Resonable Doubt

by Catherine Anderson

  "I—I just need a couple a more days. Give me some time. I've got a plan I'm working on. Believe me, she'll leave af­ter tonight, I promise."

  Chuck shook his head. "She almost caught us last night. I saw her out behind the shack, spying on us. She's a bright girl, Dane, too bright. At this point she doesn't suspect. And I want to keep it that way. But we can't curtail work for­ever."

  "She won't find out, I swear it. Come on, Chuck, who would ever dream an operation this scale is down here? Ac­cording to records, the place doesn't even exist. Marcy took care of that when she lifted the maps."

  "Cute kid, Marcy." Chuck bundled a stack of twenties, gave them a pat, then turned, lifting an eyebrow. "Too bad her brakes went out and she went over that grade. Damned shame, wasn't it? On the other hand, it does solve one problem. She can't spill her guts. Now, Breanna, she's an­other story. She finds out about this, and she'll squeal like a stuck hog. I can't let that happen. You get rid of her, Dane. Understood? Or I'll do it myself."

  "How? Like you got rid of Marcy?" "You have no proof of that. It was an accident." Dane gripped the edge of the workbench. "Breanna's problem, Chuck. I'll handle her."

  "Then do it!"

  Chapter Five

  That same evening, shortly after Tyler left, Breanna re­folded the maps of The Crescent Moon and stretched out on the bed for another nap, promising herself she would clean up their dinner mess later. A smile settled on her lips as she nuzzled her head into her pillow. Sore and exhausted as she was, she had thoroughly enjoyed Tyler's company as they studied Gramps's drawings of the shafts. Tyler had a rare appreciation for the ridiculous that had kept her enter­tained. Expecting him back in the morning to work on the fence posts gave her something nice to anticipate. Hanging one arm over the side of the bed, she stroked Coaly's silken head as she drifted off to sleep.

  It seemed to Breanna that she had just closed her eyes when someone called her name. She stirred, stared at the ceiling and listened. Had she been dreaming? No, there it was again, a low, keening wail. "Bree-ee-a-a-n-n-a...whoo-oo-00…Bree-ee-anna.."

  The eerie call brought her bolt upright in bed. She glanced at her alarm. Midnight? She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and stood.

  "Coaly?" She tiptoed to the bedroom curtain. "Coaly, where are you?"

  A low growl drifted to her from the living room. She paused, then pushed through the curtain. The interior of the cabin was dark. The fire had burned low. She inched across the floor.

  "Bree-ee-a-a-nna..."

  Freezing, she stared in disbelief. Outside the French door stood the shadowy figure of a man. His arms rose, so slowly that they almost appeared to float. Then his head burst into light, blinding her. She blinked and threw up an arm to shield her eyes. Coaly lunged at the window, snarling, clawing the wood. Breanna squinted into the brightness.

  She couldn't be seeing what she thought she was seeing. John Van Patten, The Crescent Moon ghost. The burst of light on his head was a miner's light. He wore old-fashioned slicker pants, heavy boots, a red flannel shirt. There was no question. It was either John Van Patten or someone who had gone to great lengths to look like him.

  "Get ou-ou-t," he moaned. "Get ou-ou-out. Or die... Get ou-ou-out."

  Fear of the unknown writhed inside her. She didn't be­lieve in ghosts, but it was difficult to remember that when one stood before her. The miner's light suddenly went out. The shadowy shape drifted sideways, beyond view from the window. She saw another burst of brightness shortly after­ward, then heard the ghost calling to her again, first by her bedroom—light flashed by the windows—then near the front door. "Bree-ee-aa-aa-nna."

  A scream clawed at her throat. Her entire body dripped perspiration. She turned, her movements jerky as a pup­pet's, staring at the door, knowing even as she did that a spirit could come right through it, locked or not. Coaly ran down the entry, sniffing, snarling. The fact that he didn't bark alarmed Breanna all the more. Even the dog sensed something abnormal.

  Before she thought it through, Breanna acted, racing for the dead bolt. Since a closed door was useless, the least she could do was get a good look. There was no point in run­ning away or hiding, so she threw the door open, stepped out, pulled it shut, launched herself over the porch and landed, not on the ground, as she'd intended, but on an es­caping Coaly, who seemed as eager to nab the spook as she was. The next few seconds were a riot of confusion. Breanna heard Coaly yelp, felt herself falling, and then hit the side of the fruit cellar. Someone screamed. For a moment, she thought it was herself, but the four-letter words that fol­lowed soon convinced her otherwise.

