Starlight Dunes (3 page)

“Yep, one and the same.”

“This town’s a virtual lure for the weird these days.”

“
I can’t disagree with that statement. And Wade Hawkins certainly wouldn’t. He’s finally published his own book after two years of research on the subject. He let me read the manuscript. I have to say, Wade did a decent job with the topic.”

“Wade specifically wrote about Scott?”

“He didn’t name names, no. But he did illuminate a few intriguing details about him.”

“Like what?”

“For one, lately whenever Scott’s seen with Megan he’s around seventeen. Other times people have reported seeing a boy of around ten years old fishing down at the cove. He’s even been seen swimming off Treasure Island at the ripe old age of fourteen. Of course, he vanishes before anyone can approach him. Then there’s the ghost of the soldier who died in Iraq, a man in his mid-thirties, usually seen wearing a pair of khaki shorts and T-shirts that vary like he changes clothes. Probably the same image you saw standing on the pier though. Dad seems to think Scott is one of the most powerful spiritwalkers he’s ever encountered, one with a strong, unbreakable bridge between his world and this place. You know the legends as well as I do.”

“
Sure, I know the stories, grew up with them. But seeing it right outside my front door is another matter. I know what I saw last night but I’d be hard pressed to admit it to anyone else but you.”

Glancing at his brother, Ethan said, “
As I recall, you and Scott used to hang around together quite a bit as kids, didn’t you?”

“Despite the age difference, yeah
we did.”

“But it’s only two years.
Dad believes Scott appears to people who are troubled about something. If you’re depressed, Brent, it’s okay to admit it.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me
,” Brent snapped. “I have a departmental shrink who does that on a regular basis. It pisses me off.”

“
I can see that. But all I’m saying is someone tries to kill you, it messes with your head, messing with your head you start to show a little anxiety from time to time.”

Brent decided they needed a
change of subject. “What do you know about this archaeological find on the dunes everyone’s talking about? I’ve been a little busy to pay much attention to it. According to Dad, the Southwest Tribal Foundation already sent someone out to head the dig. It’s all over town she’s checked into the B & B, looks to be here a while. Dad’s not too happy about it.”

“Just what
he’s mentioned in the last week or so and the grumblings I’ve heard from the other elders. None of them are too keen on unearthing our ancestors so a bunch of scientific studies can be done on them.”

“I didn’t hear they’d found remains. I
n fact, I didn’t even know they’d started to dig.”

“They haven’t.
Yet. But if it turns out this is a settlement, there’s a good chance human remains are down there somewhere. We all need to prepare for that eventuality. I told Dad the same thing. There’s been some talk around town about how this discovery will likely put Pelican Pointe on the map. Half want the exposure. The other half would rather the whole thing just go away. It’s split the town down the middle.”

“Like we needed that to happen,
” Brent said, looking up at the uneven crags as the waves splashed up against the rocks. Two days ago the park rangers had finally showed up to rope off the area and post signs warning the public about the now unstable side of the one-hundred-foot drop off. In spite of that, beachgoers were out sunning themselves at the base and enjoying a perfect fall day with temperatures expected in the high seventies.

“
We always knew it could happen,” Ethan went on. “We always knew one bad squall could cause a collapse. Who knew we might find evidence of a settlement belonging to our ancestors underneath the sand right here in town though?”

That’s
one reason Brent wasn’t sure he understood why his father was so upset about the whole thing. “Now that you mention it, I guess it was just a matter of time before something like this happened. Since our forefathers lived all up and down this same coastline for thousands of years I’m surprised it took this long. Think about it.”

“All I know is I haven’t seen D
ad this excited since he found that little missing girl in Oregon. Not sure he trusts this archaeologist the center brought in though. He’s afraid this will turn the ruins into nothing more than a tourist attraction just like a lot of the other Native sites in North America. He doesn’t want that and neither do the elders.”

“Can’t say I blame them
. Once the vultures begin to circle they’ll likely hang around for whatever they can scrounge and put up for sale on eBay.”

“They did that with Hohokam artifacts found in Arizona.”

“I know. Well, the council delegated the job to Dad so he’s stuck with it.”

“Hey, it
isn’t the first time he’s ended up the liaison between the elders and the center.”

“
From what I hear he’s already at odds with this woman and she hasn’t even been in town a week.”

“
I wouldn’t say
at odds
so much as establishing a trust between the two. River Amandez is her name,” Ethan revealed.

“
You’re kidding? River? What kind of name is that?”

Ethan grinned
and repeated, “River. She’s Pueblo Indian. And she’s a smart one all right. Has enough degrees to rival Keegan Fanning. Well, Bennett, now. Nick says this River seems to be settling in just fine at the B & B despite the fact she’s a hotshot archaeologist who’s been all over the world, excavated digs in the deserts from Texas to Mongolia.”

That brought a chuckle out of Brent. “With that kind of background,
River Amandez will get bored with our little neck of the woods real quick. Wanna bet she’ll be ready to hightail it out of here first chance she gets?”

B
rent Cody couldn’t have been more wrong.

