another, papers into a third, and making a fourth pile for everything else, I organized the mess. It didn’t look any better.

Flopping onto my bed, I saw the band of light across the ceiling had moved, marking off the hours like a sundial as morning wasted toward afternoon. I crossed to the window and pushed it open, craning my neck to see the western sky. A disgruntled flare ruffled through my chest at the sight of creeping gray clouds, far off on the horizon.

Not fair.

Turning back to the piles, I stuffed the clothes into a hamper, shoved game pieces into boxes in my closet, and disposed of the rest of it as best I could without giving it too much thought. I wanted to get outside.

Running down the stairs, I passed mom folding laundry at the dining room table.

“Chores are done. I’m headed to Clint’s.”

“Hold it, Jay. You haven’t cleaned the bathroom.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Your sister just finished cleaning the downstairs bathroom, so now you’ll have to clean the one upstairs.”

I stopped like I’d hit a stone wall, a wail of dissent rising up from the pit of my privations.

“I already cleaned the downstairs bathroom.”

Mom made a sound with her tongue and placed a folded shirt on the top of a leaning stack. “I just saw Mandy wipe out the sink and put fresh towels on the racks, Jay. I haven’t seen you in there this morning.”

“You were washing dishes!” I pointed out, stung by this new injustice eating away more of my day. “You didn’t see me, but I cleaned that bathroom first. All Mandy did was top it off.”

Mom gave me a look. “Uh huh, not buying it, big guy. Upstairs, and I want that bathroom spic and span.”

I looked up to see Mandy peering over the railing outside her bedroom. She smirked and turned away. The disgruntled flare inside me swelled and heated, touching my cheeks with a red-hot finger. I stared at my mother, calmly folding, impervious to my arguments, and I blew.

“You’re not my jailer!” I shouted, thinking I’d heard something like that on a movie once. My feet stumbled forward of their own accord and I followed them, running out of the house and halfway down the street before my brain caught up with the rest of me.

Didn’t matter. I wasn’t going back, and I wasn’t apologizing. I also wasn’t going to Clint’s where they’d be sure to find me if they came looking. I took off toward the greenbelt at the back of the neighborhood, on the far side of the lake.

A narrow swath of pines, oak, and eucalyptus flanked the rippled lake, which was really just an oversized trout pond kept stocked by the residents. A stiff breeze swayed the treetops, chilled by the approaching storm clouds, stirring the scent of pine and menthol.

Shivering, I wished I’d grabbed a windbreaker, but I would’ve frozen to death rather than go back for one now. My throat ached from the throb under my heart, and it hurt to swallow. Blinking hard, I turned my face into the wind and stared up at the top of my favorite climbing tree, a tall eucalyptus with long, narrow, silvery leaves.

The ground under my feet was hard and stony, covered by a thin carpet of dead and decaying leaves and pine needles. Bracing my foot against a rock embedded beneath the tree, I vaulted up and caught hold of the lowest branch, swinging my feet around it and clinging like a monkey.

I hung there for a moment, listening to the sound of my own breath chuffing against the silence of the wood. Then, pulling myself from branch to branch, I scrambled up the tree to the comfort of my “saddle,” a place where I could straddle a wide bough and rest my head against the trunk.

Wrapping my arms around the peeling bark, I pressed my face into the strips. They felt like paper against my skin and smelled like chest rub. I tried to clear my mind, not to think about my ruined day or the consequences I’d have to face when I returned home.

A rumble of thunder, like a dog’s warning growl, seemed to vibrate down through the trunk of the eucalyptus. How much shelter would these branches give me if it started to rain? The wind picked up strength and my perch swayed like the mast of a ship in swell.

Before I could decide to climb down, I heard running footsteps, and then a voice.

“Come on down, Jay!”

It was Clint. Squinting through the leaves, I saw he had his little brother, Zane, with him. I heard a skittering, like tiny feet running through the tops of the trees, and then the first raindrop hit me with a cold splat, dripping into my eye. A thousand brothers followed, pelting down fast.

Coming out of a tree is never as easy for me as climbing up. The rain soaked my hair, making it fall forward over my eyes and the bark grew slick with an oily moisture. Lowering myself from my saddle, I reached my toes toward the branch below. An enormous crack of thunder exploded above our heads, and I yelped.

