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  PRAISE FOR WEAVER’S NEEDLE

  “A non-stop adventure of a treasure hunt in the vein of National Treasure—this time deep in the heart of the Superstition Mountains in Arizona. Filled with Caroll’s trademark suspense, killer twists, and romance, there’s everything to love in this book!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Tosca Lee

  “Join the excitement and danger as these two competitors test their courage, wits, and stamina in a search for both a newly discovered map to the mine and then for the mine itself. But the mine isn’t the most important treasure to be discovered.”

  —Lorena McCourtney, New York Times bestselling author of

  The Ivy Malone Mysteries, the Mac ‘n’ Ivy Mysteries,

  and the Cate Kinkaid Files

  “[Robin Caroll] seamlessly weaves the suspense, romance, faith, contemporary, and historical threads of this captivating story and draws a heartwarming outcome from an intriguing setting, fascinating characters, and impossible odds.”

  —Cynthia Ruchti, author of 20+ books, including A Fragile Hope

  “Weaver’s Needle is an exciting read with interesting characters you want to root for.”

  —Margaret Daley, author of Her Baby Protector

  “Robin Caroll is a master at layering rich details with unexpected plot twists and likeable characters. Highly recommended!”

  —Colleen Coble, USA Today bestselling author

  “Weaver’s Needle is a thrilling race—a page-turning, heart-slamming suspense story with enough romance to make you need a box of chocolate. Highly recommended!”

  —Carrie Stuart Parks, award-winning author of

  When Death Draws Near and Portrait of Vengeance

  “The research Caroll must have put into this book—particularly around the treasure hunting, legends and Native American culture—added a poignancy that caused this story to stand out among others in its class for me. Weaver’s Needle is a true treasure. Her best yet! Don’t miss it.”

  —Cheryl Wyatt, USA Today bestselling author of

  romance with virtue

  “Each page is filled with mystery and lore that left me right alongside the hero and heroine as they raced to a solution in this whodunit. Filled with details that transported me to the setting, this is a book that romantic suspense lovers will inhale. A definite keeper on my shelf.”

  —Cara Putman, award-winning author of Beyond Justice and

  Shadowed by Grace

  “Robin Caroll does it again! Weaver’s Needle is a compelling combination of whodunit, treasure hunt, and romance. You’ll be rooting for Landry Parker and Nickolai Baptiste from the first page to the last. Great fun!”

  —Rick Acker, bestselling author of The Enoch Effect

  and Death in the Mind’s Eye

  “[Weaver’s Needle is] a story full of symbolism as the hero and heroine’s search for treasure leads them to the true gold hidden in each other. Simply put, I adore this story!”

  —Dineen Miller, multi-published and award-winning author of

  The Soul Saver and Winning Him Without Words

  “There’s nothing I like reading more than a novel about a treasure hunt, and Robin Caroll delivers in this heart-pounding search for an old map and lost gold mine. If you enjoy romantic suspense, you’ll love Weaver’s Needle!”

  —Melanie Dobson, award-winning author of

  Chateau of Secrets and The Silent Order

  © 2017 by Robin Caroll

  Print ISBN 978-1-63409-994-3

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-996-7

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-995-0

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

  Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.shilohrunpress.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Dedication

  In memory of my dad, Charlie Lacy Bridges.

  I love and miss you.

  Every.

  Single.

  Day.

  Acknowledgments

  They say it takes a village to raise a child—that’s never been more true to bring a story into the hands of readers. My most heartfelt thanks to the entire Barbour team. From acquisitions to editing to marketing, every person has been such a pleasure to work with, and I greatly appreciate all the efforts and talents used to make Weaver’s Needle the best it can be.

  Huge thanks to my agent, Steve Laube, for your timeless efforts on my behalf and for your calming, logical presence in this industry. Your gentle guidance is such a welcome gift.

  Thank you to my friend and mentor, Colleen Coble. Not only are you such a dear friend of my heart, but your advice, support, and encouragement are huge blessings in my life. Special thanks to Colleen and her sweet husband, Dave, who visited Apache Junction on my behalf and provided me with notes, impressions, smells, pictures, and videos. Thank you both for being my eyes, ears, and nose by proxy.

  Thanks to “Sleeping Wolf” for answering my Native American questions and sharing your experience and culture with me. I apologize for any twisting of your customs and beliefs to best fit the need of my story.

  A huge debt of gratitude to my friend Heather Tipton for reading this rough draft quickly and providing honest feedback and stretching me to take my characters even deeper. You push me to be a better writer, and I thank you so much!

  Endless gratitude and love to my husband, Casey, and daughters Remington and Isabella, who helped calm my deadline panic, even finding us a hotel room with electricity during storms so I could finish tweaking this story to turn it in on time. I could not do this without each of you. You are my world.

