“He isn’t breathing.” Holding Simmons’s face tilted slightly upward, Murph managed to pinch the nostrils shut. He covered the man’s mouth with his own and exhaled twice, deeply, slowly.
No response.
Murph slid the first two fingers of his right hand down into the hollow of the victim’s neck, feeling for the carotid pulse. The pulse was weak but it was there.
“I’ve got to do rescue breathing,” he told Audrey.
“What’s going on?” came Sable’s welcome voice behind him.
“He’s not breathing but he has circulation for now.” Murph looked over his shoulder at her. “You want to take this?”
“You’re the rescue expert. If he doesn’t need chest compressions, I’ll watch you work.”
Murph was leaning over for another mouth-to-mouth when Simmons choked, gasped, sat up and coughed violently, spewing creek water that steamed in the chill air.
Murph held him steady until he stopped coughing.
Simmons jerked around, eyes wild, shivering.
“It’s okay,” Murph said. “We’ve got to get you inside. Let us help you up—”
“No!” Simmons choked again, a rasping sound that brought up more of the creek water.
“Mr. Simmons,” Sable said, leaning on Murph’s shoulders to lever herself up to her feet, “you fell into freezing water. We’ve got to get you inside and warm you up. Can you walk?”
Simmons crabbed sideways in the edge of the water, his legs pumping ineffectively. “Can’t feel them…can’t feel my feet!”
Murph nodded to Sable. Together they helped the man up. “Hang on.” He grasped Simmons around the waist and lifted him over his shoulder.
The drenching chill of water soaked through his shirt. Immediately, his feet slipped and he stumbled forward. “I need help. Is Craig—”
“I can help.” Bryce scrambled down to them. “Let me.”
With Bryce’s help, Murph and Sable were able to manhandle Simmons’s freezing body up the treacherous ice to the house, where the others waited.
Simmons choked again.
“Is he okay?” Jerri asked.
“What was he doing all the way down there, anyway?” Perry held the door open for them. “The outdoor privy is up here on the hill. Did he fall into the creek?”
“Of course he fell into the creek,” Audrey snapped. “What does it look like? He went swimming?”
Murph carried Simmons into the house and lowered him onto the hearth in front of the fire.
Sable rushed to take the wet clothes Murph peeled from the man’s near-frozen body. “Perry, would you pump a pot of water and start it boiling? We'll need as much warm water as we can get. Bryce, he'll need something warm to drink. Audrey—”
“Right, warm blankets.” The lady ran up the stairs.
“We need to heat the house. Craig, would you—” Sable turned, blinked. “Where’s Craig?”
“I'll stoke the fire,” Jerri said. “Craig's probably still hauling wood.” She disappeared down the basement steps.
Murph rubbed Simmons’s hands. “Relax. We’ll get you warm.”
The man’s teeth chattered. “I couldn't get out, nobody’d help me out of the water! You were all gonna stand there—” He coughed again, gasped for air, shook his head. He peered around the room, then back at Murph. “You’d’ve let me drown.”
“But you didn’t drown and we did pull you out. What are you talking about?” Murph eased Simmons backward and removed his footwear. His feet looked pale and were icy cold to the touch. “What happened?”
Still wearing her orange knit cap and coat, Audrey brought an armload of blankets. “Wrap one of these around him.”
Simmons swore. “Keep her away from me!”
“Nonsense, you're delirious.” Audrey spread out another blanket.
“Get away!”
Audrey frowned. “What's going on here?”
“You wouldn’t let me out of that creek.”
“I’m the one who dragged you out of there, dolt!” she snapped. “You fell in and couldn't climb out on the slick ice, so don’t blame me for your clumsiness. What were you doing out there, anyway?”
He raised a trembling hand and pointed at the knit cap on Audrey’s head. “You pushed me back in.”
