Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4)

by Cindy Sample

  She chuckled and we hung up. I shifted slightly and reached for the pictorial history book I’d dumped on the coffee table. Reading about El Dorado County history couldn’t be any duller than watching election results.

  I scanned the Table of Contents and decided to begin with James Marshall’s discovery of a few mineral flakes in Coloma on January 24, 1848. His off-quoted pronouncement––“Boys, by God I believe I have found a gold mine,” changed California and the west forever, luring hundreds of thousands of people to the gold country.

  Since my great-great-grandfather didn’t arrive until ten years later, he missed the early days when all you had to do was bend over and pluck a gold nugget right out of the river. By the time Harold moved west, Placerville was prospering and rebuilding after a terrible fire almost destroyed the entire town.

  Although I’d studied this stuff in school years ago, the discovery of Mr. Bones made the history of this area more personal. I learned that ten percent of Californians supported the Confederacy, which I found oddly fascinating. The book went into detail about the Bullion Bend robbery Gran had mentioned the other night.

  The book also mentioned a copycat holdup barely a month after Bullion Bend. Three men not only robbed a stage a few miles outside of Placerville, but one of the desperadoes killed a wealthy merchant named Miles Mickelson who attempted to stop them. Sheriff’s deputies later shot two of the men when they discovered them trying to rent fresh horses in town. The third man escaped and most likely took the gold and valuables with him.

  Interesting story although it seemed highly unlikely the stolen gold was hidden in my grandmother’s dusty shed.

  But a girl could wish.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  On Wednesday afternoon, I toiled at my desk waiting to hear from Rex regarding Hank’s bail hearing. My cell rang and I grabbed it from my purse.

  “How’s the ankle?” I asked my grandmother.

  “Much better,” she said. “I get by fine with a cane. Did you know your mother wants to show my house this weekend?”

  “Gran, that place is too much work for you to maintain. It would be too big for me to keep up.”

  She remained silent. When she finally spoke, I could barely hear her. “I know, it’s just hard after all these years…” Her voice faltered before she snapped back into my feisty grandmother. “But she better not take away my car.”

  Nope. Not this week. One battle at a time.

  “Are you coming to the Wagon Train parade Saturday?” I asked, changing the subject. “I’m performing with Liz and the Sassy Saloon Gals.”

  “I’m not only watching the parade,” she bragged. “I’m in it.”

  “What? You’re not thinking of dancing with us, are you?”

  “Hah. Not with this ankle. If I hadn’t fallen, though, I might have kicked up my heels with you gals. I’m riding with the other former El Dorado Roses. They got carriages for us.”

  “Gran, that’s terrific.” Our family had been so proud of my grandmother when the committee selected her as the El Dorado Rose a few years earlier, a distinction awarded to an elderly woman who devoted much of her time to the community.

  “Yep. I could use your help, though, since my hands are kinda arthritic. I can’t fasten the buttons on my dress. Can you fit that in your schedule?”

  “Of course,” I replied, already counting how many extra minutes it would take to fasten the thirty tiny buttons on the back of Gran’s lilac satin dress.

  We said farewell, and I’d barely shoved the phone in my purse when a familiar voice and an even more familiar man entered my office. Hank leaned over and planted a big kiss on my surprised lips before I could open said lips to say hello. Or in my case––huh?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, stunned by his appearance and the lip plant. Fletch stood by the door grinning and I turned to him. “And what are you doing here?”

  “I gave Hank a lift home. They let him out with a $100,000 bail bond, so he was free to leave once someone paid the $10,000 fee in cash.”

  My brows sailed up past my bangs. “Who paid?”

  “Abe did,” Hank said, his grin an exact duplicate of Ben’s, except his front teeth remained intact as opposed to my gap-toothed son. “I guess he and Rex were chatting about the case and my situation. Abe said his sales had picked up recently, and he didn’t mind putting the money up. I promised I’d repay him as soon as Janet pays me for the work done on the hotel. Hopefully, she’ll let me complete the job.”

  “Wow. Abe is so generous.” Especially after Ben’s crashing encounter last weekend. It was amazing how a small community stuck together when something tragic happened.

  “Looks like you’re good to go,” Fletch said to Hank. They did a man slap thing that turned into one of those weird guy hugs where they swat each other’s back. Fletch waved goodbye and Hank dropped in my visitor chair.

  “I’d say you look great,” I told him, “but you don’t.”

  “If you ever need to diet, honey,” Hank said then stopped when he caught my expression. “Which of course, you never would, the jail is the place to be. Their cook only knows four recipes.”

  “The kids will be thrilled you’re out.”

  “I’d love to surprise them. Can we all have dinner tonight? I’ll treat.”

  “I have Zumba class, but you’re welcome to take the kids out.”

  “Darn. I hoped we could all be together.” His eyes grew soft and misty. “Hunter told me what happened to you at the winery the other night. You almost died because of me.”

  “You met with Tom?”

  “Yeah, he’s not a bad guy. But I sure wish he wasn’t stuck on you,” Hank groused. “Tom came to the jail and grilled me for over an hour, but I think he finally believes me. There’s only one catch.”

  “What’s that?”

