Ghosts in the Gulch: An Evergreen Cemetery Mystery (Evergreen Cemetery Mysteries Book 1)

by S. L. Hawke

  A pie made of pumpkin emerged and seemed to be bottomless in its apportionment. Another one was made of custard, alongside a cake drowned with three kinds of milk: curdled, cream, and whey. Despite its messy concoctive appearance, the cake was chewy and heavy with vanilla and an unexpected blush of brandy. We topped it off with Elena’s family recipe, chocolate, whipped with an old family spoon and sweetened with honey. I felt like a tanuki or round belly badger by the end of my continual fork shoveling. I’d pay for this, tomorrow probably. Rich food always made its way out fast in one direction or the other with me.

  Music started rather abruptly, causing me to jump. But the lively beat, and the wailing songs of broken hearts and stupid boys’ antics had me smiling and feeling less like I was going to be hit with a bout of my illness. Jad began the dancing with his wife in a dignified and very accomplished waltz that suddenly turned into a lively dance that betrayed Jad’s large belly and sent Elena into a whirl of skirts and dust. I remember the first time they did this dance.

  The guitars frantically strummed and picked the lively Mexican tune as Jad and Elena danced their first dance as husband and wife. The borrowed jacket I wore was loose as were the pants but I was lucky to be alive and tried to look dignified with my arm in a sling.

  “You are certain to head north?” Don Antonio poured me another tequila.

  “I must. My sisters’ husbands are working El Dorado.” I drank the fragrant, yet pungent liquor. The warmth in my gut was a welcome feeling. Castellano came easily now. Don Antonio was a good teacher.

  “When you get to the City of the Golden Gate, leave this place. You are young. Go abroad. Your gift of tongues could serve you well.”

  “Thank you, Don Antonio,” I replied formally, in the manner of the court as he taught me. He seemed pleased. I would leave before dawn. The memory of Elena strung up and abused never left me. Jad and she deserved a new life, free of the reminder of the secret between them that I alone held.

  Andrew was dancing with the young Miss Hicks and then I watched them walk into the rose courtyard, him gentleman to his core, taking the young woman on his arm far enough away from the villa for privacy but not from the anxious eye of Elena. Jad punched me in my old bullet wound and jerked his thumb over his shoulder to a set of heavy wicker chairs on the far side of the veranda while the evening wound down into love songs about how finally somewhere someone was making love. My own losses cut deep into my heart. Jad brought out a bottle of homemade wine and we set to making the past over by carving newer moments into it. Jad had done well. Now, it was my turn.

  4

  “I can’t stop shaking.” Steven vomited on himself as I tried to roll up our gear. We’d spent a few nights above Nagasaki waiting for the Clan to sweep down on us. With one last brush of my sharpening stone, I reseated my katana into its sheath. Steven’s blue eyes seemed to get even brighter in fear. Gone was the wise cracking, smooth sailing joker who soiled himself when he got excited or fearful. Now was no exception. He’d recovered, but it didn’t seem to make him any less of a criminal.

  “God you even squat like they do. How can you be like them after what they did to the Captain?”

  “He deserved what he got.”

  “I’ll have you strung up for that mutinous thought.” Steven dropped his powder twist. The musket was too old to fire anyway. “We are no match for those heathen fighters.”

  “No, you are not.” Daimyo Lord Hiru Ikebara’s voice came from the shadows. The Daimyo’s guards came up with him. He bowed slightly to me and I returned it.

  “Holy Shit! Kill him, Drew, kill the bastard!” Steven shook, pissed himself, and screamed.

  “He’s the one,” I said in Japanese, quietly, to Lord Ikebara.

  “You are sure?” Ikebara asked gently. With honor. I nodded. The image of this man beating, ravaging, then killing a young, innocent girl during a routine supplies round up never left me.

  “Like I said,” I reverted to English, “your captain deserved what he got. He broke the law.”

  Steven’s eyes grew even more wide. “I was under orders! I…had to do what he said…I—”

  One of Ikebara’s guards offered to be my second. I shook him off.