Perry came in carrying a mug from the kitchen. “Out of the way. I’ve got a warm cup of soup broth here. Come on, Simmons, drink up. This will warm you faster than—”
There was a thump from the front porch and Dillon barked. The front door flew open and Craig entered noisily, stomping his feet on the mat, unzipping the front of the coveralls he wore. His movements gradually slowed as if he realized he’d become the center of attention.
“Where'd you get those clothes?” Audrey demanded.
Craig pulled off his orange-red stocking cap and shrugged out of the dark green coveralls. “From the mud room. There are a couple more coveralls and caps out there in case anyone wants to go for a walk. Not that I’d recommend it.” He tossed the outer clothing over the hearth, then looked over at the silent group with a frown. “What happened? What's wrong with Simmons?”
“Someone tried to drown me,” Simmons snapped. “Someone in an orange cap and green coat.”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” Audrey scoffed. “What I want to know is what you were doing down at the creek.” She pulled the knit cap from her head. A halo of silver strands of hair tried to cling to the material with static electricity.
“I wanted to see if there was a way out of here.” Simmons shivered. “I’d checked the bridge and was on my way back to the house when I…lost my footing.” Simmons jerked the blanket more tightly around his thick shoulders. “Then one of you pushed me under and wouldn’t let me up.”
Craig’s dark brows lowered. “What’s going on here? There’ve been too many—”
“Later.” Sable slipped past Murph. “I need to get my medical bag and check our patient.”
* * *
After dinner, Sable left Murph and Craig sitting with Simmons by the fire while she escorted Bryce, Perry, Audrey, and Jerri up to the attic to see if they could find more clothing. The sky had continued to thicken with clouds as the sun went down. The temperature hovered in the mid-twenties. They were making plans for a longer imprisonment.
“I still think Simmons was hallucinating.” Audrey searched through a huge old cedar chest in the light from Sable’s powerful battery lantern. “Did you see how fast he recovered during dinner?”
“Maybe.” Jerri lifted an old sweater and held it to the light. “But he wasn’t as gruff. I think I like his post-accident personality. Maybe someone should’ve dunked him sooner.”
Sable silently agreed.
Audrey pulled out a blue suit that Sable remembered seeing Grandpa wear to special functions when she was a little girl. “I remember this,” the older woman said.
Sable blinked.
Audrey didn’t meet her gaze. “I…I mean this style. It's back in fashion now, did you know? Too bad all the rest of us old things can't be back in fashion.”
Jerri laughed from across the room. “I think you have to be dead first.”
“Audrey doesn't plan to die for a long time,” Perry said. “She can't boss people from the grave.”
“I’ve been good for you, admit it,” Audrey told him. “We've probably run half a pound off you today. I heard the way you were panting when you carried water upstairs this afternoon.”
“You’d pant too if you’d been up and down those stairs as often as I have.”
Audrey turned and appraised the rest of the attic. “This is almost like an antique store.” She closed the lid of the chest and stepped around a box to get a closer look at an antique pitcher and bowl set. “I love to look at old things and dream about who used them and imagine what kinds of lives they must have lived.”
Sable itched to ask Audrey if Josiah Kessinger had ever been a part of those dreams she’d mentioned.
“Audrey, look,” Je
rri said. “We could decorate a whole house with the furniture and pictures and figurines here.” She skirted more pieces of antique furniture and rows of labeled boxes. “Well, maybe a small cabin. Is that what you did when you decorated, Sable? Audrey’s room is furnished with antiques, isn't it?”
“I think most of them are family heirlooms.” Audrey picked up a ruby vase and held it to the light.
“Did Craig give you the grand tour?” Sable asked.
“No,” Audrey said. “I wish he had. Jerri and I took our own tour while the others were preparing for sleep. Simmons complained about the noise we were making. Properly chastised, we went to bed.”
“Leave it to Simmons.” Perry spoke from a far corner of the attic, where he leaned against an old chest and examined a stack of pictures. “He seems to enjoy ruining a good time.”