  To my sweet grandsons, Benton and Zayden … I love you both so much!

  Special thanks to my circle of “author support”: Pam Hillman, Tracey Justice, Ronie Kendig, Dineen Miller, Heather Tipton, and Cheryl Wyatt. You ladies bless me with your love, laughter, encouragement, friendship, and prayers.

  Thank you to Pam Hillman and Becky Yauger for helping me brainstorm certain plot points in this story and characterization aspects. You both helped me so much.

  All glory to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I am nothing without You, but I can do all things through YOU.

  CONTENTS

  The Legend of the Dutchman’s Lost Mine

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  The Foretelling

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  The Preparation

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  The Message

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  The Vision

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  The Wopela

  Chapter 18

/>   Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  The Transition

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  THE LEGEND OF THE DUTCHMAN’S LOST MINE

  In the rugged Superstition Mountains east of Phoenix, located somewhere in a twisted labyrinth of canyon juts, lies the Dutchman’s Lost Mine. The Apache Indians—Shis-Inday or “Men of the Woods”—had a secret gold cave hidden in the mountains. These mountains were the home of their Thunder God, and they held the area in reverence.

  As news of gold in the Superstition Mountains spread, fortune hunters came from around the world to search. The Apaches, fierce protectors of their Thunder God’s mountain, killed everyone who dared trespass.

  As legend goes, in 1871, two German adventurers, Jacob Waltz and Jacob Wisner, came to Arizona. Waltz met and fell in love with an Apache girl, Ken-tee. Her relatives soon became convinced she had betrayed the location of their secret mine. According to their ancient ones, the gold had been placed there by the Thunder God for them to use only in time of desperation. When Ken-tee led Waltz to the mine, and they returned to Phoenix with nearly $70,000 worth of gold, the tribe warriors raided within hours. While they murdered Ken-tee, the Apaches failed to kill the Dutchman Waltz.

  When Waltz was eighty years old in 1890, he decided to hide the location of the mine. As legend tells it, when he had completed his mission, he told many that “you could drive a pack train over the entrance to the mine and never know it was there.”

  Several months after Waltz hid the mine, he contracted pneumonia. His only reported friend was a bread baker from Louisiana named Julia Thomas. History records the great February 1891 flood, which bore down on Phoenix, as the most ruinous in the American Southwest. It is reported Waltz survived the flood by climbing into a small mesquite tree, where he was stranded until someone cut him loose and took him to Julia Thomas’s home, who was known to take in victims of the flood.

  Julia tried to nurse Jacob back to health, only he was so old and his body so feeble, he couldn’t resist his illness. He died in degrees over the summer. In October 1891, he attempted to tell Julia exactly where the mine was hidden. It’s recorded he said, “… the northwest corner of the Superstition Mountains. The key is a stripped paloverde tree with one limb left on, a pointing arm. It points away from the rock, about halfway from between it and the rock, and two hundred yards to the east. Take the trail in. I left a number of clues.” After speaking these ominous directions, he died.

  All the Dutchman’s clues seem to focus around Weaver’s Needle….

  CHAPTER ONE

  Unless you get one of those miracles they’re always talking about in church, I don’t see how you’ll be able to keep the business open into spring.”

  Landry leaned back in her father’s old chair—it creaked, but it didn’t comfort her as the sound usually did. “I don’t understand.”

  Her best friend and accountant closed her attaché case then stood. “I’ll send you the final audit report next week, but Landry, it doesn’t look good.” She gave a half smile and squeezed Landry’s arm. “I know why you wanted to start your own business, and I understand. I do.” Marcie shook her head. “But with taxes and rent and overhead … it’s my professional opinion you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. I’m sorry.”

  Landry exhaled through her nose and stared out the dirty window into New Orleans’s early February grime. Mardi Gras would come later in the month this year, but right now, it was only rainy and dismal out, just like her financial status. “No, the truth is what I need.” She forced a returning smile. “I’ll look over what you’ve given me, but will wait for your report before I meet with Dad’s lawyer.” How would she tell him that she’d single-handedly killed her father’s dream in less than a year?

  “Hang in there.” Marcie walked out of Landry’s office and into the hall. “Are we still working out later tonight?”

  “I can’t. I have a meeting.”

  Marcie sighed. “Landry …”

  “No, I really do.” She shifted scraps of paper around her desk until she found the pink slip. She carried it with her as she walked Marcie into the front room of the office. “A prospective client. Supposed to meet at her house at six this evening.”

  Marcie stopped and faced her. “Since when do you make house call appointments? Isn’t that the point of having an office?”

