I sat down at the table, completely unsure where she was going with this.
“He’d come to town with an old diary of his grandmother’s in hand, and I got the feeling he was way more interested in gold than in learning about his ancestor’s adventures, even though that’s what he said it was about. The same kind of inquiry that Mother and I fielded for years. I showed him Mother’s notes from way back—same one I showed you—but I forgot to make a card to document his visit.” She laughed in a way that turned into a cough.
“A girl wouldn’t exactly want to document what we did for those couple of days,” she said. “But I had written down his name and some contact information in case I ever came across anything else, and ... well, it all became misplaced.”
I could easily see that happening—I’d been to her super-cluttered house.
“Yesterday I decided to rearrange some of those old research records—don’t ask me why—and I came across some Xeroxed copies.”
I rested my forehead in my hand, wishing I had grabbed some aspirin when we first got home. Would she ever get to the point?
“I don’t even remember where I got these copies but they look like they came from some old magazine. It’s an article about the legend of a large quantity of gold hidden in the mountains near here. Gus’s Gold, they’re calling it. I guess I had copied this article with the idea of sending it to Mike—my note with his name on it is paper-clipped to the thing—but then I never did.”
“I haven’t run across that particular legend,” I said.
Drake came into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers from the fridge, and I took the moment to have him get me a glass of tap water while I found a bottle of painkillers.
Gertrude had kept talking. “. . . says in some small cave in the region of Mount Clifford.”
My attention jumped back to her. “Mount Clifford?” The same area as our cave with the two bodies.
She came to the end of the article and I hated to admit that I’d missed a big portion of it.
“Can I come by tomorrow and pick up that copy?” I asked. With any luck, there might be more specific directions. This might be the very reason Joshua Farmer and Michael Ratcliff had both gone in there.
We made a plan and by the time I went back to the living room with the idea of giving Freckles whatever was left of the fries, my headache had begun to subside. Kerby must have gotten the hint that we were ready for an evening alone—he slugged the last of his beer and left a few minutes later.
“He says he’ll take tomorrow’s flight,” Drake told me. “I think he’s feeling bad that we ran into problems today. We never did get the supplies delivered to Cabin Two, so he’ll do that too. Chuey worked on the JetRanger this afternoon and I want to give it a thorough test flight in the morning.”
At the moment all I wanted to do was settle in and sleep for a long time. Toward that end, I made sure to pull the blackout drapes in the bedroom when I crashed completely at eight o’clock.
Early to bed, early to rise—okay, but midnight was pushing the wake-up time by a little too much. I gave it another hour, during which I rolled over a half-dozen times. Finally, I grabbed a spare blanket and went to the couch so I wouldn’t keep waking poor Drake. That solution wasn’t much better—I dreamed of flying a helicopter with missing parts and having to land on a precarious mountain peak. At five o’clock I woke with an edgy feeling.
Freckles was restless in her crate, wakened by my moving about, probably picking up on my unease. I let her out and sneaked into the bedroom to retrieve my clothes so we could take a long walk.
Although Gert and I had agreed that I would come by around nine, as Freckles and I passed her house I spotted the older woman outside watering some potted geraniums on her front porch. I waved and she called out for me to come on in. She offered coffee but I declined. Freckles was way too busy sniffing into corners of the living room and I didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary in the lingering haze of the woman’s cigarette. She’d left the magazine clipping on an end table so I took it and called my dog away from whatever critter she had spied.
At a small park, I unclipped Freckles’s leash and let her run full-out for a few minutes, chasing and retrieving the tennis ball I’d carried in my coat pocket, while I took a look at the article titled “The Scintillating Saga of Gus’s Gold.”
The body of the piece was written in the same flowery language as the title, reminding me more of a rousing fictional adventure story than a news article. The way in which it had been clipped, with no heading or date, meant it easily could have been fiction. But I had to admit that it painted a picture of a treasure worth going for.
