* * *
When morning came, it was very dark with clouds hanging near the ground, which seemed strange to me. I took a quick bath since there was only one bathroom and everyone else would want to ready themselves for the day.
Once we finally made it downstairs, our server told us there was a dust storm brewing and to keep indoors as much as possible. Redd had met us and given Andrew back the key fob for the Jeep, apologizing for misplacing it, but since Andrew was the man he was, he told Redd it was fine.
Lois was absent, but that didn’t bother me a bit since that woman rattled my cage. I just couldn’t believe that Room 109 really hadn’t been entered since who knows when. What I really wanted to do was pay the owner, Francine, a visit, if only to see if she was the one in my dream if for no other reason, but with a dust storm imminent, it might just not happen today.
Andrew waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Agnes Barton.”
I then stared at him. “Would you mind horribly if I asked you to not do that?”
“Fine, but I’ve been trying to get your attention for ten minutes now. What’s going on inside that beautiful head of yours?”
“Just trying to sort out a few things.”
“I hope it’s not related to the remains you found. This isn’t East Tawas, with a tolerant sheriff.”
“I hardly think Sheriff Peterson is tolerant.”
“He’s way tolerant. Otherwise you’d have been locked in a jail cell long ago for interfering with an investigation.”
“The sheriff can put on airs sometimes, but he’s not that bad,” Eleanor said. “I think he expects our involvement on cases now. Just think how much money he’s saving with the county funds.”
Andrew waved the server over for more coffee. “So what would you suggest we do with a dust storm coming?”
“Stay indoors, is my suggestion. I’d be happy to fetch you a deck of cards.”
“How about the saloon in the hotel? Is it worth checking out?” I asked.
“Oh, you can do that if you want, but there’re some pretty ornery fellas in there. I, for one, stay far away. I’m not into reenactments, if you know what I mean.”
“Reenactments?” I asked.
“Sure, most places in town do them. There’s a few gals that dress up like saloon girls, even.”
“Thanks for the tip, but how safe do you think it would be to head out to the owner, Francine Pullman’s, house?”
“That’s a few miles from town and I’d say that’s not a good idea until after the storm passes. It’s a more lonesome road going that way for someone that doesn’t know the area.” She became deadly serious now. “During a dust storm, your car could clonk out and you’d be stranded for sure. Dust storms have a way of doing that to a car. By the time someone realized you’re even missing, you’d be goners for sure.” She smiled then. “I’m not trying to scare you, just giving it to you straight.”
“Thanks. What did you say your name was, again?”
“Name’s Bonnie. It’s been a real pleasure serving you folks and I’d hate for any of you to turn up missing.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the way she said it or what, but I had to press her. “You’ve said that folks have gone missing around here before? How about recently?”
Bonnie pushed back a few strands of her blonde hair and then looked over her shoulder. “I shouldn’t say. Lois doesn’t like us telling folks about the missing tourists.”
I nodded, taking a sip of my coffee. When I set it back down, I said, “Well, I promise she’ll never hear it from my lips.”
Bonnie waltzed away, completing her rounds of pouring coffee for the other patrons, returning a few minutes later. “Fine, I’ll tell you. A few people have disappeared, one of them a young family.”
“What do you think happened to them?”
“Not sure, but they left all their belongings behind. I heard talk around town that they were looking for gold, which is why some folks come here. Everyone seems to think that they’ll somehow take a tour at the Lemon Pine Mine and find a gold nugget or two, but there are limits to how far tourists are allowed to go. You could get lost pretty easily in the miles and miles of mine tunnels.”
“So you’re not positive where the family might have disappeared?”
“I wish I could be of more help, but sadly, no. I can’t help but worry since they had a child that was only about five years old.”
That rang a bell. “Was she a blonde with blue eyes?”
“Sure was. A lovely girl, at that.”