  “All you had to do was take the rice, take the fish. That’s all. Not anything more.”

  “Oh com’on, Drew, come on. They’s heathens.” Steven reverted to his southern roots. Time was short. “They ain’t got no feelin’s. Like animals.” His voice died in his throat.

  “Would it surprise you to know that is what they think of you and me? Except the one difference is, they at least attempt to understand our point of view, even if you are an animal. So Steven, quick or slow, which would you prefer?”

  “You fuckin’ sonofa—”

  I didn’t want to hear him talk. The katana was flawless, my aim imperfect, the moment, vile.

  “Wake up.” Andrew was standing over me. I sat up, my heart still pounding from my dream. “Was that Japanese you were speaking?” Nodding, I wearily got off my cot. “Coffee’s over there.” Andrew pointed to a metal panning plate, bent and worked into a shallow bowl filled with coals over which rested a grid of wire that did not soften under the heat. The pot was filled with the rich smell of strong and freshly made coffee.

  “Try not to groan too loud.” Andrew looked sideways at me while flipping through a stiff blank book with a plain binding. “Where’d this come from? “

  “Thought you could take your own notes, rather than reminding me to draw or paint every single person or fandango femme we meet.”

  “You gotta admit, she was pretty, Miss Adams.”

  “So you told me, at least fifteen times.” I poured the coffee into the enamel cup and, yes, after a whiff of the sweet roasting smell, I groaned. Andrew was watching me with his pale blue eyes, holding the journal like it was a dead animal. “And,” I continued. “that she likes Edgar Allen Poe, Charles Dickens, and just about any book she can get her hands on.”

  Andrew smiled, no, grinned. Uh oh. I knew that look. Poor Jad.

  “So how come you dream in Japanese?” Andrew had an uncanny ability to interrogate. I took a swig of the coffee and swallowed.

  “Well I lived there for ten years. Spoke it most times.” Speaking about this made me uncomfortable. “Keep that close by—” I gestured to the journal.

  “I can’t draw.” Andrew offered me a plate of tortillas and beans from last night. I shook my head and instead reached into the pocket of my jacket for an onion from Jad’s garden. Young and early, sweet and perfect for destroying the remnants of bad tequila.

  “Try drawing out some of those ideas you have for telegraph speed, or how about that odd device you wanted to make--that—”

  “Ink cartridge for a quill? Using a bullet casing from a rifle?” Andrew gripped the leather spine of the new journal. He opened the pages now, interested, seeing something in the blank spaces he didn’t before. I couldn’t help but grin.

  “Maybe I’ll work out a code for letters and see if we can use other books as cyphers.” Andrew started mumbling to himself and, taking a pencil, he sat down on his cot and started to write on the first page.

  “Don’t forget to write down the date,” I added. Andrew smiled and said: “That’s another thing—I’ll use a code for that too. How about if I use a number for the month, say because there are 12 months, then let’s just use a corresponding number, like 1 for January. And then put a dot after that followed by the number of the date…” His blond curly head bent over the journal in deep concentration. It felt good to be dad for a minute. But then my chest hurt, wondering what Hiru was up to.

  “Did you learn how to fight like a samurai?” Andrew asked. The question took me off guard. Andrew smiled in victory. This boy was not to be underestimated. “Dad had me do some research on you but you also got to remember that Dad spent time there. I begged him at every bedtime to tell me stories of the samurai. He even has a katam? Kitami? —”

  “Katana.” I
took another deep swig of the coffee. “That’s the larger sword. Masters have been making them for over three thousand years.”

  “Well, we could learn a lot from their metallurgy.” Andrew wrote in his journal, giving me a sense of pride. Missing Hiru terribly, I left Andrew with the journal in our shared tent and went to see to my horse.

  Horses are smart. They know what they can get away with and what you want them not to do while they are trying to get away with what they want. Before my life went to hell in Santa Rosa, I took care of horses with Josiah, our runaway helper, who understood how to handle even the most temperamental of the breed. He used to tell me it was because they both knew what it was like to be a slave to the white man.