  “With the exception of someone stuffing you in the grape crusher Saturday night, there’s no specific evidence pointing to anyone but me.”

  Details, details––Jessica Fletcher wouldn’t let a little thing like a lack of evidence stop her.

  I sent Hank off to bond with our children while I worked on my suspect list. With Hank no longer in custody, the killer might try even harder to get rid of any obstacles.

  Unfortunately, the only obstacles I could think of were Hank.

  And me.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The kids returned home Wednesday evening thrilled from a night reuniting with their father. Jenna’s frail shoulders no longer looked like they carried the weight of the galactic empire. Ben wore an ear-to-ear smile, relieved to have his dad back in his life.

  The man in question called me a few minutes before noon on Thursday.

  “How’s it going?” I asked Hank. “Is Janet letting you finish the renovation?”

  “I hope so. She told me to check out the building and let her know how much it will cost to finish up. She wasn’t involved with the project originally, so she’s somewhat clueless about the whole thing.”

  “That seems fair. Is there a problem?”

  He snorted. “Someone’s been digging the place up.”

  It took less than five minutes for me to grab my purse and trot down to the Hangtown Hotel. Hank recommended I enter via the back door since the front door remained barricaded to keep vandals and looky-loos out of the building.

  Metal scaffolding covered the exterior, but I wormed my way around it. Hank met me at the back door and held on to my elbow as we walked through the lower level. I trod carefully on the old wood planks covering half the floor. The remainder had been removed and the floor taken back to its original condition––dirt.

  I glanced at the boards scattered everywhere. “How can you tell if anything’s been touched? It’s all a mess.”

  “Some of this is planned mess,” Hank replied. “But some of it is not.” He grabbed a fluorescent orange hard hat from a makeshift table and placed it on my head. I grimaced as I felt the hat graze my bump.

&nb
sp; “You’ve had enough head injuries this week,” Hank said. “Now look over there at the wall adjacent to Blake’s bookstore. Be careful where you step.”

  I let Hank guide me, clinging to him for support. The last thing I needed in this week’s busy schedule was to fall and break something.

  “If you weren’t familiar with this project, you might not notice someone’s been playing in the dirt by the wall adjoining the two buildings,” Hank explained, pointing to several spots. “Someone’s dug fairly deep holes then tried to cover them back up.”

  I crouched down to examine the area more closely. “You’re sure none of your men did this?”

  He shook his head. “I only had two guys helping with the initial demolition. And neither of them had keys to this place.”

  “Maybe Janet arranged for someone to come in here?”

  “Nope. I called her and she didn’t know anything about it.”

  Hank scanned the room then moved past me to a window in the rear. He pushed on the warped wood sash, and it opened wide enough for someone to crawl through.

  “Someone could have entered through the window,” he said. I joined him and we stared down at the sawdust-covered dirt.

  “If those aren’t your footprints you could be right,” I said.

  “What do you think they were looking for?” Hank asked. “Did the murderer leave something behind he thought someone could recognize?”

  “Maybe.” I inspected the building, wondering why someone had been digging along the wall. “It’s kind of odd they dug in so many places though. I suppose it could have been teenagers. You didn’t run across any buried treasure when you started tearing things up, did you?”

  He rubbed his newly-shaven chin, a big improvement over his former jailhouse appearance. “I wouldn’t exactly call it treasure, but I found a couple of old coins. I think one of them might have been real gold, and an old pocket watch that had a cool picture on the front.”

  I was about to say “huh,” when Hank showed me a photo of the watch depicting a miniature sailing scene on the front. “That’s beautiful. What did you do with the stuff you found?”

  “Spencer asked me to save anything I discovered that might have historical value. He mentioned something about donating them to the county museum. I remember the watch had someone’s name in the inscription who Spencer recognized. I’m sure those things are either in his office or his house somewhere.” I didn’t respond so Hank waved a hand in front of my face. “Laurel, do you think those items are valuable?”

  “Possibly,” I replied, lost in thought.

  “That old stuff’s not worth killing for, is it?”

  Now that could be the million-dollar question.

  Hank and I looked around some more, but we didn’t locate any new historical artifacts.

  “You remember me telling you about that old skeleton my mother landed on when she fell down the mine shaft?” I asked him.

  He snorted. “I would have liked to see Ms. Hoity Toity get her hands dirty for a change.”

  There was no love lost between my mother and Hank.

  “Hey, my mother is mellowing,” I said, although by definition that only meant she’d been downgraded from a Type A++ personality to a mere Type A. “I’ve been researching how that old corpse ended up in the bottom of my great-great-grandfather’s mine.”

  “Sounds interesting––not,” Hank said. “And what does that have to do with this building?”

  “There were several stagecoach robberies in the early 1860s, one in particular that no one solved. What if a stranger rented a room in this hotel and hid stolen goods here? He could have concealed something under the floorboards. It’s not like a crook could walk around town with an entire strongbox of gold on his person.”

  “True. But why would he leave it behind?”

  “Because he’d been shot dead?” I answered.

  “Okay, that bit of history is interesting.” Hank looked around the demolished building with appraising eyes. “But I can’t see it having anything to do with Spencer’s death.”