River Amandez
was in her element. She stood on the sandy shore between Smuggler’s Bay and the cliffs staring at the aftermath of the mudslides. Goose bumps formed along her arms at the idea of getting her hands in the dirt, particularly this dirt, this site.

As the lead archaeologist on the project, River studied the Chumash ruins winking back at her from the glistening sand. Mother Nature might’ve done her damage and moved on—but sometimes she left treasures in her wake.

Now, thanks to low tide, an exposed base of the bluff opened up enough where one could peer inside an open crater. She could make out the first object, a canoe that had more than likely been stuck in the sludge for centuries. She itched to touch, to run her hands along the wood. A mass of shards from pots and cooking utensils and other remnants of village life also remained lodged in the mud. A string of what she’d already deemed were animal bones, most likely used in some decorative manner, drew her in and had her wondering how these people had lived.

Standing
among the dunes and sandbanks, she tried to imagine what the Spanish explorer Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo might have seen in the sixteenth century from the bow of his ship as it sailed past the bay heading northward.

River
had already learned the Chumash Indians had thrived along the Pacific Coast for hundreds of years. She could picture their villages, the gatherer-hunters paddling out to catch supper, and then maybe bargaining to exchange the fish for the bead money they used to make from olivella shells.

River
knew the cave-in would yield more, a lot more. Her instincts told her what she saw now was tip of the iceberg stuff, including the canoe. She tried to picture what might be farther down in the sandy muck.

Among waist-high beach grass, sand and rock, the dunes
and bluffs had probably protected this site since before Cabrillo had ever set foot on California soil.

From the minute her phone
had chimed with the news that an ancient Native American campsite had been discovered in Pelican Pointe, California, the Southwest Tribal Foundation had reassigned her.

Her boss, Emilio Matias,
had split up his staff and taken her off the Coushatta project in the swamplands of Alabama to come here to head her own excavation. It had taken her less than seventy-two hours to pack up her stuff, hop into her ancient Jeep Wagoneer to drive across the flat prairie grasslands of the Southwest to California.

It was a place she’d never been before
, a new adventure that would keep her busy without a lot of time on her hands to dwell on anything personal. She took it as a sign, an opportunity to redirect her thoughts, even for the duration of a dig was welcome. 

By concentrating on her job,
River would stay sane. She liked to think that by digging up artifacts and what had once been a thriving village hidden under all the silt, she could bring to light the people who had inhabited this area. As an expert in pre-Columbian settlements, River had lobbied to get here, to be part of it all.

She knew t
he representative from the Santa Ynez Indian tribe didn’t completely trust her—at least not yet—it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to work to build up a bond from the ground up. That’s why she intended to do whatever it took. No one could accuse River Amandez of the unwillingness to wade through bureaucrats determined to prevent her from accomplishing her goal.

The research center had found a descendant of the Chumash who would act as the go-to guy on her project. Because of that, s
he knew it was way too early to make waves. So she would rein in her frustration and play the game. She really had no choice in the matter anyway.

Since the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act required federal agencies, like the research center, to consult with all Native tribes in the excavation of any human remains, or sacred objects, or any cultural entitlements found at a dig, she was prepared to deal with
whatever the spokesperson the tribe deemed necessary. She had to convince Marcus Cody, the representative for the Santa Ynez Band of Chumash Indians, that anything dug up would be handled with the utmost care to preservation. She’d already tried several times to assure him of that.

After all, she worked with an excellent team of experts who were top in their field. Her two assistants,
Julian Gustave and Laura Angleton, would be here by week’s end, along with a couple of interns Emilio had wrangled into committing to the dig for the duration.

Julian
and Laura were gold at what they did. She knew because she’d worked with Julian since they’d both started out together. She’d trained Laura from lowly intern to one of the most trusted anthropologists around.

While
Laura might be a little better at describing and cataloguing, Julian excelled at analyzing and recognizing artifacts still embedded in the earth. River didn’t know how the man did it, only that he could study an item layered in muck and mire and give it a best guess as to how it would come back after the carbon dating was done. That guess usually turned out to be right.

S
he’d already emailed Julian and Laura photos from the site. They were chomping at the bit to get here and get started on extracting the canoe. If it came down to removing human remains—and River believed it would—no one was better or more meticulous at it than her team.

River
had done her best to assure Marcus that her crew knew what they were doing. But even from the very first day she’d stepped onto the dunes, she’d sensed the man’s anxiety and his fear. Fear because he didn’t want hordes of people descending on the town and in the process disrupt ground his people now considered sacred.

Being
Pueblo Indian, she understood that. But it didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to be the one who documented the Pelican Pointe Project. Native or not, she was first and foremost a scientist who studied previous civilizations—and she was good at it.

Once
she’d checked into the only available lodging in the area, an enormous B & B north of town called Promise Cove, she’d spent every waking minute of the day she could spare on research. She’d even managed to nail down the timeframe of what she’d seen here, at least ball-park it anyway. What was left of the village might easily date back to the twelfth century, maybe even earlier. She’d know more when she could get her hands in the dirt. So far, she’d only been allowed to photograph the discovery from six feet away.

