by Tara Meyers
Leaning back in a chair similar to the one Ember had been studying, Ernest Tucker sat with his feet propped on a small table, the dusty cowboy boots crossed at the ankles. His well-worn fedora hat hung from the top rail of the chair, next to his head. It was hard to tell his age, which could have been anywhere from sixty to eighty. The creases in his face were deep, and his fingers long and knobby, but there was an air of strength to the man that defied his appearance. His chin was covered by a foot-long, salt-and-pepper beard that matched his hair, which was pulled back into braids that fell well past his shoulders. He may have been part Native American, but whether the color in his skin came from his heritage or the sun was a secret not easily guessed.
“Mr. Tucker?” Ember finally asked when Nathan remained silent.
“Everyone calls me Ernie. You looking for a particular item?”
Ember moved closer so the conversation wasn’t shouted. “I’m actually here for two reasons,” she admitted, wanting to be upfront. “I was hoping you might have a bench that would work on my front porch, and I wanted to ask you some questions about Kurt Donaldson.”
Ernie raised his bushy eyebrows at the man’s name. “I can help ya with the bench, but I don’t see where I have anything of use to say about Mr. Donaldson.” His boots landed on the wooden floor with a thud, and he stood in one fluid motion. He was taller than Ember expected.
“You know who she’s talking about?” Nathan asked, following the older man as he led them to a far corner where the larger furniture was stored.
“I imagine it’s the same feller that was hauled down off the mountain in a bag the other day. These two benches are the only ones I have in stock right now, but I can make one custom if you don’t fancy ’em.”
Ember struggled to keep up with the changing topic. “Umm…these are great. Actually, I think I’ll take this one right here.” Ember marveled at the craftsmanship, as well as the reasonable price tag.
“That would be the same Kurt Donaldson,” Nathan confirmed, taking over the questioning. “I believe you were hired as his guide a couple of years back? We were wondering if you might remember anything…unusual during the time you spent with him, or maybe something you might have seen later on, after he was supposed to be gone. It looks like he was spending quite a bit of time up here,” Nathan added, when Ernie started to turn away.
Bending to toss another log into the stove, Ernie spoke with his back to them. “I’d heard it was a suicide. What’s the national parks service interest in the man’s doin’s?”
Ember stepped forward. “Ranger Sparks is only here because I asked him to come along with me. I’m the one wondering, Ernie. You see, I adopted Mr. Donaldson’s dog this past June, and I was there when they found…him. I’ve still got some questions about what happened. Some things don’t make a whole lot of sense to me, and I have a hard time letting go, I guess. I understand if you don’t want to talk about him, but I still want to buy the bench.”
Ernest Tucker studied Ember silently for a moment before slowly sitting back down in his chair. First one foot and then the other plopped back up on the table. He scratched at his beard and then cleared his throat. “I don’t mind talkin’ with ya. I just don’t like to speak of the dead without right cause. Not a whole lot to say. He hired me to guide him through the upper creek territory. Can’t say I’d been there much myself up until then, but we managed well enough. First day in on a three-day trek, Kurt thanked me and asked me to come back for him in two days to lead ’im back out. It was a bit peculiar, but I don’t question a man without cause. Later that summer, I was back in the same general area and picked up some tracks. I followed ’em out of boredom, and I assure you I was more surprised than Kurt when I caught up to him. He wasn’t happy about it.”
“How so?” Nathan was leaning against a center post, attempting to look non-threatening.
“After recovering from the shock of being found, he said he’d liked the area so much that he decided to come back for a vacation to camp a few days. You can tell when a man is lyin’, and he was lyin’. Plus, he had some unusual equipment with him.”
“Like what?” Ember sat in the only other chair in the same space, although the heat from the stove was almost unbearable.
“A collapsible pick and shovel. Some cut two-by-fours. Not the sort of thing you carry around to go campin’. I had no real interest in learning his business, so I wished him a good day and we parted ways.
“Several times that summer, I saw smoke rising in a place it shouldn’t, but I never had an urge to find out what was happening around it. Didn’t see it as often this summer.”
“Do you think he might have been trying to pan for gold?” Ember dug into her jacket pocket while asking the question.
Ernie let out a loud chortle and actually slapped at his thigh. “Heck no! Not in these mountains. Plenty a fool has tried and failed, but I imagine a geologist would know better. Only thing of value to come out of this ground is silver or garnets.”
“Have any idea what this might be?” Holding the small silver object out in her hand, Ember held her breath.
Leaning over, the older man squinted at the rock before taking it from Ember. Grunting in surprise at its weight, he held it up to the light. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen something like this before,” he finally proclaimed before handing it back. “I have no idea what it is. But I can tell you that if it has something to do with that man and why he was so interested in those mountains, you’d best keep it to yerself.”
SIXTEEN
Ernest Tucker’s warning was still echoing in Ember’s head the next morning as she approached her neighbor’s house. Ernie had a valid point.