  Stunned, Breanna sat crumpled on the ground for a mo­ment, fighting to get her breath, which had been very effec­tively knocked out of her in her collision with the cellar. She heard her "ghost" curse again. Then Coaly launched what was, by the sound of it, a vicious attack. Breanna pushed herself up on her knees and staggered to her feet. "John Van Patten" streaked past, literally a flash of light because his headlamp was still on, Coaly snapping at his heels.

  "Coaly!"

  If John Van Patten was man and not ghost, Breanna didn't want her dog hurt. After last night, she knew there could be a group of intruders, and Coaly could find him­self surrounded. She bounded after him. Coaly, because of his color, was hard to see, but "John Van Patten" was an easy spook to follow. He not only glowed like a beacon, but he was yelling, fighting off Coaly. Breanna broke into a run. To her relief, she saw the miner's light zoom up the barn ramp, beam bobbing. Then the "ghost" paused, turning back to emit one last "Whoo-ooo-oo" at her before he dis­appeared into the barn and slammed the door shut. Coaly, unable to pursue, barked and snarled, hurling himself at the offending barrier.

  By the time Breanna arrived at the barn to collect her dog, Coaly was off the ramp and circling the building, piercing the night with a volley of barking. With the "ghost" trapped inside, the thought of pursuit occurred to her. But she wanted no repeat performance of last night. She seized her dog's collar and ran for home, dragging the protesting ca­nine with her.

  Less than a hundred feet away, Tyler Ross and Jack Jones saw everything. Tyler, relaxing now that Breanna was safely back in her house, turned to his superior. "Explain that one. Somebody's trying to get rid of her. Seems a strange thing to do to a co-worker."

  Jack grunted with disgust. "Dammit, Ross, get your head on straight. You see, but you don't see. If they wanted to get rid of her, they'd think of something a little more persua­sive. What is it about this broad that's got you blind to what's happening?"

  Staring toward the cabin, Tyler's reply was to shake his head. He could be wrong. "Explain the twenty, then. She flashed that at me, no qualms whatsoever. She found it in the barn, dammit. You know it's counterfeit."

  "Do I? And on the other side of the coin, what if it's genuine? What if, Ross? That's our job, you know, the what ifs? Say you've made a slip. She's suspicious, thinks you're on to them. She could flash a good bill, knowing you'll pull a switch. You have it gone over, it's clean. End of your sus­picion. I tell you, she's poison. Hell, she even left it in a side pocket of her purse, making it simple for you. Use your head. It's bait."

  Tyler felt sick. He remembered her slipping the twenty into her purse, right in plain sight, then leaving the room. What if? It looked bad. He had to admit it. Until he got hold of the twenty, no one could know for sure. Until then, he had to be careful, very careful. "I'll get it tomorrow. I'm supposed to help her plant fence posts in the morning. I'll pull the switch then."

  "Believe me. She'll probably give you an open invita­tion," Jack replied.

  "What about this ghost business, though? If she's one of them, why would they do this?"

  "I don't have all the answers. Maybe she's horning in on this one fellow's cut, taking over his territory. You take a pack of wolves, give them slim pickings, and one always turns on another. Survival of the fittest. Don't give this group too much credit."

  By nine o'clock the following morni
ng, Breanna had not only convinced Tyler they should postpone fence building in favor of finding the entrance to The Crescent Moon, but had led him over the hill behind the cabin to look for it.

  "The way I see it," she informed him cheerily, "is that my ghost last night has heard the legend. John Van Patten is only supposed to appear when someone gets close to the treasure. So, this guy capitalized on it, trying to scare me away. My guess is he's found the old entrance, and now he's afraid I will. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe there's a treasure. But he believes there is. If I want any peace, I've got to find that shaft and blast it shut."

  "So you don't plan to search the tunnels?"

  Breanna stopped climbing to look back down the trail at him. "Well, we might walk through."

  "Bad idea. It could cave in on us." Tyler looked beyond her to the rock slide. Was the old entrance up there? The closer they came, the more nervous he felt. Was Breanna setting him up. Or was she as innocent as she seemed? "I think caution should be our byword, don't you?"

