“Melinda was crying in her car?” Tori asked.
Chief Cunningham nodded. “When I arrived back at the station I found her sitting in her car crying. We had a talk.”
“Oh man,” Flint moaned miserably. Shaking his head, he got up from his desk. “Okay, Chief, I'll go talk with her.”
“Don't,” Chief Cunningham warned. “That woman is ready to bite you neck off with her bare teeth. It would be very wise, extremely wise, to leave town for a few days, as Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, of course.”
“Why leave as a married couple?” Flint complained. “The killer has seen me and Arnold. We're not going to pull any pranks on this guy, Chief. We're going to a deserted town, for crying out loud.”
Chief Cunningham shook his head. “Gold Pot, Nevada, is a very active tourist town. A company named Strike It West conducts tours. Didn't Melinda tell you that?”
Flint shook his head. “That bit of information must have slipped her mind.”
Tori picked up the brown file, flipped through it, and pulled out a piece of paper stuck between a photo of an old man and an old woman. “Here's the information, Flint. You overlooked it.”
“Good grief,” Flint fussed, and snatched the piece of paper from Tori's fingers. “Okay, so the place takes in tourists, but that still doesn’t mean Tori and I are going to fool the killer by pretending to be married. This is all just one big joke to Melinda.”
“No it's not,” Chief Cunningham said. “Listen to me, and listen very carefully, you two. Melinda made the suggestion without any humor tagging along. The company conducting tours is already under investigation for running guns. If you go in with your shields shining in the sun, you may not come out alive. It's your job to change your appearance, alter your voices, and get the job done.” He looked at them with a firm gaze. “Got it?”
“Sure thing, Chief,” Tori said, speaking in a thick British accent.
Flint sighed again. “Sure thing,” he said, in an Irish accent that shocked both Tori and Chief Cunningham.
“Wow,” Tori said, impressed. “For a second there I forgot you were Flint.”
“Not bad.” Chief Cunningham made a tight smile, then tossed the travel vouchers back down onto Flint's desk. “Brad was a fan of Henry Parsons. His grandfather worked the studios back in the old days and Henry Parsons helped the man get a few parts in some run down Westerns and—”
“What did you say?” Flint asked.
Chief Cunningham breathed out, annoyed. “Listening this time? Henry Parsons helped Brad's grandfather get a few parts in some run down western movies and—”
“Westerns… Henry Parsons did make a few western films, didn't he? Why didn't I see this before?”
“You were tired,” Tori reminded him.
“Chief, can you have Melinda find out every western film Parsons made and cross reference the filming locations and see if any of them were shot in or around Gold Pot, Nevada?”
“First thing tomorrow,” Chief Cunningham assured him. “Nice catch.”
Flint opened the brown file again. “Let's see here… Parsons does have a few living relatives left: a nephew who lives in Boston, a second nephew who lives in New York, a niece who lives in Milwaukee, and a third nephew who lives in Atlanta. Parsons’ three brothers are dead. His wife is dead. They had no children...”
“What about Mr. Parsons’ wife?” Tori asked. “Does she still have any living relatives?”
“Let's see,” Flint said, studying the file. “Nope. Parsons’ wife was an only child. Seems Melinda couldn't find any living relatives. Chief, did Melinda get a fix on Parsons’ nephews and niece?”
Chief Cunningham nodded. “She verified the locations by contacting their recent employers. All four were at work today.”
Flint closed the file. “Arnold and I will go over the file later,” he said. “Right now my eyes are too heavy and my brain is too sleepy. Four hours might have cut it when I was younger, but I'm not a puppy anymore. Arnold, meet me at my apartment at seven sharp, and bring the coffee.”
Tori watched Flint leave the squad room with the file. “He’s a hard worker, I’ll give him that.”
“I've worked with some fine cops in my day, but Flint ranks way up on the list,” Chief Cunningham said. “I'm grateful to have the guy on my team. But I also gave to watch out for Melinda. That woman is the brains around this place. I don't know how she does it, but she can track down information faster than I can ask for it.”
Tori nodded. “Speaking of information, did the coroner change the official cause of death on Mr. Parsons yet?”