Nathan agreed. Enough to compel him to call the agent in charge of Kurt Donaldson’s death investigation in Seattle. But he was promptly shut down. The text she’d received from him last night was short but to the point. Not enough to re-open the case. I’ve been advised to step back and not take any further action unless directed. The fact that Nathan sent the message instead of calling said more than the text. He wasn’t happy about it. She didn’t know him that well yet, but she understood him enough to realize how frustrated he must be.
Ember hesitated briefly in the quaint stone walkway. Should she even bother talking to Henry? Henry and Bertie Collins had been like surrogate grandparents while she was growing up. They’d bought their modest log cabin several years before her parents had moved in next door, so they’d been there all her life.
First generation Irish-Americans, they both had heavy accents and believed in working hard and living simply. Henry brought them to the states as a young couple, after which he entered the military to get his citizenship. After his retirement in the eighties, they settled in Sanctuary.
Although they were in their seventies now, the couple still lived mostly off their own land. Their property was a twenty-acre tract like Ember’s, but they had it neatly arranged into gardens, orchards, and paddocks for angora goats. Bertie harvested the angora hair and spun it into yarn. She made a nice income off selling the yarn, as well as knitted items she made.
Ember adored them and felt guilty she hadn’t spent more time visiting since her return four months earlier. A sharper pang of guilt gave her additional pause when she acknowledged that the only reason she was there now was to try and glean some information from Henry. He’d worked in the only local silver mine for nearly ten years, until it’d been shut down. The man was a deep well of information on many topics, but mining and local geology was a specialty, and he loved to talk about it.
Daenerys whimpered, and Ember looked down to where she was sitting at her feet. Bertie insisted she bring her along for a visit. They’d met once before, and the older woman adored the friendly dog.
“I know, I know. Give me a minute.” Looking back up at the log house, Ember decided not to mention the rock or Kurt Donaldson. She had half an hour before she had to leave for work, and she’d use it to catch up on what was happening in their lives. H
er need to push further into the details of Kurt’s death wasn’t worth Nathan jeopardizing his job or her alienating more people. Besides, she had her own mystery with the sick animals, and her clients deserved her full attention.
Twenty minutes and two cups of tea later, Ember was happy with her decision. They had hardly changed in the ten years Ember had been gone, and the conversation was light and enjoyable.
Daenerys was happily situated on the couch next to Bertie, who was scratching at the labradoodle’s long ears. A lover of all animals, Bertie’s interest in the dog was genuine and welcomed the occasional lick on her cheek.
Setting her empty teacup down on the rough-hewn cedar plank table, Ember leaned back into the suede couch and watched as Henry told an engaging story about one of the goats, his hands flailing around animatedly. His clipped Irish dialogue made the tale even more entertaining, and she casually began toying with the rock in her pocket while listening in rapt attention.
“You should ’av heard that little bugger, Ember! Wailin’ loud enough to wake the dead, she was. Why, I was about—” Cutting off mid-sentence, Henry stared intently at Ember, his eyes widening and head tilting to the side in a questioning manner.
Concerned, Ember sat up straight. “What’s wrong, Henry?”
Her head flicking up at the tone of Ember’s voice, Bertie scowled at her husband. “What in the devil’s gotten into you?”
Splaying his hands on the coffee table opposite Ember, Henry leaned forward eagerly. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand there?”
Looking down, Ember saw she’d removed the rock without realizing it and had been rolling it in between her fingers. Startled and a little wary of the older man’s reaction to it, she slowly held it out. “It’s, umm…something I found. I don’t know what it is.”
Plucking it from Ember’s hand, Henry nodded his head in understanding at its unusual weight. He sniffed it, scratched it, and finally held it up to the early morning light flooding in through the large front window. “Yup. Has to be,” he muttered.
Henry jostled it again to measure its mass before breathing an enormous sigh and slamming it down on the table. “What have you gotten wrapped up in, young lady?”
Jumping at the noise, Ember tried her best to understand Henry’s response. His demeanor was almost accusatory. Daenerys moved from Bertie’s lap and laid her head in Ember’s, sensing her unease.
Bertie reacted swiftly, jumping from her spot and swiping the object from the table. “I don’t care what you think this is,” she lamented. “I won’t have you denting the—oh!” Stopping her lecture, she looked at the rock in surprise. “This isn’t silver. It feels like lead!”
Leaning back, Henry crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Nope. It’s a lot more valuable than lead.”
“Henry,” Ember began, “I honestly have no idea what it is.” It was obvious that her plan to keep quiet was no longer an option. “It’s why I asked to come see you in the first place, but then I decided to let it go. It’s already causing problems.”
“Things like this have a way of bringing out the worst in people,” Henry said cryptically. “Where’d it come from? Certainly not around here.”
“I found it hidden in a travel mug in the tent of a dead man.”
There was a long quiet pause as Henry and Bertie looked at each other and then back at Ember. “I assume you’re talking about the man they found out back of your place?” Henry asked.
Nodding, Ember massaged her temples where a slow throbbing sensation was building. “I went back after they closed the investigation to get some of Daenerys’s things. You know she was his dog?” When they both nodded, she continued. “Her collar and dog tag were there, and I’d been disturbed by a few inconsistencies the first time I was at the campsite. So, I went back and found that.” She pointed at the rock still in Bertie’s palm. “Are you going to tell me what it is? Because until a couple of minutes ago, I was planning on turning it into an ornament on my mantle.”