  This mare was used to being treated badly. She bit if you tried to tighten the saddle belt and she kicked when you came up behind her. Then she would glance at you as if she never did any of that. At least that was what the horse handler told me.

  She was thin, this mare, so I made sure to purchase extra oatcake and fresh hay in town before we left. Two days on the road eating pretty much whatever she liked, when she wanted it, plus me putting the muzzle bag on her each time we stopped, seemed to help. I made sure she drank as well. The leisurely pace and the constant eating finally put some weight on her. Then I literally curried her favor.

  “You must be lonely.” Fergus’ voice startled me. I didn’t expect him to be at Jad’s rancho so early. “You caress that mare as if she were a beautiful lady.” He came to the side, as I had done, and was no stranger to the breed. I half smiled at his comment. There was some truth in it.

  “They should always be willing to let you ride them,” I offered. Fergus snorted.

  “Lucky bastard. You do realize that I have had several inquiries as to your nature by most if not all the ladies at the Sheriff’s ranch last night.” Fergus helped me lay the blanket across the mare’s back.

  “I thought you were mustered in with the Cav in town.” My hands ran the length of the mare’s hocks.

  “I am. But I was at the market this morning getting supplies. All the ladies were shopping and talking. What can I say, I’ve got good ears.” Fergus grinned. “And I may have mentioned that I knew you.”

  “Now who’s the lobster?” I muttered, but I wondered about that dinner last night. Jad and I were up late catching up on our lives, but there seemed to be a lot of interruptions with a different lady bringing in a whiskey or a tea pot at odd moments. I could not remember their faces. I just assumed they were servants of Jad’s or relatives of his wife. Half the town was at his fandango and the well-to-do half was dining with the Mayor. My head shook and I smiled to myself. I suppose an entire visiting regiment was an exciting event out here.

  “Well, maybe to the world traveler such as yourself, a country girl is just that, but to us, they are like lakes in the desert.”

  “Well, don’t drink too much. It can make you sick,” I added, only to see the bright young face of Fergus darken a bit.

  “Well, I hope one day I can buy a nice adobe, make my pretty petite wife fat with babies, eat all the enchiladas I want and sell the biggest best apricots in all of California.” Fergus helped me saddle up, lifting on his tiptoes to get the bags over the mare’s back. The mare nickered her appreciation for their careful placement.

  “That’s quite a dream. With your rank, you’d have a nice pension.”

  “That’s the plan.” Fergus’ smile returned. I wondered how much war this young man had seen. This infantry unit spoke of Apache raids in Arizona territory, to help the wagon trains cross. Rumor of the railroad coming across the plains was also a reason to keep the infantry mobile. I was about to ask when I saw the General coming our way.

  “I’d best get back to my duties,” Fergus whispered and disappeared.

  “Sloan.” The General approached me with what looked like suspicion.

  “General.” I turned away and fed the mare. She gratefully dunked her head in the bag. “How was dinner with the Mayor?”

  “Not as lively as what we could hear coming from this place.” The General looked regretful. “Stilted conversation and funny tiny nibbles are not my version of a good time.” He paused, looking uncomfortable.

  “Well, Jad always did like a good meal.” The General smiled in agreement then shifted on his feet.

  “I hear you’re headed Santa Cruz way.”

  “Have family there. Haven’t seen them for a while. My mother is poorly.” I looked down at him, then went over and got my saddle.

  The General paced in a circle like an old bear. “Art and I go way back. I tried to get him to stay in the Army, draw a pension, but no, he saw that English piece of silk and off he went.” He sounded regretful and envious, not dismissive of weakness.

  Interesting. So Dorcas worked her magic on the General too. My pride for being Art’s employee went up a notch.

  The General stood to face me and looked up as I dusted off my hat. “I don’t buy for a minute you being escorted by Art’s smart aleck son. So I’ll tell you this. New Almaden is rich. The President needs money to fund the war. That’s what we’re going there to do, and make sure that the coach bearing the strongbox full of coin from the mine and whatever else they happen to find alongside the quicksilver, gets safely up to Sacramento.”