  She shrugged. "It hasn't caved in on the ghost. Why would it give way on us?"

  As they approached the rock-strewn hillside, Tyler pre­pared himself for the worst. He kept close to Breanna. If counterfeiters leaped out from the brush, a certain lady Ty­ler knew would be between him and their guns. His stom­ach wrenched at the thought. How could he have been so wrong about her, so completely taken in?

  Smoothing the map, Breanna studied it with a frown. "What do you think? Could this be it?" Expecting Tyler to check the map with her, she glanced up in puzzlement to find him scanning the woods around them instead. "Ty­ler?"

  He leveled steely eyes on hers. "What?"

  "Do you think this slide could be near the entrance?"

  "It looks likely to me."

  Perplexed by the strange expression on his face, Breanna carefully stowed the map in her hip pocket. Yesterday he had seemed so anxious to explore, now he was dragging his heels. "Well, unless you want to forget it, let's get cracking and search it out."

  Tyler stood back, watching her weave her way in and over the rocks. "If it's a caved-in entrance, your ghost can't be using it."

  "Unless there's a narrow opening." She rounded on him, propping her hands on her hips. "He could use a narrow opening, then conceal it with rock. Are you going to help?"

  Reluctant and unable to hide it, Tyler advanced on the slide, rolling up his sleeves. He'd have to work with one eye on her, one eye on the brush, and both ears strained for noise, which wouldn't be easy with boulders clunking. He studied her in amazement. She was a sturdy girl with a well- rounded figure that was amazingly toned for a writer. She threw rocks even he might think twice about. "Do you take extra iron or what?"

  She glanced up, perspiration filming her forehead and dampening her hair where it formed a widow's peak. "I told you, I'm not afraid of work."

  Her tone implied he was. An unbidden smile twisted his mouth. "I know, you come from a long line of miners."

  "Hey, don't laugh. There's no harder work. Gramps was one tough fellow. At eighty he could outdo men half his age. A very smart man, too, for one with no education."

  "Well, until this moment I would have said you had in­herited his brains. Now I'm not so sure." Tyler heaved a rock. "This is a lot of trouble to go to on a maybe."

  "Yeah? And if you don't act on maybes, what do you go on? Sitting and contemplating never got anything done."

  Tyler straightened. Every couple of seconds, a medium- size boulder flew past him. He saw a small bulge of mus­cle pop up on her arm as she strained, and he raised an eye­brow. Most women would be babying those scratched arms and that lacerated back. Criminal or not, she was quite some lady.

  Two hours later, Tyler led the way down the mountain, unafraid to turn his back on the woman behind him. They had found nothing yet, no trace of an entrance, and, more importantly, no counterfeiters waiting to ambush them. If Breanna was acting, she had moved one hell of a lot of rock to make it convincing. As the trail widened, he slowed so that they could walk abreast. "We'll take a break, then come back," he assured her. "Some of your lemonade will hit the spot." She didn't return his smile. "Disappointed?"

  "Yeah, I am."

  "Hey, it's not that important." Before he thought, Tyler draped an arm around her shoulders. Once it was there, he didn't want to move it. "It's just a pipe dream, something to chase away boredom."

  "To you, maybe. I have to find it, Tyler. My gran made me promise I'd keep the claim. I can't break my word. And if I want to stay, I've got to get rid of whoever's bugging me. The mine theory seemed the most likely place to start." A shadow crossed her face. "I have another reason, too. One that's not quite so clear-cut, more a crazy hunch."

  "That sounds serious."

  "It is." Her eyes rose to his, wavered with uncertainty. "Probably silly, but— it’s about my cousin, something that I've been wondering about."

  "Tell me about it."

  Her lips parted. He held his breath, waiting, hoping.

  "I—can't," she whispered. "I wish I could, but I just can't."

  When they reached the cabin, Dane's Corvette was parked in the driveway behind Breanna's Honda. Breanna dived for Coaly and nabbed him by the collar. She saw that the cabin door stood ajar.

  "Well, it looks like my company invited himself in," she remarked to Tyler. Stepping to the fruit cellar, she opened the door and pushed an unwilling Coaly inside, dropping the lock bar with a click. "It's my cousin, Dane. And Coaly doesn't get along with him."

  "Maybe I should leave," Tyler suggested, hoping she'd veto the idea.