This might be a coincidence, but I couldn’t image that it was. I was convinced that Rebecca and her family were lost somewhere and it was my responsibility to find them before they were corpses—or I hoped, anyway.
Caroline appeared, sitting on chair near our table, observing for the moment.
“Thanks again for all your help, Bonnie. I think we’ll check out the saloon,” I said, loud enough for Lois to hear as she happened past the table.
After we were all stuffed, we made our way into the saloon. Several Old West men dressed in the garb of the 1800s era, complete with gun belts and revolvers, leaned against the bar, all but ignoring us.
We stood at the bar and ordered a sarsaparilla, waiting until they were handed to us before we sat down at a table. Once we were seated, I stared down a man who wore chaps, a strand of wheat clenched between his teeth. He stared right back, trying to look quite like a desperado, until he winked.
Another man shot off the barstool and made way for our table. “Howdy, strangers. What brings you to town?”
“The gold,” I said.
He cocked a brow. “Well, you came to the wrong place. This town hasn’t seen gold in a hundred years. Unless you’re looking for fool’s gold.”
“Not hardly, but what about gold bars? I’ve heard there’s a treasure lurking hereabouts. Is there any truth to that?”
The man shuffled. “I need a whiskey for sure now.” He walked away and I had hope that there might indeed be treasure.
“What’s up with you, Agnes? What is this about gold bars?” Andrew asked.
“I heard about it, is all. If I find that treasure, it might offer answers to what really happened to the child from my dream yesterday.”
Andrew stood and said, “I think I’m ready for a stiff drink, too.”
I watched as Andrew went to the bar.
“Missing gold bars?” Mr. Wilson said. “If it’s real, someone might have found it already.”
“Or it’s lost somewhere out there.”
The man returned and said, “Not really sure how you heard about Leister’s gold, but this much I know: whoever goes looking for that gold never finds their way home again.” He walked away now, and I still had more questions, like where the gold bars were and how we’d find it.
“Stop it, Agnes,” Andrew began when he returned. “This is not part of our schedule.”
“I didn’t know we were on a schedule. Since we’re not, I recommend getting off the beaten path and really discover what makes this great state of Nevada so great.”
Andrew massaged his brow now and I just knew that I’d caused him to have a headache, but I just wasn’t ready to remain silent any longer. I’d just try to not mention the seeing ghost’s part.
A flamboyant woman with vibrant red hair, wearing a green, saloon-style dress with a low neckline, which created an authentic Old West look, sauntered over to our table. “Hello, there handsome,” she said to Andrew, who tried to not to laugh.
“Hello.”
She pulled a deck of cards out of her cleavage. “How about a game of poker, fellas?”
Mr. Wilson’s eyes were glued to the woman’s assets. “Sounds great, sweetie.”
She waved her arm toward a table in the far corner. “Well, come on over, then.”
Eleanor’s eyes were slits now. “Mr. Wilson, I won’t have you cavorting with floozies.”
It was too late. Mr. Wilson stood up and, using his walke
r, he rolled his way over there with a huge smile on his face. “I’d better go over there and help out the old fella. For some reason, I think that gal might just take all of his money,” Andrew said as he made a hasty retreat, following Wilson.
“Don’t worry, Eleanor,” I said. “He’s just having a little fun.”
“Did you see how he was staring at the woman’s chest?”
“Yes, but men can’t help doing that when it’s out in the open like that.”
A tall man in western gear waltzed his way over to our table, his spurs hitting the wood floor as he moved closer. “Hello, there, ladies. Badass Bart here, at you disposal. I reckon your menfolk ain’t too smart, leaving gorgeous gals like you to your own defenses.”
Eleanor smiled. “Our menfolk don’t need to protect us. We’re quite resourceful, you know.”
“You are? Hope you don’t mind if I cop a squat. It’s been an exhausting journey to Silver,” he said as he plopped down in a chair next to Eleanor. “What’s your name, hon?” Bart asked her.