Supposedly, Gus Garrett, an early miner who’d gone to the Klondike, had found so much gold he couldn’t carry it all. He had braved winter storms and crossed icy rivers with his trusty sled dog team, becoming lost in a blizzard. Unable to find his way back to the Taiya River, he ended up in a small valley surrounded by imposing peaks. His dogs had died, all but two, and his sled had fallen apart under the weight of the gold. He fashioned packs for the dogs and one for himself and loaded them with more than a hundred pounds of gold. They made their way into a nearby cave to wait out the weather.
The following spring he struggled into Skagway, a tiny settlement of no more than a dozen people on the inlet, alone but for a pouch full of nuggets that weighed close to a pound, which he gave to the doctor who took him in. The doctor treated him for severe frostbite and Gus said that, having barely survived off the flesh of the two dogs, he had hidden the bulk of his gold and would go back for it when his health was restored. Old Gus died and the gold was never found.
I folded the pages and stuck them into my pocket, calling out to Freckles. I seriously had to wonder if there was any truth to this wild tale. The terrain was rugged up there and if there was any validity to it, I could only imagine how daunting it would be for a man alone and with a heavy load in the days before highways and airways. It would make sense that old Gus had to leave the gold behind. It was definitely the kind of story that might have easily attracted men to search for it.
Back at the house, the yummy scent of bacon greeted me.
“Hey, girls,” Drake said. “I wondered where you’d gone.”
I gave him a kiss and explained about my sleepless state and the long walk.
“Breakfast will help.” He tipped the skillet up to scoop scrambled eggs onto two plates and added a couple slices of bacon.
“I’m heading to the airport soon. Chuey got that oil line replaced so I’ll give her a good test flight. Want to come along?”
I didn’t especially, but he gave me that “you’ve got to get back in the saddle” look and I knew he was right. I couldn’t let one malfunction scare me away from flying. I was too jittery to sit around the house and I was really feeling at an impasse in solving the two murders. I’d gone through my suspect list pretty thoroughly yesterday with Chief Branson but no new ideas had come to me.
At the airport, an hour later, I walked along on Drake’s careful preflight inspection, paying attention to the areas that he double-checked. Scary, how someone had managed to inflict the damage that went unnoticed by either of us last time. Chuey stood near the hangar door, and I imagined he had his fingers crossed inside the pockets of his jacket.
“It’ll be fine,” Kerby said to me as I took a spot near the building. “Look, I’m heading up to Cabin Two to take those supplies. Will you be around for awhile?”
I nodded and watched him walk to the A-Star at a helipad a few spaces down from ours. Drake lifted off and I caught myself listening, making sure the sound of the engine was reassuringly strong. Chuey gave me a thumbs-up and went back inside the hangar. I decided that I could make use of the next few minutes by checking with Mina and making a plan to go over our notes together. She picked up her phone right away and I told her about my visit to Gert Manicot this morning.
“Ah, the old legend of Gus’s Gold,” she said. “We were to
ld that story as kids, more of a fairytale than something we believed in. I never realized anyone had written it up as an article.”
“I’m surprised Gert didn’t tell me that when she gave me the copy of it.”
“Maybe she was just having some fun with you. So, Chuey got the helicopter up and running again?”
“Drake’s on a test flight now.”
My attention got distracted by someone waving an arm in my direction. Barney Connell came toward me with a note in hand so I told Mina I needed to go.
“I just booked some people who want to take Cabin One for a week. They’re coming in on the Norwegian cruise ship this afternoon and I guess they worked a deal where they can stay ashore a week and go back home with the ship when it heads south on its way back. First time I’ve heard of anyone doing that but Kerby won’t complain about the extra business.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. What time does he get back?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m thinking that I could go up there and get the cabin ready. Can you or Drake fly me up there?”
“Sure.” Kerby would probably be pleased that we employees had taken the initiative. I looked up the inlet to see the JetRanger coming in on final approach. “Are you ready now?”