  I started to reply when the back door opened and Doug Blake entered.

  “I see you’re back at work,” he said to Hank, his eyes flashing angrily behind his glasses. “Are you going to raze my store without any notice?”

  Doug looked ready to duke it out with my ex.

  “Janet told me to get back to her on the costs to finish this job,” Hank said. “I don’t know what her plans are. I’m only the hired help. Say, have you seen or heard anyone working in here during my jail stay? Someone’s been digging up the place.”

  Doug didn’t say anything although his body seemed to wilt, and his expression grew fearful. He looked first at Hank and then at me. I leaned forward anxious to hear his answer.

  “I gotta get back to my store,” Doug said. “Don’t bust through my wall without giving me notice first.”

  I reached out to stop him, but the bookstore owner eluded me and disappeared out the door without answering Hank’s question. Or any of mine.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  “That seemed odd,” Hank said. “Do you think he knows something?”

  “I think he not only knows something, he might be the culprit,” I said. “Doug has access to all sorts of history books. He probably knows about some of these old unsolved robberies. Plus he could easily sneak over here without anyone noticing. You didn’t tell anyone about your finds, did you?”

  A look of consternation crossed Hank’s face. “Maybe.”

  “Who? That could be important.”

  “Well, I might have mentioned it the evening I got drunk at the Liar’s Bench.”

  “The night Spencer was murdered? Who did you mention it to?”

  Hank chewed on his lower lip. “Let’s see, I know I mentioned it to Abe ‘cause he gets old stuff in all the time, and I thought he might know how valuable those items would be. Doug was hanging by me for a while. And Lars was all over the bar that night buying drinks for everyone.”

  “So basically anyone in the bar that night,” I stated.

  Hank’s Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed hard. “What should we do?”

  “I’ll call Tom and tell him about your discovery. I’m not sure if Doug ever made it on the suspect list, but if not, it’s about time.

  I left Hank to his job and returned to my own. Stan sat in my solitary visitor chair.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “You blew right past me with nary a hello,” Stan said. “How does it feel to have Hank out of jail?”

  “It’s a huge relief, although he and I are both nervous since the murderer remains at large.”

  “Are you still dancing with Liz and the Sassy Saloon Gals on Saturday?”

  I grimaced. “I don’t know how I let her talk me into performing with the group. I’m almost more worried about making a fool of myself in front of the entire town than a killer stalking me.”

  “Well, this is your lucky day.” Stan said. “You’re going to have a bodyguard. Liz insisted.”

  “Tom?” I asked hopefully.

  Stan pretended to pull a gun out of his pocket then blew on his index finger. “Yours truly. I’ll dance with you gals and keep an eye out for bad guys. Make sure you’re safe.”

  Hmm. Stan wouldn’t be my first choice for bodyguard duty. But there was one thing he knew how to do and that was to entertain. He might even start a new tradition––the Wagon Train conga line.

  I left a message for Tom regarding the unexplained digging Hank and I discovered at the hotel. I recommended he chat with the bookstore owner since Doug gave the impression he knew far more than what he shared, or rather what he refused to share with Hank and me.

  Friday morning flew by as Mr. Boxer inundated my “in” basket. He’d come up with an urgent need for a flyer promoting this week’s Wagon Train Special for deposits of five thousand dollars or more. I personally couldn’t see how receiving a return of .02 percent on a savings account was signif
icantly better than .01 percent, but what did I know? I was $4,900 short of opening an account myself.

  The workload helped distract me from my domestic worries, if worrying about a killer gunning for me qualified as a domestic issue. After churning out a basketful of flyers, I decided to take a break. I grabbed my purse and headed toward the bakery. As I passed the Hangtown Hotel, I scooted under the scaffolding and peeked through the dusty windows. No sign of Hank anywhere.

  Oddly, Blake’s Books still bore the closed sign hanging in the window. The store remained dark with the exception of the dim lights Doug normally left on all night. I couldn’t remember a time when Doug had closed the store during the week. Especially with the Wagon Train coming to town the next day.

  My cell rang as I reached the bakery. Rather than annoy the pastry-loving clientele, I stood on the sidewalk to answer the call. My heart rate sped up when I saw Tom’s name.

  “Hi there” I said, breathing heavily, hoping I sounded more like a sexy starlet and less like a slightly pudgy not-quite-middle-aged out-of-breath mom.

  “Are you at work?” he asked without a greeting.

  “Well, hi to you, too,” I replied.

  “Sorry, this has been a hectic morning. Have you seen Hank today?”

  “No. He’s not at the hotel. Do you have his cell number?” When Tom replied in the negative, I rattled off the number. “Is there a break-through in Spencer’s case?”

  He paused for a few seconds. “Well, you’ll hear about it eventually, so I may as well tell you.”

  “You caught the killer?”

  “No,” he said somberly. “But the killer may have struck again.”

  “What?” My shriek was probably loud enough to hear in South Lake Tahoe. They definitely heard me on Main Street since I noticed multiple heads turning in my direction. I scurried down the sidewalk until I reached the parking garage.

  “Who died?” I asked.

  “Doug Blake.”