Sunken Pyramid (Rogue Angel, Book 45)
Alex Archer, Jean Rabe
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The note from her friend and colleague had read "I have quite the monster for you to chase, dear Annja." And then before she could speak to him, he'd been found dead in the hotel's stairwell. It didn't seemed possible. Annja Creed had been looking forward to three days of geeking out at the archaeology conference in Madison, Wisconsin, and then this tragedy strikes. And his is only the first death over the long weekend.
Determined to investigate her friend's death—and find out why another colleague she trusts is arrested as the prime suspect—Annja starts gathering the pieces of a cryptic puzzle. A small collection of Mayan gold medallions. The death of a potter. The violent appearance of a teenaged girl with a strange green knife. And at the center of the puzzle, an ancient mound pyramid purportedly hidden at the bottom of a Wisconsin lake. That's a discovery that could completely rewrite Mesoamerican history.
With each puzzle piece Annja Creed discovers, the mystery grows more dangerous. And what she knows can—and probably will—kill her.
had trouble believing Edgar was dead. “He really thought there was something in the lake.” “He isn’t the only one.” Annja looked up from the paper. “There is something in the lake. Water.” Manny laughed. “Just kidding. There were some fishermen lots of years back discovered mounds in the lake. There are more like them, the mounds—above water—at the park.” “Aztalan.” “That’s the one. People still dive the lake from time to time, looking for more of the mounds. You read about it in the paper
in the laptop. He pressed a few keys and tapped his fingers, waiting. It wasn’t connecting fast enough. He should call the front desk, shouldn’t he? No. No one there could help, and it would take too long to explain. The police? No on that account, too. Doubly no, in fact. He patted his pants to make sure he had his wallet, looked at his watch and tapped his fingers faster. “Come on.” A return trip to his suitcase, and he dug into the flap again, coming away with a half-inch-thick folder
because...well, not because it was gold, but because of where it came from and that it hints there could be more.” Annja sat back, trying to absorb everything. “Some of this will come out,” Peter continued. “It’ll show I didn’t kill Edgar. Whoever killed Papa, well...” Annja just stared. “...I think whoever killed Papa killed Edgar.” He switched hands on the telephone, wiped his sweaty palm off on his jumpsuit. “Problem is, nobody is looking at Papa’s death as murder. He had a history of
Despite that, she moved quickly, up to her floor, and discovered the thug had been right...he hadn’t found the gold in her room. The meager contents of her duffel were strewn everywhere, and her laptop was gone. She stared at the jump drive in her hand. Rembert was still up, but all he had was an iPad. She wasn’t about to wake one of the other conference-goers to borrow theirs. That hot bath she was envisioning would come at the beach cottage in a few hours. She changed out of the scrubs,
to her room, where she tugged her laptop out of her duffel. A quick search showed nothing about Edgar Schwartz’s death, but she found a blog posting he’d made early yesterday, about arriving at the conference, passing on the tour because he was tired and perusing the menu. The last entry mentioned how much he was looking forward to dinner with the TV archaeologist Annja Creed. She closed the laptop down and left the room, turning toward the elevator and then spinning and heading instead to the