  Landry gave a humorless chuckle. “Apparently I need to take appointments any way I can.”

  Her friend didn’t smile. “It doesn’t sound safe. I don’t like it.”

  This time, Landry really laughed. “You watch too many scary movies.”

  “No, I watch the news.”

  “You’re beyond serious.” Landry waved the pink note again. “Besides, it’s Uptown. I think I’m safe.”

  “Where?”

  “Right by Audubon Park, baby.”

  Marcie raised one eyebrow. “Who, pray tell, are you meeting there?”

  “Probably someone who wants me to recover a piece of art their great-aunt somebody sold a hundred years ago.” But Landry read the name off the note anyway, snorting. “A Winifred Winslet. Who names their kid Winifred?”

  Marcie’s eyes went wide, and she slowly shook her head. “Winifred Winslet? Are you kidding me?”

  “Uh, no. Do you know her?”

  Marcie rolled her eyes and set her case on the reception table. “You really should start watching the news yourself, girl. Winifred Winslet is wealthier than wealthy. Old money. She was born into it, then married Bartholomew Winslet and merged their companies into Winslet Industries. One of the largest private oil baron companies in the South.” Marcie perched on the edge of the table. “How do you not know this?”

  “I don’t keep up with the society pages.” But if the wealthy woman wanted to hire her, Landry sure wouldn’t turn her away. Not when she needed the money so badly, according to Marcie, whom she trusted more than anyone else. “Socialites don’t interest me.”

  “Two weeks ago, the Winslets were all over the front page of every paper.” Marcie lowered her brows. “You really need to stay abreast of the news.”

  Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. She didn’t have time to sit in front of what Dad always called the boob tube. “I’ll start, I promise, but tell me why they were on the news.”

  “Bartholomew Winslet was murdered.”

  Landry sank onto the arm of the couch in the front room. “Murdered?”

  “Yeah. A robbery gone wrong, so the news said.”

  “Maybe that’s why she wants to meet with me.” She’d never been hired to recover something that might be linked to a murder.

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Landry. The news said the police had no suspects. You shouldn’t get involved.”

  Probably not. Then again, she was known for getting involved when she shouldn’t. “Won’t do any harm to just meet with the poor widow. Hear what she needs recovered. Maybe it’s something totally unrelated to her husband’s murder.”

  “Uh-huh.” Marcie stood. “I don’t like it.”

  Landry pushed to her feet and chuckled. “If I stayed home every time you got a bad feeling or didn’t like a situation, I’d have been broke long before now.”

  “You aren’t broke, Landry. It’s your company. You need to sit down with the attorney and go over my report.” Marcie grabbed her case. “I still can’t figure out why he was so big on you opening your own business. You could’ve kept doing recovery work for the insurance company.”

  “Because that was Dad’s job.” While she’d done a remarkable job, the board of directors hadn’t been too happy to find out she’d been doing Dad’s job for him in his last months. Without
notifying them.

  But she hadn’t had a choice. Not really.

  Marcie smiled. “They should have hired you, and everyone knows it. You’re good.”

  Probably, but she would’ve had to jump through hoops, and after her discharge, she refused to jump over anyone’s hurdles again. “But not good enough.” It hurt her to even consider defeat.

  “You aren’t a CEO, Landry. You excel as a recovery specialist. That’s where your strength is.”

  She nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “Thanks again for the audit.”

  Marcie paused at the door and pointed at her. “You be careful tonight.”

  Landry grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And call me when you get home.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Joke all you want, but I’m serious.”

  Landry gave her friend a quick hug. “I’ll be careful, and I’ll call you when I get home. Okay?”

  Marcie gave a curt nod then ducked into the mist.

  After locking the front door, Landry returned to her office and slumped into the chair. She stared at the mementos of her life, all crammed into one bookcase. The Distinguished Service Medal she’d received just prior to her discharge from the army. The custom-made frame holding her military police badge. Photos of her mom and dad at her officer training graduation. Photos of Landry and her father.

  Her eyes burned as she stared at the tattered remnants of her life. She leaned back in her chair—once her father’s—and pinched the bridge of her nose. How had her life gotten so messed up? First, Mom died right after she relocated to her first base assignment. She finished up her obligations to the army then moved back home to New Orleans. Then two years ago, Dad’s diagnosis.

  It was hard to believe he’d been gone almost a year. Not a day went by that she didn’t think of him. Miss him.

  She swiped her face and glanced at the clock. With traffic being what it was, if she didn’t leave now, she’d never make it to Mrs. Winslet’s on time for their appointment.

  Maybe, just maybe, this job would help her get the financial footing she needed.

  God, I need a little direction down here in my life. I think I’ve made a mess of everything.