Free A Stolen Chance by Linda LaRoque Page B

in her room...had spoken to her. Oh, Lordy, Lordy, I can’t believe I actually asked for this.
    When her trembling subsided, she peeked out from under the covers. Her eyes, fully adjusted to the dark, peered into the far recesses of the room for any sign of her visitor.
    Nothing. No one was there—if there ever had been. Was she losing her mind? Had the stress and fear of fleeing from Dewayne unhinged her? She didn’t feel any different than she had the day before.
    Maybe she’d dreamed the entire experience.

Chapter Eight
    Carson turned the small porcupine fetish toward the sunlight to better examine it. “And you found it where?”
    “On my bedside table this morning.” She threw up her hands and sighed. “You probably think I’m crazy, but I swear it’s not mine.” Hands steepled atop the table, she added, “Not that I wouldn’t love to own it, but for some reason I think it must be valuable.”
    He’d listened to her describe her heat problem during the night. Leona and Buck had never mentioned complaints from former guests about the heat. Their gripes involved thumps, scraping chairs, and the smell of tobacco. Could his great-grandfather’s ghost really be haunting cabin number one? Or not just Shannon’s cabin but possibly the entire motel? After all, he’d had a guest, too.
    He cleared his throat. “I received a fetish the night I arrived. Aunt Leona swore it was part of Grandpop’s collection, which hasn’t been seen since before his death.”
    “Really?” Her blue eyes widened. “Then I’m not crazy?” She leaned back in her chair and blew out a breath of air. “Whew. I was worried I’d gone nuts.”
    He set the fetish on the table.
    With a finger, she moved it around to face her. “It’s a porcupine, right?”
    “Yes. It represents faith and trust.” He touched the turquoise arrowhead attached with sinew wrapped around the porcupine’s body. “Was there anything else on the table?”
    “Just some kind of gold powder. I raked it into the trash can.” Her eyes rounded. “It wasn’t gold dust, was it?”
    He chuckled. “No, it was cornmeal, food for the fetish’s journey. Actually, true fetishes are carvings that have been blessed. Otherwise it would just be a piece of art.”
    “How do you know so much about these little figures?”
    “When I was ten years old, Gramps took me to a museum in Albuquerque that held a large display of both Zuni and Navajo fetishes. I was fascinated, so much so that I spent a month’s allowance on a book about them. Gramps and I pored over the book many a night.” Now Carson knew why the older man was so interested. He wondered why Gramps had never mentioned Grandpop’s fetish collection. Did he know where it was hidden? If so, why hadn’t he told someone?
    She smiled, the expression easing the worry lines around her mouth. As if remembering last night’s visitor, her smile wilted. “Do you believe in ghosts, spirits?”
    “Yes, I do. It’s part of my Laguna heritage, plus I accept as true all phenomena in this world until it’s disproven.”
    “So, you think your relative is sending me a message?”
    “Who knows? It’s possible. If there really is a treasure hidden somewhere, he’s leaving us clues—the raven for mystery and the porcupine for trust and faith. Not much to go on.”
    “Why on earth would he leave me hints? I’m not part of the family. He doesn’t know me.”
    Carson wondered the same thing. Who knew how these things worked? “I don’t know. Maybe he feels connected to you somehow, senses he can communicate with you.” Or perhaps he feels her insecurity and is offering assurance.
    Eyes round, her mouth dropped open. “Me... Uh, I can’t imagine why.” She snapped her mouth closed and worried her bottom lip.
    “Are you sure? Have you never seen or felt anything supernatural before?”
    She picked up the fetish, placed it in her hand, and ran a finger across the rough edges. “Maybe. I’m not