Eleanor giggled for a full minute before she gushed, “Eleanor, but my friends call me El.”
“That’s good, because I can see our friendship blossoming over the course of the evening.” He winked.
I didn’t mind a little role-playing, but I just hoped it didn’t go too far. Eleanor was the type that loved the attention of men, but since I also noticed that Mr. Wilson had an eye glued over at our table, I wondered if there might be a real showdown before long.
“I think you’d better go find yourself another table to sit at, Mr. Badass. Her man is heading this way.”
Sure enough, Mr. Wilson had a determined look on his face as he strutted back to our table. Up the walker rolled, Mr. Wilson strutted a few feet, and then the walker moved again. It was like watching the tortoise trying to beat the rabbit in a race.
When Mr. Wilson finally made it to our table, he pointed a bony finger at Bart. “Back away from my woman, y-you desperado. She’s with me.” He pointed at his thin chest.
Badass Bart stood and a sinister laugh echoed out. “Those are fighting words. I’ll meet you out front in ten minutes for an old-fashioned gunfight.”
“I’ll be there,” Mr. Wilson said as he shook a bony fist in the air, menacingly.
My mouth hung open now. “Gunfight?” I blurted out. “Mr. Wilson doesn’t even own a gun.”
The redhead appeared, dangling a gun belt from her hand, and Andrew helped Mr. Wilson put it on. Since Mr. Wilson was quite emaciated-looking as it was, a good portion of the belt had to be tucked into the back of his trousers.
“This is not a good idea,” I said as Eleanor wiped at a tear from her eye. “Oh, Mr. Wilson, please don’t go out there. That man looks like a real gunslinger. Whatever would I do if he kills you dead in the street?”
“Not to worry, s-sweetie. I can’t allow that man to put the moves on my girl and get away with it.”
I stared at Andrew, who had a huge smile on his face, and said, “Don’t worry about Mr. Wilson. He’ll put that man in his place right quick.”
We watched the clock as it clicked out the seconds, which turned into minutes. A few minutes before the arranged gunfight time, Mr. Wilson drank a shot of whiskey and made his way for the door of the hotel.
I pleaded with Andrew, “Stop him, Andrew. He’ll be killed.”
“I can’t do that. I tell you, he has the edge.”
This was going downhill by the minute and I felt my stomach drop when Mr. Wilson went through the swinging doors. The wind was blowing and dust now covered the concrete of the street. Badass Bart was waiting for Mr. Wilson and they faced off. “Time to give up or die,” Mr. Wilson said.
Eleanor clung to me, crying. “Oh, no. Please, Mr. Wilson, don’t do this. Don’t lay your life on the line for little ole me.”
A crowd gathered and everyone just stood there. Just stood there and did nothing while Mr. Wilson and Badass Bart were back to back. They each took twenty paces, turned, and were planning to put their guns to good use and commence firing, but of course it took Mr. Wilson some time to turn since he used a walker. They both poised their hands over their guns and Mr. Wilson’s hand shook quite badly. I made a move to stop this madness, but Andrew pulled me back and held me against him.
Both men made a grab for their guns and it took Mr. Wilson a few moments before he was able to pull out his pistol. The guns went off and Mr. Wilson grabbed his chest. “He got me,” he yelled as he went to the ground in slow motion.
Eleanor rushed to Mr. Wilson and cradled his head in her lap. “Oh, why Lord, did you take my man from me?” she cried.
I glared at Badass Bart who was doubled over in laughter. “This was the best one yet.”
“I-Is this a reenactment?” I asked Andrew, punching his arm.
He rubbed his arm and said, “Well, yeah. You didn’t think I’d let Mr. Wilson have a real gunfight with a desperado, did you?”
I was so angry with them all since they all were in on the gag and had left me out of the loop. “You’d better help Wilson off the ground. I don’t think he can get up by himself.”