Barney rushed off to get his things and I walked out to the ship as soon as the skids hit the tarmac.
“Your turn,” Drake said when I told him Barney’s idea. He locked down the controls and I took over his seat.
Barney came out a minute later, wearing his mountain-man red plaid jacket and carrying a huge box of food staples. Chuey followed with another box. “Good thing the cabin was cleaned a few days ago. I think I can get it ready without too much effort.”
I was happy to see that Barney had regained his cheerful attitude and didn’t seem to bear any of his previous anger toward me. Mina was probably right—it had been the drink talking the other night. Supplies safely stowed and my passenger in the seat, I lifted off.
The aircraft ran in top form, smooth as silk, and in eight minutes we slid through the pass between Mount Clifford and A.B. Mountain and saw the cabin a half mile ahead. I circled to make the approach and noticed something odd.
Kerby’s A-Star sat on the ground out front, in the spot where I would normally land. He was supposed to be at Cabin Two or on his way back.
As I made the big loop I saw Kerby, Lillian and Earl step out from behind the cabin. A few pieces of the puzzle fell into place. I clicked the radio, calling out on the base operator’s frequency but I could only raise a bunch of static, repeating my concerns and my location. I did not like the look of this.
Chapter 31
I shut down the engine and got out. “Kerby? I thought you were at the other cabin.”
I walked toward the trio. Barney followed. Lillian and Earl stood close together. In their casual clothing the resemblance between brother and sister was more apparent than usual.
Kerby gave me a cocky smile. “We had a little business here. Why are you here, Charlie?”
A chill passed over my arms. Had I just stepped into the midst of the enemy camp? Had Barney lured me up here, and there really was no customer coming to the cabin this afternoon? I turned to look at the mountain man but I couldn’t get a reading from his expression. I decided to play it upbeat and innocent.
“There was a call from a customer who wants to come up later today, Kerby. I brought Barney to get things ready and greet them.”
Kerby’s moment of uncertainty showed on his face as his gaze darted toward Barney. Barney’s expression only registered the same confusion as my own. Reassuring to me—they had not cooked up this plan together.
“We can’t let anyone come up here, Kerby. Call it off.” Earl’s voice was more forceful than I’d ever heard it.
“That’s right,” said Lillian. “My great-grandfather’s legacy is not public property. Not any more.”
Great-grandfather’s legacy? It took me a half-second but the final piece clicked into place.
“He was Mick Thespen, wasn’t he? And your father was Wilbur?”
Lillian’s face grew hard.
Earl’s went red with fury.
“You! You people come in here and all want a piece of us! Where did you get those letters? Where!?”
The letters. I had to mentally backtrack, quickly.
“Joshua Farmer wrote a series of letters to his wife in San Francisco. How does that tie in with you?”
“Don’t play stupid. He bragged about it, didn’t he? Boasted about how he didn’t have to put his life in danger going up to the Klondike, how he would just wait around town and take someone else’s fortune, the fortune they’d worked hard for.”
Joshua had not quite admitted that in writing but the gist of it was there between the lines.
“But Joshua Farmer ended up dead, murdered right here on this property,” I said. “And that happened well before your time. So what are you saying, Earl?”
“He’s saying that we know the real story,” Lillian said, a snarl twisting her features. “We were told the story of how our grandfather’s hard-earned fortune was taken from him.”
“Dad lived to be a very old man and he used to remember every minute of that time, when he was a little kid and Grandpa Mick told him about the theft of the gold.”
“And this story was passed down to you and—you decided to do what? Your family didn’t grow up poor. I’m guessing that the story of the gold being stolen was only half of it. Mick Thespen never included how he had killed Joshua Farmer and taken that gold back, did he?”
Earl averted his eyes but Lillian stared defiantly at me.