“Not yet. It’s still being ruled as a suicide by an outside coroner. Our local coroner is refusing to mark his name down on the report. I've asked for a third coroner to come up from San Diego to conduct a third autopsy. Mr. Philips will be arriving tomorrow. If he agrees that the cause of death was suicide, then the only chance we have is you and Flint actually catching the killer and getting a confession.”
“Poor man,” Tori said in a sad voice. “To live his life and grow so old... only to be murdered in the end. I'll never make sense of murder, Chief.”
Chief Cunningham folded his arms together. “When I was a rookie back in New York, I thought I was prepared to see the worst humanity had to offer. I was wrong, Tori. I soon learned that one person would end the life of another person over a simple five dollar bill.” Chief Cunningham shook his head. “Some people kill the way a savage dog will kill a weak animal. Other people will plan out the way they kill another person through carefully premeditated means. It's our job to catch the savage dogs and the clever spiders who spin their webs.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Tori said.
“And at the end of the day, we go home to our families knowing that for one night, we made the world a safer place. And when daylight comes, we go back to work to track down the new killers that sprouted up in the place of the old killer we put behind bars.”
Tori felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She saw herself lying dead in an alley somewhere with rain falling down from a gray sky. “And we could die chasing down the killers.”
Chief Cunningham studied Tori's eyes. “You wear your vest, do you understand me, detective? If I ever catch you not wearing your vest, I'll kick you off the force faster than you can blink an eye.” Chief Cunningham spoke in a caring, fatherly tone instead of the stern tone he aimed at most of his cops.
“Flint told you I got shot?” Tori asked Chief Cunningham.
Chief Cunningham nodded his head. “He had, to, Tori.”
“I must be stupid because I'm still sitting here.”
“Not stupid,” Chief Cunningham said.
“Then what am I?”
“A good cop,” Chief Cunningham said, then walked out of the squad room.
“I hope so,” Tori whispered. She stood up and left the squad room, walked to her car, and drove to an all night movie rental store. Every western movie that she could find pertaining to Henry Parsons got checked out that night. She fell asleep in front of the TV with a half empty bowl of chips, while the cowboys shot and cursed and kicked up dust galloping across the plains.
When daybreak broke, Tori drove to a fancy boutique and bought some English style dresses, a blond wig, and a pair of fake reading glasses. She strode out the boutique a newly blonde, bespectacled woman in a white and green dress, then drove to Flint's apartment, taking glances at herself in the rearview mirror and giggling to herself. Knocking on the apartment door, Tori stood very silent.
“Yeah?” Flint asked a couple minutes later as he opened the door. When he spotted the blonde headed woman standing out on the walkway, he figured she was a sales woman. “I ain't interested in buying nothing, sister.”
“A spot of tea and a muffin, then, love,” Tori spoke in her British accent.
Flint's mouth dropped open. “Arnold?”
“If you didn't notice me, the killer won't either.”
“Well I'll be,” Flint said, shaking
his head.
“You look a mess, love,” Tori said, returning back to her British accent.
Flint glanced down at the white and gray striped robe he was wearing. His hair was messy and his eyes still heavy from sleep. “I came in and crashed I was just about to take a shower. Come on in.”
“Nope.” Tori smiled. “I just came by to get your clothing size. I'm going to do a little shopping for you, Flint.”
“No way. This is where I put my foot down, sister. Nope, absolutely not... never in a million years. I refuse. I'd rather be shot.”
Two hours later Flint was dressed in a baggy gray button-up shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans. A man's red haired wig sat on his head in a hippy design. A simple but neatly designed thin mustache hung over Flint's upper lip. “Chip, chip,” Tori clapped at Flint, “we're already running behind schedule, love.”
Flint gave Tori a You'll-Pay-For-This eye, threw a brown suitcase into the backseat of his car, and slammed the door shut. “Where's your luggage, Arnold?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“In your trunk. I borrowed your keys when you went out for the paper.” Tori smiled. Looking up into a bright morning sky, she drew in a breath of fresh air. “Lovely morning.”