Andrew helped Mr. Wilson up and we all went back into the saloon for a stiff drink that tasted pretty much like more sarsaparilla. After we all were hunkered down in our chairs, I asked, “When did you set this up?”
“While you were in the bathroom,” Andrew said. “Mr. Wilson wouldn’t let me do it. He insisted he be the one to have an authentic gunfight.”
“We’ll give you the tape at checkout,” Redd said as he joined us. “Silver is pretty well known to have a little fun. And the dust storm came at exactly the right moment, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But I must admit, you all had me going and I almost had a heart attack. Please join us for a drink.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said as he sat. “So I heard you found remains in Room 109.”
“Yes, don’t remind me. Did you have any clue there was an actual dead body in this hotel?”
He gulped down a drink when the saloon girl brought it. “Dead bodies and this hotel kinda go hand in hand. It has quite a history.”
“Which I’d love to hear more about.”
“Well, quite a few people have died on the third floor, and folks have heard strange noises late at night.”
Caroline chose this moment to appear and nodded.
“What about in the attic? I’ve heard tell that some folks have heard footsteps up there.”
“I image they just might have. Might just be Elizabeth. She was a prostitute that Jessup Goldberg had taken up with. He secretly gave her a room, unbeknownst to anyone. Most thought she was his niece. Well, that sure seemed mighty suspect to most folks, but they minded their own business since he was the owner, after all.”
“Let me guess, in Room 109?”
“You guessed right, but after a time, she was no longer seen by anyone. Some believed that she was restrained in that room after she became pregnant. Some say you could hear her pleas.”
“And they did nothing?” I asked, shocked.
“The thing is that this was in 1876, and nobody knows for sure if the stories were true or not, or just stories disgruntled workers spread after they were fired for improprieties, which were commonplace in the gold rush days. It was known that Jessup cracked down on his staff if they cut out of line.”
“What a hypocrite.”
“True, but with money comes privilege.”
“What happened to Elizabeth and her baby?” Eleanor asked.
“That’s up for dispute. Some say that she was killed by Jessup, while others say she died during childbirth.”
“And the baby?” I asked.
Redd drained his glass. “They say he took it and dumped it in a mine shaft right under this hotel. There are plenty of stories from tourists that claim they can hear the sound of a baby crying in the bowels of the hotel.”
I gulped and I couldn’t help it when a tear escaped, trailing its wa
y down my face. “How sad.”
Redd handed me a napkin. “I should have kept that story to myself.”
“No, it’s fine. It just breaks my heart to know a baby would be discarded so callously,” I blubbered.
“What happened to Jessup Goldberg?”
“He died of pneumonia in 1878.”
“Karma,” Eleanor said.
“Might just be, dear lady,” Redd agreed.
“Who had the mines dug under the hotel?”
“Jessup did in hopes of finding gold. With the cost of building the hotel, he fell on hard times and the hotel closed.”
“Oh, really? And during the gold rush years, too?”
“Seems like he wasn’t able to pay off his loans.”
“So what happened after that? Who reopened the hotel?” I asked.
“You might want to ask Francine Pullman. She’s the owner of the hotel now. She knows a whole lot more about the history of this place than I do. She also might be able to tell you if the Elizabeth story is true or not.”
“Seems like you know quite a bit of the history yourself.”
“Folks around here talk, but I’m not originally from Silver.”
“Oh, no? What’s your story?”
“Don’t really have one.”
“Nonsense, everyone has a story,” Eleanor said.
“Expect they might, but my life isn’t all that interesting to be considered a story. I used to live in Phoenix, but I was looking for a change.”
“This sure is a change from a big city,” I agreed. “What business were you in?”
“I’ve been working at hotels as a maintenance man for twelve years. That’s why Francine offered me the job here at the Goldberg, and to be honest, this place was sure in need of repairs. But these days I pitch in wherever I’m needed.”
“So Francine bought the hotel from Jessup?” I asked.
Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 02 - Ghostly Hijinks Page 5