“And then Joshua’s great-grandson showed up. It’s been a long time ago but I’ll bet you remember him. Michael Ratcliff.” Katherine might have wanted to believe he came up here looking to verify family history, but I’d picked up plenty of clues from his own notes that he intended to find this big stash of gold he believed was rightfully left to him by Joshua Farmer.
Earl turned on Kerby. “I told you that Ratcliff woman wasn’t here in town innocently. I knew she’d be the start of a bunch of trouble!”
Kerby started to growl something in response but Lillian stepped in between her husband and her brother.
“Stop it!” she snarled with her teeth nearly clenched. She gripped Earl’s arm. “You never told me anything about this Michael Ratcliff.”
“You were off in New York, getting yourself a husband. I was working in the damn bank,” Earl hissed.
I verbalized the thoughts that came rushing at me. “The bank that your great-grandfather founded with the gold he took back from Farmer. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t all his for the taking. Part of it belonged to Alistair Connell. Now that’s the family who should be angry over this whole thing, not yours. The Connells didn’t have the advantage of a bag of gold to start themselves a profitable business.”
Lillian stared defiantly at Barney Connell, who seemed stunned. Apparently, tales of the gold rush crimes hadn’t been passed along in his family.
He spoke so quietly I could hardly hear him. “All I ever heard was that Alastair Connell came up here to find a fortune and he failed. My father and grandfather seemed to have that branded into them, the word ‘failure’ and the idea that no Connell would ever really get ahead in this place.”
“Your greed is astounding,” I said to Earl. “Your family had it all and it still wasn’t good enough. You had to get rid of—” The picture of Michael Ratcliff’s skeleton wearing its sorry polyester shirt came at me. “Did you do it yourself?”
Even Lillian was looking warily at her brother now.
“Me? No! I had nothing to do with him.” But the look in his eyes said otherwise. He would have been in his teens when Michael arrived, and he must have brought him to the cave.
Somewhere in the far distance I caught the very faint sound of rotor blades. Kerby tapped Lillian on the shoulder and started to turn toward his aircraft.
“No!” shout
ed Earl. “We aren’t done here.”
He pulled a pistol from his waistband and took a firm stance, aiming it first at Kerby and then at me.
“We need these two out of the way,” he said, referring to me and Barney. “They’ll go back to town and tell the authorities.”
“I think—” Kerby closed his mouth when the pistol turned back his way.
“Get them up to the cave,” Earl said. “The place has been thoroughly searched already. No one will go up there.”
“Earl, that’s not going to work. What will you do with my helicopter? Unless you learned to fly in your spare time as a banker, you can’t get both these machines out of here.”
An evil smile formed on his face. “This is even better ... Kerby, strap them inside, douse the thing in gasoline. They just crashed here.”
That steady whop-whop grew a little louder but no one else had picked up on it.
“You really think Kerby and Lillian want murder charges on their heads, just because you already have one? They won’t help you.” I kept raising my voice to cover the sound of rescue.
“They don’t have to,” Earl said, a tiny note of desperation creeping into his voice. “I can—”
I saw the gun waver for a second and I rushed him. But Earl was slightly quicker. He squeezed off two shots and Barney fell to the ground. That and Earl’s crazed stare stopped me in my tracks. Lillian let out a small shriek. Barney was screaming and clutching at his leg.
“You really did kill that young man, all those years ago.” Lillian sounded stunned. “Even that time you got drunk and bragged about it I never believed it was true.”
“He went on a long hike. That’s all.”
And ended up stabbed in the gut. Earl was on the edge, I could tell. He still had three people to cover with the gun and the two he’d believed to be allies were quickly turning. However, the magazine in that pistol still had at least eight rounds in it. He could get rid of Lillian and me and force Kerby to fly him out.
“Earl, you need to put down the gun,” Kerby said, working the same salesman voice I’d heard him use with the customers. “Charlie, can you tend to Barney over there?”
Legends Can Be Murder Page 24