Flint examined the vehicles parked in the parking lot in front of his brown apartment complex. “Too many people for my taste. Let's go.”
After fighting his way out of Los Angeles, Flint finally managed to aim his car toward Nevada. Looking over at Tori, he saw her open a bag of donuts. “Got a chocolate one?” he asked.
“Last one,” Tori said taking out a chocolate donut. Smiling at Flint, she bit into it.
Flint gritted his teeth. Focusing back on the road, he took comfort in the beauty of the trees lining the road. He had enjoyed taking camping trips as a young man. There was something compelling about a man using his wits to survive against nature. “We'll drive northeast for a while and then cut over into Nevada.”
Tori smiled again. Reaching into the donut bag, she pulled out a second chocolate donut and handed it to Flint. “Here you go, love,” she said using her accent.
Flint took the chocolate donut. “Remind me to make you walk home,” he said.
“Well, before you do, let me tell you what I've been doing all night.”
“I'm afraid to know,” Flint said, taking a bite of his donut.
“Knock it off, Flint. I'm being serious. I rented some western movies... western movies Henry Parsons acted in.” Tori reached down into her green purse and pulled out an old VHS movie. “Yep, these babies are still around. A lot of people in Los Angeles still prefer the good old days. Anyway, this movie is called Gold Pot Bluff.”
Flint glanced at her. “I'm all ears.”
“Good,” Tori said. Leaning back in her seat, she put the VHS down in her lap, nibbled on her donut and gathered her thoughts. “The plot line of this movie is pretty basic. Man strikes gold, a few villains find out, man has to defend his claim. You know the routine.”
“But?” Flint asked, slowing down behind a gray SUV crammed full of kids.
“Henry Parsons played the main villain. I guess that's okay, no law against a man playing a villain, I guess. But what caught my attention about this movie was the fact that it was based off a true story. I called Melinda before we left and she's checking the story out for me.”
“Tell me the story.”
“All the movie said in the opening credits was that the names of the characters were changed to protect the actual names of the people who were involved. Melinda will be able to tell us more.”
“Okay, then, how did the storyline go in the movie?” Flint asked, hungering to pass the gray SUV.
“In the movie, a man named Gary Smith, a fake character name, of course, struck gold at an old abandoned mine he had won in a poker game. The man, in order to protect his gold, hid it away. But Flint, in the movie, the amount of gold this man hid seemed to be more gold than anyone could handle. Now, before you say anything, I know movies manipulate the facts. But when you put two and two together... Parsons’ opening a sightseeing business out in Nevada, near the same locations he made most of the westerns he acted in... Well, I thought you those two facts alone seemed very strong.”
“Well, there is a connection,” Flint agreed. Before he could say another word, Tori's cell phone rang. Reaching into her purse, Tori pulled it out. “It's Melinda.”
“Answer the call.”
“Hey, Melinda... yeah...” Tori listened to Melinda speak. A few minutes later she thanked Melinda and hung up.
“What's the word?” Flint asked, impatient to know.
“All right, get this. In 1855 a man named Patrick Parsons was found murdered in an old mine he owned, in guess where, Gold Pot, Nevada. This same man was reported to have buried a vast fortune in gold before he was murdered.”
Flint glanced at her, nodded, then sped around the gray SUV. A woman in her early forties shot Flint an angry eye and honked her horn at him.
“Yeah, stick it in your ear, sister,” Flint yelled.
Tori shook her head. “Ugh, you’re so rude, Flint.”
“Henry Parsons must know where that gold is buried,” Flint continued. “Call Melinda back and see who the claim went to after this Parsons was murdered.”
“Fiona Parsons, his wife,” Tori said. “Melinda is really the best in the game, isn't she? You might want to treat a woman like her with a bit more gratitude.”
“Don't start,” Flint snapped. Stuffing the donut in his mouth, Flint checked the speedometer. “How are we arranged, Arnold?”
“A tour into Gold Pot will start tomorrow morning at nine. I made reservations in Virginia City at a local hotel and then called the Strike It West company and used my credit card to get us a place on the tour.”
