Above It All (Eureka, Colorado Book 4) (Contemporary Romance)

by Cindy Myers

  “Cassie seems to think they will. She’s sure if she gets me up on that stage, the Founders’ Pageant will have its biggest audience ever.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing? If you think about it, all that tourist money benefits the town, and the town pays my salary. Or don’t you remember last winter, when Lucille was scraping the bottom of the barrel just to pay city employees? Even with the Lucky Lady paying off, there’s no guarantee those hard times won’t show up again.”

  “So it’s all right for me to use what happened to me to make money, as long as the money benefits us?” She sat up and glared at him. “Can’t you see how that makes you just like my mother?”

  “No, it doesn’t make me like your mother. And I don’t care about the money. But I do care about you getting over this phobia you have about anyone knowing what happened to you when you were a kid. Can’t you see how much that’s hurting you? How that’s hurting our family? Instead of hiding or running away, maybe you should accept your past and move on with it. Maybe standing up on that stage and letting people see you as you are today—happy and healthy and part of a community—would help you get over it and really move on, instead of just pretending to.”

  She gaped at him, anger and hurt choking off any reply she might have made. He slid out of bed and reached for his shirt. “I have to go to work,” he said. “Don’t bother coming downstairs. I’ll grab coffee at the shop.”

  He left the room and she slid back down in bed and rolled over, her back to the door, hot tears wetting the pillow beneath her head. She couldn’t believe that Charlie—the man who had always loved her and protected her and stood by her—was acting this way, as if she was the one in the wrong, instead of people like Travis and Mindy and Cassie, who wanted to use her and what had happened to her. Why would he say she needed to expose herself to the scrutiny and exploitation she’d lived with all her life? Yes, it had happened a long time ago, but as long as people like Travis and Mindy and Cassie were around, it could definitely happen again. And this time she didn’t have only herself to think about, but the children. Why hadn’t she mentioned the boys to Charlie? Surely he didn’t want them exposed to the same kind of spotlight she’d had to endure.

  And it wasn’t just the press and gawking strangers she’d have to deal with. Once word got out she was living in Eureka, she had no doubt her mom and dad would rush to be with her. They might even move here, so that Sandy could be close to the Baby Shelly franchise, back in her element churning out press releases and updated photographs. This place that Shelly loved, her peaceful little sanctuary, would become another nightmare. Charlie didn’t want that, she was sure.

  He hadn’t lived through what she’d lived through. He didn’t realize how wrong even the most well-intentioned acknowledgments of her time as a media darling could be. He didn’t understand it wasn’t her own peace she was trying to protect, but his and the boys’. She couldn’t afford to let the past intrude on the peaceful world they’d built together. She’d never forget what happened to her, but that didn’t mean she had to live with it as part of her future.

  Chapter 12

  Bob’s pickup truck bucked and shimmied up the rough road that led to the Lucky Lady’s main adit. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and gunned the engine, pushing hard up the last steep incline. Red-tinged dust and white exhaust fumes mingled in a cloud behind him, marking his path up the side of the mountain.

  Headlights shone through the cloud, proving he hadn’t left behind the black pickup that had been following him since he’d turned off the main road just south of town. Bob cursed under his breath and kept going, around a pile of rock that had trickled down from the cliff above, and into the gravel lot that marked the entrance to the Lucky Lady Mine. Half a dozen trucks and SUVs already occupied the lot, belonging to the men who were following the rich vein of gold ore Bob had accidentally discovered down here in the spring.

  The pickup truck pulled into an empty space across from Bob, and Duke Breman got out. His previously shiny black four by four was coated in a thick shroud of dust, and a fresh starburst showed in his windshield. “Maybe you should spend some of the money you’re making from this mine to grade the road,” he said.

  “The road keeps gawkers and tourists away.” Bob headed toward the mine entrance. The crunch of gravel told him Duke was following.

  “I need to talk to you a minute, Mr. Prescott,” Duke said. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the better part of a week now.”

  “Then you ought to be smart enough to realize I’m avoiding you on purpose,” Bob said, never slowing his stride. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “You were the last person to see Gerald Pershing alive. You spent the five days before he left town trapped underground with him.” The detective sped up, and moved to block Bob’s path. “If anyone has a clue about what he did or where he went when he got out, it’s you.”

  “I don’t give a damn about what Gerald Pershing did or where he went.” Bob started to move past him, but Duke stepped to one side to block his progress once more.

  Bob glared at him. “I don’t want to have to make you move, but I will if I have to,” he said. “Don’t think because I’m old that I can’t do it. I’ve beat younger men than you in a fight.” He balled his hands into fists. Years of working in mines had made him strong and wiry, and he’d learned the dirty fighting of barroom brawls and back-street beatdowns. Duke might get in a few good blows before he went down, but Bob would win in the end. He always did.

  “I don’t want to fight you,” Duke said, his voice and his expression perfectly calm. “I just want to talk to you. I’m not a cop or a lawyer or anyone who’s looking to get you into trouble. I’m just a guy trying to do a job. Talk to me and I won’t bother you again.”