“That’s okay,” Jerri said. “The lights went out soon after and I wouldn't've wanted to be up here then.” Jerri swept through a curtain of cobwebs and peered at an antique pie safe in the corner. “Bad luck seems to follow me lately. I wasn’t supposed to be driving this route. I drove up from Oklahoma City and got stuck with this route because my replacement was stuck somewhere on a road in Kansas. I shouldn’t be here.”
Allowing the conversation to go on without her, Sable examined a pile of boxes along the back wall. “There's clothing over here. Why don't you three go through it while I show Bryce the clothes my brothers used to wear.” She hoped they would take the polite hint. She had brought them up here to find clothing, not antiques. She didn’t want them rummaging around in any of the unopened boxes before she had a chance to search.
The attention of the others finally focused on the clothing and she was free to concentrate on Bryce.
Many of Randy's old jeans looked as if they would fit the fifteen-year-old, so he stepped behind a huge wooden wardrobe to try them on. While Sable waited, she gazed around the attic. With studied nonchalance, she strolled over to a cardboard file box but was disappointed to find that all it contained were pictures.
She raised the lid from another box of pictures and sorted through them idly. Despite all the photographs she had taken over the years, her favorite rendition of the cave was a hand-drawn map Grandpa had been working on for years. He’d kept it as complete as possible, including every cavern, every passage, almost every formation.
She walked over to the map, which hung on the wall between two windows. Once upon a time it had held a place of honor in the family room downstairs. When they had redecorated last year Mom had insisted on taking it down. Ordinarily, when the power was on, an overhead spotlight could be turned on to illuminate the map like a museum exhibit. Now, in the half-light offered by the oil lamps they’d brought with them to the attic, Grandpa’s intricate drawing looked like hen scratching on the wall.
She leaned closer to the map. A smudge of red ink caught her attention from the far right at the end of one of the smaller passages. She held her light closer. The new drawing was in the shape of a funnel. Below it was a circle with markings…it looked like the face of a clock.
Her hand went up to the watch.
Bryce came over wearing a pair of jeans Randy had outgrown many years ago. “These'll work.”
Sable lowered her light and inspected the fit. They were baggy but serviceable. “Are there any other pairs? You may be here awhile.”
“There's a couple more, and…hey, is that a map of the cave?” Bryce stepped closer and peered at the wall. “Wow! That’s great.”
“My Grandpa drew it and he had to keep updating it as we explored and found more passages.” As she talked, her mind continued to search for pieces of the puzzle. The funnel…what could that be?
“Can we go down?” he turned to Sable beseechingly.
Sable didn’t respond. A sinkhole? Could the funnel be a sinkhole?
“Maybe after we eat?” Bryce asked. “Or whenever you're free.”
“Craig makes a good guide,” Sable said, still distracted.
“But it was your grandpa who owned the cave, right? And he's almost like a legend, hearing Craig talk about him. You’re the one who’d know it best. Come on, Sable.” Bryce leaned forward and gave her a dimpled, entreating smile. “Why can't you take me?”
She grinned. She could imagine him charming his mother with that smile. “We’ll see.”
“All right! When do we go?”
“I'd like to wait until morning.”
He glanced toward the pictures Sable held in her hand. “Are those of the cave?”
She held them up in the glow of the lantern for him to see more clearly. “Yes, I took them myself. Do those other jeans fit?”
“They're okay. I thought Craig said something about a collapse in the cave.”
“A minor one. It’s not close to where we'd be going.” Sable set the old pictures back in the box, thinking about the sinkhole Grandpa had stepped into last November. “There's usually no danger of a collapse in a natural cave.”
Bryce joined Jerri and Audrey as he chattered excitedly to them about caves. Sable smiled and shook her head. She wandered to the far corner of the attic, where the safe hid behind plastic file boxes.
Beside the plastic boxes stood an old metal box.
Sable opened the rusted latch and pulled the lid back. There was a manila envelope at the top. On it was the return address of Tri-County Labs in Freemont, the same firm that had analyzed the silver inside the watch casing. She set the tray aside and covered it with an old blouse.
