Dance of the Bones

Dance of the Bones by J. A. Jance




DEDICATION

For S--wegi A’an, Red Feather




PROLOGUE



SOZA CANYON, ARIZONA

MARCH 1970


AMOS WARREN WALKED WITH HIS shoulders stooped and with his eyes and mind focused on the uneven ground beneath his feet. The winter rains had been more than generous and this part of the Sonoran Desert, Soza Canyon on the far eastern edge of the Rincon Mountains, was alive with flowers. Scrawny, suntanned, and weathered, Amos was more than middle--aged but still remarkably fit. Even so, the sixty or seventy pounds he carried in the sturdy pack on his shoulders weighed him down and had him feeling his sixty--plus years.

He had started the day by picking up several top--notch arrowheads. He slipped them into the pockets of his jeans rather than risk damaging them as the load in the pack increased over the course of the day. The one he considered to be the best of the lot he hid away inside his wallet, congratulating himself on the fact that his day was off to such a great start. Over the course of the morning, he located several geodes. The best of those was a bowling--ball--sized treasure that would fetch a pretty penny once it joined the growing collection of goods that he and his foster son, John Lassiter, would offer for sale at the next available gem and mineral show.

Assuming, of course, that John ever spoke to him again, Amos thought ruefully. The knock--down, drag--out fight the two men had gotten into the night before had been a doozy, and recalling it had cast a pall over Amos’s entire day. He had known John Lassiter for decades, and this was the first time he had ever raised a hand to the younger man. The fact that they had duked it out over a girl, of all things, only added to Amos’s chagrin.

Ava Martin, Amos thought, what a conniving little whore! She was good--looking and knew it. She was a tiny blond bombshell type with just the right curves where they counted. Amos didn’t trust the bitch any further than he could throw her.

His next thought was all about John. The poor guy was crazy about Ava—-absolutely crazy. As far as John was concerned, Ava was the greatest thing since sliced bread. In fact, he was even talking about buying an engagement ring, for God’s sake!

As for Amos? He knew exactly who Ava was and what she was all about. She wasn’t anything close to decent marriage material. He had noticed the wicked little two--timer batting her eyes and flirting with John’s best friend, Ken—-all behind John’s back, of course. And two days ago, when John had been out of town, she’d gone so far as to come by his house—-forty--five minutes from town—-where she had tried putting the moves on Amos.

That was the last straw. Amos was decades older than Ava. He had no illusions about his being physically attractive to her. No, she wasn’t looking to get laid; Ava was after the main chance.

She knew John and Amos were partners who split everything fifty--fifty. She probably understood that, for the most part, Amos was the brains of the outfit while John was the brawn. Amos was the one who knew where to go seeking to find the hidden treasures the unyielding desert would reveal to only the most -persistent of searchers. He knew what was worth taking home and what wasn’t. John was the packhorse who carried the stuff and loaded it into the back of the truck and who carried it into the storage unit.