  Bob looked him up and down. The big Texan had a take-no-bull manner, but he didn’t seem to be putting out any crap, either. “All right,” he said. “You want to know about that piss-ant, Pershing, I’ll tell you what I know. But you have to come down in the mine with me. I’m not going to waste my time standing here in the hot sun.”

  The day wasn’t all that hot; if anything, the breeze funneling between the mountains carried the first crisp hints of autumn. But the sun shone down from a cloudless turquoise sky, and the thin atmosphere made it feel warmer than it was. And anyway, he wanted Duke on his territory when they spoke. Rule number one when you sparred with anyone—grab the home-field advantage.

  “Fine. I’ll come into the mine with you.”

  Bob led the way into the adit. They stopped in an anteroom and Bob handed Duke a hard hat. “Wear this. And try not to slip in those fancy cowboy boots of yours. It’s wet in places in the tunnels.”

  They passed through a set of double doors into the main tunnel. Solid rock surrounded them, and water dripped from the ceiling and gathered in puddles at their feet. Utility lines hung from hooks at the top of the right-hand wall, and caged bulbs suspended overhead provided the only illumination. The low hum of ventilation fans softened the echo of their splashing footsteps.

  “Where are we going?” Duke asked after they’d walked several hundred yards uphill. He sounded out of breath, and he was probably cold and pretty wet, since, unlike Bob, he wasn’t wearing a coat.

  “We’re going into the mine.”

  He waited for Duke to ask where in the mine, but the detective kept his mouth shut.

  As they moved farther into the mine, the percussive scream of the drills filled the air. Bob fished a pair of earplugs out of his jacket pocket and handed them to Duke. “Put these in,” he said, raising his voice.

  He took out a second pair and pushed them into his own ears, muffling the din a little, then led the way down a curving side tunnel—the drift that had been carved out to follow the seam of ore. The drift widened and the noise became almost deafening. Two men took turns operating the big jackleg drill, feet planted wide, muscles in their bare arms bunched as they wrestled against the machi
ne’s vibrations.

  “What are they doing?” Duke asked.

  “They’re drilling a series of holes in the rock,” Bob shouted. “They’ll fill the holes with dynamite, light the fuses, and the explosion will break up the rock. Then a mucking machine will come in and haul the rock away.” That was simplifying the process considerably, but it was good enough for a tourist like Duke. “They’re cutting out a seam of ore that may run as much as a half mile back into these mountains.”

  Duke nodded.

  “Wait here.” Bob put out a hand to stop him, then moved forward alone and talked to the man who was waiting for his turn at the drill, an Aussie with a string of degrees longer than Bob’s arm, but a hard worker all the same. He gave a report on the morning’s work—everything was going as expected.

  “Kelly Merton worked for a big opal mine in Coober Pedy before he came here,” Bob explained to Duke when he returned to the detective’s side. “He’s a third-generation miner, knows his stuff.”

  They stood for a while, watching the slow but steady progress of the crew.

  “Is this where you and Gerald were trapped?” Duke asked.

  Bob nodded. “The chamber was a lot smaller then. A bunch of rock collapsed, revealing that vein.” He pointed to the lighter vein of rock along the wall.

  Duke looked skeptical. “It doesn’t look like gold to me.”

  “It is. When you’ve been in this game as long as I have, you recognize it when you see it.”

  “As half-owner of the mine, wasn’t Gerald excited about the find?”

  Bob shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  He sighed. They were either going to have to stand here shouting at each other, or move somewhere quieter. He chose option B. Turning, he led the way back down the drift, then farther along the main tunnel to another set of doors, into an older, currently unused section of the mine. He stopped to collect a battery-powered LED lantern from a niche in the wall and lighted their way into a slightly larger chamber, fitted out with a camp bed and a couple of chairs. Makeshift plywood-and-canvas walls and a ceiling kept out most of the damp, though a thin trickle of water ran along a ditch next to the wall.

  “Does someone live down here?” Duke asked.

  Bob sank into one of the chairs and set the lantern on a folding table beside him. “I bunk down here sometimes.”

  Duke sat in the other chair. “I thought you had a house in Eureka.”

  “I do, but I like it down here. I’ve spent at least half my life underground in one mine or another. Most people don’t feel that comfortable underground.”

  Duke glanced up at the low ceiling. “Maybe because it reminds them too much of being buried.”

  “Nobody bothers me down here,” Bob said.

  Duke nodded, though he didn’t look that comfortable himself, sitting there, back straight as a ramrod, hands clasping his knees.

  “You said you had questions,” Bob prompted. “So ask.”

  “Why didn’t Gerald Pershing stick around to collect his half of the proceeds from the new gold find?” Duke asked. “Doing so would have made him a rich man.”

  “He didn’t want anything to do with this place, after he almost died down here.”

  “The news report I read said the two of you suffered no serious injuries, and that you had food and water that sustained you until your rescuers arrived.”

  “When the ceiling collapsed, he was buried under a pile of rubble. I dug him out, and gave him food and water out of my supplies.” Not that he hadn’t made the old reprobate beg first. Just a little.

  “So you saved his life,” Duke said.

