GOLD CANYON (Book 2)

Chapter 9

The body looked like it had smashed into a few boulders while drifting along the river's winding path. Arthur Beck's forehead took the brunt of the blows, bearing two blunt force gashes above his brow. His neck came to a rest, twisted at an odd angle, snapped like a twig in the current's powerful hands. The upper portion of the body lay on the bank with the legs in the water, feet submerged.

Oh. Tom glanced away, his stomach turning a flip. "That's... not... what I was expecting."

Kate kneeled beside the body. "What did you think we'd find?"

"I don't know... a dead guy?"

"He is that, for certain."

Tom sized up the corpse. That's what poor Arthur Beck was now, a lifeless shell. "We should search the body, see what we can find, if anything."

"Well." Kate patted the man's rear end like she was touching toxic waste. "Here's a wallet."

She snarled her nose and tossed the billfold to Tom. He picked through the contents and discovered several hundred dollars in wet cash, a driver's license, credit cards, etcetera. The normal things anyone might find in a man's wallet. He pocketed the cash.

"What are you doing?" Kate's chin dropped.

"He doesn't need it anymore."

"Really?"

"Well, if it makes you feel fuzzy on the inside, I'll give it to his granddaughter when we find her."

"I suppose that'll do." Kate shook her head. "Always the opportunist."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing really. It's just... you never cease to amaze me."

"I'm practical. Rules of the old west."

"Just tell me we're not raising our daughter by the same rules."

"Of course not." Tom rolled his eyes. "Let's turn him over."

After they put the body on its back, Kate slipped her fingers inside his front right pocket and pulled out a set of keys on a chain. One key had a plus symbol on it. "To his truck, I suppose," she said. "Or his car."

"Gotta give him credit, he's a Chevy man like me. I mean, he was... Anything else?"

"No, that's about it."

Tom squatted next to Kate, a hand on his chin, thinking. "There's got to be something else. If I were him, I'd hide something I didn't want to be found in my underwear—but I'm not looking there."

"What's wrong? Don't want to check his skivvies?" Kate dished out a wry grin.

"No, I don't—you can if you like."

"I'll pass. Thank you very much, sir."

Then another thought occurred to Tom. He stood up, shooed Kate out of the way, grabbed the man under the armpits, and dragged his feet out of the river. Next, he unlaced one of Beck's boots and removed it, pouring the water onto the arid ground.

"You think he hid something in his shoes?" Kate said, each word rising in a crescendo, emphasizing her English accent.

"It's possible. I'm not sure. If he wanted to hide his notes that he scribbled on a piece of paper or a newspaper clipping from yesteryear, anything that might lead him to the treasure or his granddaughter, then he might stuff it in any crevice he thought the Australian wouldn't look."

Tom tugged on the tread of the second boot and removed it from Arthur Beck's sopping wet foot. His white socks were dirty brown, specked with debris. The boots appeared well worn, having cracked leather and heavy mileage on the soles. The tips of the laces were frayed. Maybe Beck needed the gold to buy himself a new pair of shoes, or maybe he did a ton of hiking? Tom poked his fingers around the cushion insert. Somewhat loose, he pried the insert apart from the bottom of the shoe.

Nothing.

Tossed it aside.

He glanced at Kate and did the same inspection on the second boot. Again, nothing.

"What about checking his backpack?" Kate said, out of the blue.

Tom's tone took on a disgusted edginess. "What backpack?"

"The one that washed up on the bank." Kate nodded in the general direction of down river and smiled.

Tom's countenance brightened as his eyes located the gray pack fifty feet away. "He must've slung it in before the Australian got to him, to keep it from him."

"That means it might contain something vitally important to his mission."

"I think you're right."

They raced over to the backpack, and Tom started opening zippers. Wasting no time, he dumped the contents onto the ground with Kate watching. A canteen fell out, followed by a box of power bars, the carton slightly damp. Chocolate peanut butter crunch. Tom's favorite. Apparently, the pack floated most of its journey through the rapids without submerging. He was happy to see the food, but a little irritated not to see anything of significance. He shook the bag and emptied an extra T-shirt, socks, underwear and a pair of Wrangler jeans, size thirty-six waist and thirty-two length.

"You have got to be kidding me." Tom peered at Kate out of the corners of his eyes. "I've been dying for a pair of jeans. These'll fit. They'll be a little loose around the waist, but the length is usually what I wear. I'll change later when we set up camp."

Tom paused, staring at the body, and then bent over and removed Beck's belt.

Kate shook her head.

"What?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"He doesn't need his belt, either."

"There was nothing else in the bag?" Kate asked. She took the backpack from him and looked for herself. Her hands rifled through the pockets, fingers finding nothing, but then she gave the main compartment another inspection. "There's something here, some sort of interior backing. Firm but pliable."

"A secret pouch?" Tom's eyes grew large, and his cheeks warmed with the possibilities of what they might find.

Kate dug and clawed at the thin material. Then her hand sank further into the pack. "It's bloody laminated, whatever it is—" She yanked a piece of paper free and held it up in the air.

Tom swiped it from her.

"Hey," she said. "I do all the labor and you wallow in the spoils?"

"It's a map."

Kate crowded over his shoulder. "Of the Grand Canyon."

"An old one." Tom's voice had a hushed awe ring to it. Though protected by the laminated plastic, the hands of time had faded and crinkled the paper. It had a yellowish tint, the outer edges stained with blotchy brown spots, most likely from moisture. The lamination had been done recently, preventing the paper from further deterioration.

Tom turned to Kate, words forming in his mouth, when a crack from a firearm erupted from a distance. The discharge exploded with a scattering of dust and rock at his feet. The Australian had found them again, and this time he didn't care if anyone heard the blast of his gun.