“Good.”
Tori nearly punched Flint. “How about a thank you, huh?”
“For what, doing your job?”
“Why didn't you call and do the work?” Tori snapped. “Now I know how Melinda feels. No matter, I'm used to you by now.”
“I'll pay for dinner, okay. Does that make you feel any better?”
“We have travel vouchers,” Tori said. “All of our expense will be reimbursed.”
Flint grinned. “You caught me.” Reaching into the donut bag, he pulled out a white donut. “Okay, so what's the story on Fiona Parsons?”
“Woman never remarried. She was pregnant at the time of her husband's murder. Melinda said she relocated to Sacramento.”
“Without the gold?”
Tori shrugged. “It seems to be that way. Melinda said she'll do some more digging.”
Flint bit down on his lower lip. “We have a dead man, a ticket dated from 1988, an unknown woman, a killer, a few leads, and a company that is under investigation for running guns.”
“I call that progress,” Tori said, finishing off her donut. “Hey, when you can, pull over. I want a diet soda.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Flint said. Growing silent, he wondered around his thoughts. “I wonder if Parsons was killed by the people who own the Strike It West company. All of the man's living relatives were in the places they belong. The killer could very well be an outsider.”
“It's possible,” Tori agreed. Looking in the rear view mirror she saw the soccer mom driving the gray SUV suddenly speed up behind Flint and begin riding his bumper.
“Back off,” Flint yelled at the gray SUV. “Crazy woman!”
“Slow down and let her pass,” Tori urged Flint.
“No way,” Flint said, speeding up. Soccer mom sped up, too. “Okay, lady, you want to play games, let's play.” Flint gripped the steering wheel and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
“Hey... slow down!” Tori screamed.
Soccer mom sped up and kept pace with Flint. Spotting a gas station up ahead on his left, Flint grinned. “Eat my dust lady!” he hollered and sped into the gas station at the very last second. Sliding to a stop, he watched the gray SUV speed by. Soccer mo
m rolled down her window and shook her fist at Flint.
“Whatever, lady!” Flint yelled back.
Breathing hard, Tori climbed out of the passenger's seat and slammed her hands down onto the hood of the car. “I'm going to kill you, Flint!” she hollered. “I swear!”
Flint got out of the car. “Go get your diet soda, Arnold. I'll gas up.”
“You!” Tori said as she walked into the gas station.
Flint pulled his car up to a single island gas pump. After pumping the gas, he walked into the store. He found Tori talking with an old man with a long white beard.
“Hey, Flint,” Tori said, still with an edge to her voice. “This is Mr. Meers. He owns this place. But you'll never guess what, he's from Nevada.”
“Lady told me you two are going to see Gold Pot for your honeymoon?” the old man asked.
Flint shot Tori a furious eye. Tori smiled with barely concealed malice, ran to Flint, took his arm, and kissed him on the cheek. “My hubby just loves the old west, don't you, dear?”
“I guess,” Flint mumbled. Focusing on the old man, Flint shook Tori loose. “You've been to Gold Pot?”
“Who hasn't? There isn't a soul alive, I guess, that hasn't traveled to Gold Pot in search for the missing gold.”
Flint feigned ignorance. “What missing gold?”
The old man stared at Flint in amazement. Tugging on his blue coveralls, he prepared to tell a strange, tragic, story. “Mister, legend has it that there is over one hundred millions dollars worth of missing gold buried somewhere around Gold Pot, Nevada. I spent most of life there searching for that gold. No one has ever found the gold, though.”
“One hundred million dollars. Seems kinda fishy to me. Probably just a tourist trap to get business,” Flint said.
Tori walked to the counter and picked up a white Styrofoam cup full of diet soda. “I agree with my hubby.”
The old man vigorously shook his head. “I wish the missing gold was some fools tale, but I assure you, there is missing gold buried somewhere near Gold Pot, Nevada. Had some kinfolk who lived in that area during the time the story began to circulate. He knew the man who found the gold... a fella by the name of Parsons.”
Detective Flint Box Set: A Detective Story Box Set Books 1-3 Page 28