She w
ould wait on Marcus to give the go-ahead for more. According to him, the tribal council hadn’t yet voted to give them clearance. River didn’t doubt for a minute they would. Waiting for the red tape to wind its way through the system had never been her strong suit though. Even when she knew it would happen eventually, she had trouble chilling her jets for a week, which meant she was already getting antsy.

She’d
gone over charts and maps of the area. She’d consulted with Marcus on numerous occasions. The man had even taken the time to show her a number of other landmarks in the area once occupied by his ancestors. After looking at that firsthand, River had to admit she was intrigued by what her project might give up.

S
he’d never had a guide quite like Marcus before. The sixtyish man seemed to know everything there was to know about the Chumash and then some. Of course, he’d lived around the area all his life.

Not only that but h
is wife’s mother, Autumn Lassiter, had been born and raised in and around Pelican Pointe. River found it fascinating that Autumn could trace her family roots back to seventeenth-century Chumash descendants. But because Autumn had died a couple of years before, it meant she was stuck with Marcus as her go-to guy.

She wasn’t really complaining. The man
even spoke the dialect which she had yet to master. Having an expert handy was like having access to a walking Chumash encyclopedia. River intended to use his knowledge to her fullest advantage.

She’d
already learned that less than two hundred and fifty miles from this very spot near Santa Barbara was a true Chumash treasure. Painted Cave State Park had yielded a small sandstone cave with rock art dating back a thousand years or more. Marcus and his wife had even played tour guide, taking River there to see it for herself.

River
was convinced that when her team got to dig, there was an excellent chance they might uncover the same type of pictographs here in Pelican Pointe. The possibilities were endless. At least she hoped to be a part of that kind of find.

On any given
day, River Amandez could be dedicated, motivated, focused and persistent. At thirty-three she’d paid her dues at dig sites along the way since the day she’d turned eighteen. That meant she had fifteen years of field work under her belt. She’d earned a master’s degree at twenty-four, her doctorate at twenty-six.

To her credit,
River had made only one major mistake in judgment, not a career one mind you, but a personal one. Marrying the lying, bastard Wes Patton capped what otherwise could be called a decent history of judging character, not stellar maybe, just decent.

She’d wasted
two messy years with the verbally abusive Wes. And then at thirty her life had completely gone off the rails. It had taken her almost a year to get back on track. Even after two years, there was still one huge missing element to her life. The biggest hole of all she hadn’t been able to fill no matter how hard she tried, or what project she took on, or how far she roamed across the four corners of the country to do it.

There were times her arms ached to hold, to cuddle what was gone. A part of her was missi
ng, and nothing could repair that hole in her heart.

That’s why t
hese days she made sure she kept stateside, just in case there was any word. She no longer made herself available for overseas assignments in places like Egypt or Ireland. If she ever stumbled upon a viable lead that might possibly turn everything around, she didn’t dare risk being out of the country when it happened.

River
tried not to dwell on anything pessimistic because if she did it tended to make her crazy with worry and guilt—which might mean checking into a padded cell where she’d settle in for good and never come out. That wouldn’t help anyone.

Not a day went by that
it didn’t nag at her to the point she couldn’t concentrate. No matter how stubborn her resolve seemed to be, there had yet to be a resolution. She refused to accept defeat. These days she had only one purpose. Her single-mindedness began every morning and ended every night the same way.

River Amandez
refused to give up. She would find her son if it took the last breath in her body.

It was true
her life was a nomadic existence as she went from dig to dig. To this day, her home base was where she’d grown up. She kept an apartment in Santa Fe, New Mexico. But she was rarely there. If she went back at all, it was to check on her mother. Sad to say, her mom hadn’t recognized her in over two years. Stage-6 Alzheimer’s had robbed Malinda Amandez of almost every memory she had left. The last time River had seen her, she’d watched as the fifty-six-year-old woman spent most of the visit rocking back and forth wringing her hands. Frequent phone calls to the staff at the nursing home were the only way she had to keep up with the progression of her mother’s condition and day-to-day care.

What with her mother
’s deteriorating condition and her driving obsession, most times doing field work was the only thing that kept her grounded. She had no room in her life for anything else. For the last two and a half years, staying busy kept her from thinking about what-ifs or failed personal relationships, or blame.

Shaking off th
ose thoughts so she could work, River adjusted her lens to get a better picture.

As boats bobbed up and down in the harbor, as a slight breeze brushed her cheek,
she stepped farther into the shallow inlet, her worn Timberland hiking boots getting soaked in the process. While waves crashed up against the rocks around her, on instinct, she brought the camera into focus to capture the condition of the canoe.

There were benefits to working outside at
her own pace. But it had been a good long time since she’d landed in such a pretty little town. Because of that, on impulse, she aimed the lens toward the scenic bluffs and the picturesque lighthouse high above her head.

After taking several shots,
she gingerly inched closer to aim the Nikon at the six-foot-wide opening and the exposed ruins.

Bending
at the waist, she angled her body over the muck as close as she could get without crossing the rope barrier. Zooming in, she began snapping the photos she needed.