My foot slipped at the same time I lost my grasp. Before I registered what had happened, I was falling to the stony ground below. My head hit rock, and the breath whooshed out of me like a spent balloon. My chest felt paralyzed and I couldn’t pull in another lungful. I gawped like a landed fish.

Zane stood staring down at me. His face shone pale and his lips moved, but I heard no sound. Clint grabbed the boy, shaking him, shouting something before shoving him away. Zane disappeared.

Darkness closed in from the edges of my vision. I closed my eyes, but Clint knelt beside me and patted my cheeks.

“Oh no, buddy. No sleepytime for you. Stay with me.”

My chest loosened and breath leaked into me in a pathetic wheeze, not enough to get behind the words I wanted to say. So tired now, I just wanted to go to sleep. I let my eyes fall shut.

Clint slapped my cheeks again, shocking me awake. “Buck up, Jay! We’ve got tadpoles to catch. And don’t forget, we’re building a hideout this summer. You’re not going to make me do all the work myself, are you?”

I should have died that day, but a miracle kept me alive—a miracle by the name of Clint Fuller, my best friend, and—on any other day—my partner in climb.

One way and another, Clint badgered and bullied me into staying awake until the ambulance arrived. He saved my life that day.

It is my deepest regret that I wasn’t able to do the same for him when his day came.

1

The woman I married is not a nag.

I counted that as one of Vanessa’s many qualities which made me a very lucky man. Until my luck changed, making up for the nagging I wasn’t getting at home.

I heard the clack of businesslike, low heels in the hallway, and cringed. Why did the thought of this woman make me want to crawl under my desk? I forced a smile onto my face and waited for my new supervisor, Ms. Clapham, to poke her head in. She couldn’t pass my office without stopping by to remind me about something I hadn’t done yet.

“Hi, Jay.” She held a steaming cup of coffee and blew on it with pursed lips as her gaze traveled around my office, no doubt cataloging deficits for future use. My space filled with the scent of her flowery coffee concoction, something fancy with bitter overtones. “Have you finished the sales copy for the Toliver account? I want to proof it before our presentation tomorrow.”

“I’ll have it on your desk by mid-afternoon.”

She gave me a tight smile. “Make sure you do.”

The heels clacked away, the sound vanishing as she turned into her carpeted office. I realized I was holding my breath and let it out in a slow dribble, like air escaping a leaky tire. I reached out my hand for a pencil and nearly knocked over the whole jar when the phone on my desk buzzed and lit up, jangling out the ringtone from Top Gun.

Clint.

I grinned down at the vibrating phone, knowing two things before I even picked up the call—I was about to get squeezed, and that whatever Clint wanted me to do, I’d go along with it.

Thirty-three years of life experience had washed under our bridge since that day under the eucalyptus trees, with Clint still bullying—his intentions pure—and me still complying—mostly to my great benefit. We were the best of friends, even separated by a thousand miles and a vast difference in lifestyle.

After college, I’d gone into advertising while Clint started up his own software development company designing animation programs and special effects generators for movies and television. He made his fortune three times over, sold the company, and devoted his life to indulging various passions.

Sometimes including me in his adventures.

I picked up the call, thinking I was prepared to hear anything Clint might throw my way.

I was wrong.

“The Lost Dutchman’s Mine?” I ran a mental inventory, trying to remember the gist of the legend. “Clint, thousands of people have combed the Superstition Mountains looking for that mirage. It doesn’t exist.”

“It does, though, my friend. And I intend to uncover it.”

“Why? I’m sure you’ll have to turn anything you find over to the government.”

“Naturally. It’s not about the gold. It’s about the thrill of the hunt. Come on, Jay—I’m making you an offer you can’t resist.”

“You always do.”

I sighed, running a hand through what was left of my hair. “You said you’d pay me handsomely to come along. What, exactly, will you be paying me for? My charming company?”

“Of course, and I’d like you to manifest that charm by entertaining us around the campfire of an evening—a little song, a little dance, a little local folklore.”

“What do you mean by ‘us’? Who else have you conscripted?”

“We’ll be a small party. Besides the two of us, there’ll be just my brother, Zane, and the guides, Darren and Theta Halloway.”