  “So why are you telling me this?” I pinched the top and placed the felt back on my head. I needed a bath again. Thank God the fleas weren’t in our blankets. Fergus had doused everything with camphor. “The president needs the mine to fund the war. Nothing more simple than that.”

  The General eyed me warily, but we understood one another. If I didn’t know it, the General looked impressed.

  “We’re going to be around the mine for a bit, just in case you might need some extra men to help you.” The General was talking carefully in case we were overheard but I understood his hints and meaning. My thoughts went to the Rancho drafts I had read. If a land was rich, the government would seize it. No law could stop it, especially in time of war. I recalled Art Sweeney’s last words.

  “Harrison is a bit of a hardass but he’ll have your back and sweep in if you give him the right direction. Let him do the arresting, A.J. I mean it.” Art handed me my new travel documents and some maps of the area.

  “What makes you so sure this Tom Pole is in the area?”

  “Poole. Tom Poole. And it’s just not him it’s his buddy, Captain Ingram, that we’re really after. He’s the one that’s been getting the supplies out. We’ve got to stop this, A.J., or we will lose the war. And after you bring this guy in, you’re to find out which side the owner of the gunpowder factory…uh,”— here Art shuffled papers to find what he was looking for — “the California Powder Works, what in hell are they up to? I mean it, A.J. Find out. And then send us a message.” Art handed me another paper with a list of names.

  “You can trust him, A.J. Let’s just hope things don’t blow up on us.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” I added just as I settled my saddle on top of the mare. She grunted in mild protest but kept on in her feed bag.

  “Good luck then.” The General left the barn in time to be greeted by Elena and the daughters. I simply tipped my hat, got my coat on, and mounted up. What on earth would this mine be like and would I know in whom to put my trust?

  5

  New Almaden Township was a perfectly appointed row of houses situated in a straight line in a clean, brick-paved, engineered street below, from what I could see, a Rancho property. The brick was a unique, bright red color that lined the sidewalks and created a sensation of levelness. Many of these houses had flowers and tidy fences, gardens and the look of curtains in windows. Women and mostly children also seemed to live here, by the large numbers of white fabric squares that hung from laundry lines.

  Next we came upon the Hotel, a practical rectangle of a low building, looking like a military barracks more than a hotel for paying guests. This rather disheartening building was nestled in swaying gree
nery, as wild oats covered the mountain range that rose up behind it. Fergus was directed to the property behind the Hotel, and my mare began to pull back, anxious to chomp at the wild oats covering the front yard.

  Most of the regiment followed the Quartermaster, but Andrew gestured to me. We held our horses towards the town’s middle.

  In the center of commerce was the Company store, a tidy white-washed building that betrayed the bedraggled, dirt covered men who, in a steady stream, came to and fro. There was a church to the store’s left, a temple for the Chinese further away, near a small, smoky, bustling Chinese community on the far side of a river for which the town was named. A great ridge rose up from there as well with the beginnings of the mine, and as we could see in the distance, more townships on its slopes, and signs pointing upward with names like “English Camp” or “Hacienda”. In fact, one hacienda did stand on the ridge top, overlooking both the mine operation, which terraced the mountain sides with track and pulley, and huge conveyances that carried the guts of the mountain down to the furnace below it. Mercury, or quicksilver, was the ‘gold rush’ of these parts.

  “One million dollars a week, so they say,” Andrew drawled. “Richest mine in the United States. Mines, I should say. They are working several shafts, each owned by someone else. They want to consolidate and become a full business, not just some family owned complex. We’re here to make sure that AMERICANS not Spanish hold this money.”

  “Well, there is a war going on,“ I added, weary from the ride in the heat and the previous late night.

  “Yeah, well , the thing I can’t figure on, is why WE have to make sure these guys file their paperwork right. I mean, the Spanish who got here first, they owned the land, and they sold it, so why do they think they can claim a mine that they sold with the land. Why claim it’s separate?”