  “I guess you could call it that. Mainly, I didn’t want to be stuck down here with a dead man. Before very long, a body fouls up the air.”

  Duke’s eyes widened. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

  “This wasn’t my first mine cave-in.”

  Duke blinked, then resumed his all-business expression once more. “So, are you saying that he was so grateful to you for saving him that he gave you his shares in the mine? That doesn’t fit with the picture of Gerald Pershing I’ve been getting from other people who knew him.”

  “No, he was not particularly grateful that I’d saved him. But he was smart enough to know he was tempting fate by spending any more time in this mine.”

  Duke frowned. “How is that?”

  “I told him, the Tommyknockers don’t take kindly to cheats and liars. They’d make him pay for his past scams. He’d been lucky enough to have me nearby this time, but next time he might be alone, and he might get more than just a knock on the head and some dust in his lungs.”

  “The Tommyknockers?”

  “The spirits that inhabit the mines. They guard them. They play tricks on people they don’t like, and warn those they do like if something is about to go wrong.”

  Duke smirked. “Let me guess—the Tommyknockers love you.”

  “No. They’re not too fond of anyone invading their territory, but we respect each other. Gerald didn’t respect anyone and they recognized that all right.” The detective could think him an old fool if he liked, but Bob hadn’t survived underground for so many years without learning a thing or two about the differences between this world and the one up above. Not everything could be explained by book learning and logic.

  Duke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Are you telling me these crazy stories of spirits in the mine frightened Gerald into giving up his interest in the project and rushing out of town?”

  “A man with a guilty conscience will go out of his way to avoid being made to pay for his sins, whether by malicious spirits or a court of law.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bob shrugged. “You’re the detective. You figure it out.”

  “So what happened? When did he decide to give you the mine shares?”

  “After a couple of days down here, I guess. You kind of lose track of time after a while.”

  “Just like that—‘Hey, Bob, I want to give you my shares in the mine.’ ”

  “If that’s the way you want to picture it, go right ahead.”

  “I don’t want to picture it any particular way. I want to know what really happened.”

  “The exchange was legal and voluntary,” Bob said. “If it hadn’t been, he could have taken me to court or filed a protest or something. But he didn’t.”

  “Maybe because he couldn’t,” Duke said.

  Bob knew the detective wanted him to ask what he meant, but he kept his mouth shut, waiting. If you kept quiet long enough, the other person would eventually talk. Most people hated silence.

  For a long moment, the only sound was a faint hum from the lantern and the distant creak of settling rock.

  “What was that?” Duke asked, looking up at the ceiling.

  “The mine is like a living thing. It breathes and settles.”

  Duke looked like he was trying to decide if Bob was serious or crazy. Or maybe seriously crazy. The old man grinned.

  “The rescuers pulled you both out of the mine and Gerald took off,” Duke said after a moment. “He wouldn’t even let the EMS crew check him out. He went back to his apartment, packed most of his things, and left. Or at least, his things were all gone when someone stopped to check on him that afternoon.”

  “Who checked on him?” Bob asked. This was a part of the story he hadn’t heard.

  “Rick Otis, editor of the Eureka Miner. I guess he wanted to interview Gerald for the paper.”

  Bob nodded. “Rick was probably disappointed not to get the scoop, but most of the rest of us were glad to be finally shed of Pershing.”

  “The two of you must have spent a lot of time talking while you were trapped,” Duke said. “Did he mention what his plans were after he left Eureka?”

  “He did not. He said he was going to leave, but he never said where he was going.”

  “Did he talk about any favorite place, a country he’d like
to see, or a favorite vacation spot?”

  “He might have talked about any of that stuff, or none of it,” Bob said. “He was one of those people who’s in love with the sound of his own voice, and most of the time, I wasn’t listening.”

  “So he didn’t, for instance, say he’d like to go to Mexico?”

  “He could have said he was going to Mars and I wouldn’t have paid attention. I would have thought by now you’d be clear on the concept that I didn’t like the guy. Nobody I knew did.”

  “Because he supposedly swindled the town out of money it couldn’t afford to lose? Or because he was fighting you on how to best manage the mine? Or all of the above?”

  “He treated us like we were all a bunch of rubes. Like we couldn’t see through his lies.”

  “The town did give him money to invest. He didn’t force you to hand over the funds.”

  “So you say.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Bob crossed one ankle over his knee and narrowed his eyes at the detective. “Maybe I’ve said too much already.”

  “Are you saying Gerald forced the town to hand over the money to him? Did he blackmail someone? The mayor?”

  “There you go, making up crazy theories. He wasn’t blackmailing the mayor, or anybody else, though I wouldn’t have put that past the old reprobate.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  Bob sighed. He might as well tell the man, before he made up even wilder theories of his own. “Nobody from the town council will come right out and say so in public, so don’t bother asking them, but I heard that Gerald arranged to transfer twice as much money into his investment account as the town had authorized. Of course, the bank swore that everything had been on the up and up and perfectly legal, but they would say that, wouldn’t they?”

  “So the general dislike for Gerald has to do with the money?”

  “No, it is not just about the money! Are you always this dense, or is this your technique—worming information out of people by annoying them to death?”