  "Nonsense. You're my guest. There's no reason you shouldn't be here."

  Breanna's irritation mushroomed into full-blown anger when she found Dane in her bedroom, busily looking through the collection of papers on her closet shelf. He didn't even bother to look guilty when he saw her. "Dane, what do you think you're doing?"

  Dane, unaware that Tyler was in the other room, threw the maps and photocopies in Breanna's face. She stepped back in surprise, and her cousin advanced on her, "The question isn't what I'm doing, lady, it's what you're doing. First I see you up the hill, looking for the old mine en­trance. Then I come in here and find all this. Why are you collecting all these news stories?"

  Breanna's retreat ended when she backed into the wall. Fury twisted Dane's face. His eyes were wild, crazy. "Dane, stop it."

  "Answer me!" He shot out a hand and grabbed her hair, making a fist in it. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Answer me, damn you! Why are you doing this? Back off, Breanna, I'm warning you. Back off."

  Then Tyler came through the curtain. With a low snarl, he pushed Dane away from Breanna, then squared off, fists clenched at his sides. Dane staggered backward, catching his balance by grabbing the bedstead. "You're the one who'd better back off, buster," Tyler warned. "You got some­thing to say to the lady, say it, but keep your hands off her."

  Dane straightened, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. "And who, might I ask, do you think you are, Ross? This is family business. Butt out."

  Breanna stepped between the two men. "Wait a minute, fellas. Let's not turn a disagreement into a brawl." Turning to Tyler, she managed a smile. "I appreciate you're con­cern, Tyler, but Dane just lost his temper there for a mo­ment. Right, Dane?"

  "No, that's not right," Dane hissed. Glancing down, he ground one of her photocopies beneath his heel. "You see that? Keep poking your nose where it doesn't belong, and next, it'll be you. Do you understand what I'm saying? Quit snooping. Back off. Forget the fire. Stay away from the mine. You're in way over your head. Pack up your stuff and get out of here while you still can."

  Leaving that threat to cloud the air, Dane shoved his way past Tyler and left the bedroom. The entire cabin shook as he slammed the front door behind him. Breanna tensed and squeezed her eyes closed.

  "What was that all about?"

  Ignoring Tyler's question, she knelt to gather up the pa­pers, infuriated all the more when she saw Gra
n's old news­papers lying in one corner of the closet, crumpled and torn. If ever she had doubted Dane's involvement in the arson, she didn't now. His reaction to those papers was testimony against him. She rose to her feet, clutching the photocopies to her chest.

  "I think Dane may have set the Reuben Creek fire," she blurted, "because someone had found The Crescent Moon."

  Tyler stooped to pick up Gran's old papers. Breanna saw him note their age. He read for a moment, then tossed them onto her bed, turning back to raise an eyebrow at her. "That's a pretty serious accusation."

  "And ten years too long in coming." Setting the photo­copies back in their place, Breanna clutched the edge of the shelf, fighting back tears. "You don't have to get involved in this. It's not your problem. It's mine. I don't know if you're familiar with that fire. A man was killed." She looked over her shoulder at him. "If Dane was the arson­ist, he murdered him."

  The bedroom went dead quiet. After a long moment, Tyler reached for the photocopies. "May I?"

  Sighing, Breanna nodded her permission. "There's nothing, no clue. I've already read them."

  "Who knows? Maybe someone uninvolved will see something that's been missed."

  Following him to the kitchen, Breanna said, "Don't use that word. I wasn't involved, period. Not in any way."

  Tyler pulled back a chair. "I didn't think you were."

  Dragging her hair back from her eyes, she heaved a tired sigh. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm too sensitive. We were ac­cused of setting it, you know, Dane and I."

  "No, I didn't know."

  "You will once you've read those papers. I'm going to go get Coaly. I'll be right back."

  Tyler waited until she went out, then bounded to his feet. The purse, where was it? Not on the counter. Damn it all. He ran for the bedroom. There it was, on the closet shelf. He grabbed it, stuffed his fingers into the pocket and pulled out a—grocery list? He pushed it back. A bank deposit stub? Where was the money?

  He heard Breanna talking to the dog, drawing near to the porch. Tossing the purse back on the shelf, he dived through the curtain, raced across the living room and landed in the chair. When she walked into the room, he stretched and yawned, smiling up at her.