She had some work to do.
Chapter 18
The attic door squeaked softly when Sable pulled it shut behind her. She made sure the latch caught before turning away.
Jerri’s voice drifted along the hall. “Probably can’t fit into any of these but I’ll give it a try. Too bad Sable didn’t have any fat family members.”
“You’re not fat,” Audrey said. “Perry’s the one who needs to worry.”
“I heard that!” came Perry’s voice from behind the closed door of the sewing room.
Sable carried her box to her room and closed the door, then took the blouse from atop the metal tray. She raised the lid and pulled out the manila envelope. Inside it she found several stapled pages under a cover letter to Grandpa announcing the enclosed three analysis reports. The next page was smaller than letter size, a thin sheet of paper that was a report on the galena. It had a high lead content.
So that could be why the specimen collection downstairs was rearranged. Maybe Grandpa had taken the galena and sphalerite to Tri-County Labs to be analyzed.
She turned the page to find the sphalerite wet chemical analysis. It was rich with zinc but so what? Why even bother to have it analyzed? Grandpa knew it wasn’t native ore. Or maybe he’d requested the analysis for another reason, like maybe it was connected to the ore-filled shotgun shells in the gun closet. But how?
She flipped up the sphalerite analysis sheet…there was no third sheet. She looked at the cover letter again, which specifically mentioned three analysis reports.
She fingered the watch. Grandpa was up to something. But what did it all mean? Was there a connection between this ore and Grandpa's death? And Noah's?
She slid the sheets back into their envelope and searched the rest of the metal tray, which was approximately four inches in depth. She opened and read through two letters from her grandfather.
They were written in November, when Grandpa had fallen in a sinkhole down by the creek and broken his ankle. In one letter he praised Mom for caring for him while he was incapacitated, then went on and on about what a good thing it was he fell. He'd found another opening to the cave, a sinkhole that was ordinarily underwater.
That was it—the fresh markings on the map upstairs. The funnel shape was a sinkhole. He’d already drawn it in.
In the second letter he told about buying the Seitz property, with Noah and Otis as partners. He didn't sound enthusiastic about it—an unusual thing for Grandpa. Ordinarily, if Grandpa
didn’t feel passionate about something, he took that as a cue that he should not be involved.
But then, what made her think she knew her grandfather at all?
Nothing else in the letter seemed significant. She folded the pages, replaced them in the tray, and sifted through the remaining contents. Near the bottom she found an open envelope, again with Grandpa's handwriting. It was dated three days before Christmas. She pulled the pages out quickly.
“I should never have signed my name to that contract, but now that I have, I’m as guilty as anyone else. I was so close I could have smelled the money—I thought this would be the best chance to get out of debt and get on top of things. What would it be like to be debt free? Even better, we would never have to worry about mortgages or bill collectors again. Now I’m not sure. I need to talk to you and the kids about some things. Maybe even the police. There may still be a chance. I just want Sable out of this stinking town.”
The police. Which police had he talked to?
She flipped the page and then gasped. They were copies of a note and a deed of trust. To this place.
Otis Boswell held the mortgage. At the top of the first page was a handwritten note in blue ink: “Thought you’d appreciate a reminder.”
The papers seemed to burn her fingertips, and the letter fell to the floor. Grandpa had borrowed the money from Boswell to buy the mine, using the house as collateral. That blue-inked note wasn’t in his handwriting.
Was it Boswell’s?
Sable slumped against the dresser. Boswell again. It always came back to him. What if he suddenly called in the loan? How deeply was he involved in this thing? He always seemed to be breathing down their necks.
Footsteps echoed gently along the hallway. There was a familiar creak before the footsteps receded in the direction from which they had come.
Sable shoved the metal tray beneath her bed. With everyone finally distracted, she slipped back upstairs. She needed to get a better look at that map. The funnel-sinkhole had been at the end of one of the passages but she’d been too distracted by Bryce and the others to study it closely.
Hidden Motive Page 12