“It’d be a pretty expensive decoration.”
Ember squinted at Henry. “I know it isn’t silver, because it’s too hard and heavy. But I don’t think it’s white gold, either, because I can’t scratch it.”
“Nope. Not gold.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Henry, just tell us!” Bertie sat back down, smoothing down a few gray hairs from her loose bun.
“Platinum.”
“Platinum?” Ember echoed, not sure what that meant in the scope of things.
“Placer platinum, to be more accurate.” Henry took the platinum back from Bertie and held the nickel-sized piece between his fingers. “It’s been cleaned, likely through a process called amalgamation, but it’s in its raw state.”
Ember was still confused. “Is that as valuable as gold?” All she knew of the metal was that it was popular as an alternate to gold.
Raising his eyebrows, Henry gazed at her over the lump of precious metal. “Not too many years ago, I would have said platinum was worth almost twice as much as gold. But just this past year, the rates have leveled out, and now gold is even edging ahead. I’ve invested in both,” he added as an afterthought, apparently feeling a need to justify his knowledge.
Looking at the platinum with newfound interest, Ember fought the rising desire to find out why Kurt had it hidden in his tent. “Which would make it worth?”
Bouncing it in his hand again, Henry pursed his lips while gauging the weight. “My best guess is that it’s close to five ounces. Given that it’s a placer, or a big chunk, makes it a rarer commodity, so I’d say upward of five thousand. Maybe more.”
Whistling, Ember suddenly wanted to get far away from the object and everything it might represent. In addition to being a forest engineer, Kurt Donaldson was also a geologist. He made repeated trips to a secluded campground with what could be considered mining equipment, and a placer nugget worth thousands of dollars was hidden in the tent where his body was found with a bullet in his head.
Obviously, someone else had to be involved in whatever operation he had going. But what about the odd behavior reported by family and friends that seemed to play right into the drug use and suicide scenario? How could that be explained?
Amalgamation!
A suspicion began to form, causing a cold fist of fear to slowly clench in Ember’s chest. She didn’t know a whole lot about mining, except for what she’d seen on television shows, but she remembered the plight of the mine workers in Africa, where the now archaic process of amalgamation was still in widespread use. She remembered that there was a dangerous chemical involved that caused neurological damage.
“Henry,” she said, her voice low. “What do you know about the amalgamation process?”
Launching into a long, detailed speech, Henry was back in his element, hands waving and voice rising. Ember listened patiently, waiting for him to get to the information she wanted, as he described its history and how liquid mercury was used to “wash” the placer deposit.
“The reason it’s rarely used anymore is due to the toxicity of mercury. Even small amounts can have long-term affects, and when heated, it’s easily vaporized and can be inhaled. But it’s tempting to backyard operations because it’s relatively easy to set up with a couple of wooden barrels and some inspiration.”
“Do you know what the symptoms of mercury poisoning are?” Ember asked, chastising herself as soon as she said it. It would have been faster to go out to her car and google it on her phone.
“Well, now, that’s an interesting story,” Henry began but stopped when Bertie glared at him. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you the short version. You’ve undoubtedly heard of the Mad Hatter?”
“You mean, like, from Alice in Wonderland?” Ember asked.
Grinning, Henry snapped his fingers. “Exactly! What most people don’t know is the term and character was based on something quite real. In the 18th century, hat makers used mercury to process felt, a common material used for hats at the time. The
long-term exposure literally made them insane. In addition to the mental issues, which included excessive shyness and bouts of anger, the neurological issues ranged from tremors, weakness, lack of coordination, and even hair loss.”
The fist got tighter, and Ember closed her eyes against the rising panic, trying to level out her breathing. “Where would you find placer deposits?” she asked, already afraid she knew the answer.
“Like I said, they’re extremely rare,” Henry urged. “But it’s formed by gravity during the sedimentary process, which is more likely to occur in creek beds. Therefore, the deposits are typically found in ancient creek beds that become exposed over thousands of years as the water continues to wear away at the bedrock, lowering the water table and leaving the deposits above it.”
“So, if someone were to find this and want to mine it, they would likely use the nearby water source?”
Henry tilted his head at Ember, picking up on her uneasiness. “Well, yes. That would make the most sense.”
An old-fashioned clock chimed on the mantel, alerting Ember to the fact that she was once again running late for work. Standing, she tentatively picked the platinum up and stuffed it into her pocket. “Thank you, Henry and Bertie. I’m sorry to have brought you into…this. Whatever this is. It wasn’t my intention. I promise to let you know if I ever figure out what it all means. I’ve really enjoyed visiting with you, but I have to get to the clinic.”
“Of course, dear,” Bertie soothed. “We’ll have you over for supper soon. It’s so good having you back!”
Hugging the smaller woman as she would her grandmother, Ember fought not to tear up. The simple smell of Bertie’s subtle perfume brought back memories of time spent there with her mom. They were good memories.
“Ember,” Henry called out as she turned to leave.
Turning to look back, Ember expected a parting lecture but instead saw genuine concern.
