“Foxfield,” Kate inserted.
Wilde looked surprised. “You’ve been doing your homework, I see.”
Kate smiled. “Only a tiny bit.”
“The Foxfields were already landowners in the area in 1934. They amassed a small fortune by establishing a toll road through the town. In 1928, Foxfield built a carriage house to the north of the home. When he did so, the workers uncovered several more gold nuggets.”
“And those were also in the path of the original streambed?” Kate asked, leaning forward.
“Right,” Wilde said. “As I said, the Foxfields were already wealthy, but they became significantly more so after the find. Once the initial excitement died down, little more was heard about gold in Copper Mill. Every once in a while, an enterprising person finds a flake of gold in the creek.” He paused. “Does that help, or shall I continue?”
Kate glanced at her watch. “I’m finding this quite fascinating, but I’m on a tight schedule.” She rose, extending her hand and shaking Wilde’s. “Thank you so much for your time and the geology lesson.”
Wilde laughed. “Oh, if only my students were half so enthusiastic.”
“One last question,” Kate said. “Do you think there’s still gold to be found?”
Wilde smiled. “It’s almost a certainty that there’s more gold beneath Copper Mill, especially if one were to follow the original mineral formation beneath the library.”
“That,” said Kate, “is exactly what I wanted to know.”
“Good luck prospecting.”
She laughed. “Prospecting is what I’m hoping to prevent.”
LIVVY HAD A SLIP OF PAPER in her hand, which she handed to Kate. “I’m a messenger now. Someone from the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency called. He tried you at home, and Paul gave him this number. I guess you didn’t have your cell phone with you?”
Kate shook her head.
“He wants to talk to you about the squirrels,” Livvy went on. “His home number is on there too, in case you aren’t able to get back to him during the day.”
Kate glanced at the note. His home number? The man must have wanted to talk to her pretty badly.
Livvy cleared her throat. “The demolition team was here today. Some of the volunteers recognized the head of the company and put two and two together, and now there are a lot of upset and anxious people running around here.”
“What did Mr. Crawford say?” Kate asked.
“He was horribly apologetic. I actually felt bad for the man.” Livvy swallowed. “They’re set up for a one o’clock start on Monday.”
“And does everyone know that?”
Livvy nodded. “There was no way to keep it a secret any longer.” Her eyes were dark with worry. “I hope no one thinks it’s my fault the word got out.”
“They couldn’t possibly blame you,” Kate reassured her. “Crawford Demolitions coming in here in broad daylight sort of blows the secrecy wide open.” She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “How are you doing?”
“We’re doing well with the packing. We should be able to have everything out by Sunday evening, and then I’ll do a walk-through on Monday to be sure nothing was missed.” Her voice caught.
Kate said, “Oh, Livvy,” but her friend held up a warning hand.
“Don’t,” she said. “Unless you can tell me you’ve found a way to stop the demolition, don’t offer me sympathy. I’m having enough trouble holding it together.”
What Livvy didn’t say was that there would be plenty of time for sadness and tears the following week when there was only a gaping hole on Main Street between Sweetwater and Smith.
AT HOME, KATE LISTLESSLY put together a turkey sandwich and sliced some peaches into a bowl. There wasn’t much more she could do today, she thought, frustrated. Offices were closed on Saturday and Sunday.
Then she remembered the note with the phone numbers of the wildlife guy on it that Livvy had given her. Going to her handbag, which she had tossed on the coat tree in the entry, she fished out the information. She went into the office and got the cordless phone, then dialed the office number. As she’d expected, she got an answering machine. By now it was Saturday afternoon, and she hadn’t thought the man would still be in his office. She dialed again, trying the home number, and was pleased when a masculine voice answered.
“This is Kate Hanlon,” she said, going on to explain who she was and listen as the wildlife expert introduced himself as well.
“Elspeth Getty forwarded your photographs and descriptive information to me,” he said. “I found them intriguing, so I took the liberty of sending them along to several other squirrel people.”
“Squirrel people.” Maybe it was because she was so tired that she found it so amusing.
The wildlife expert laughed as well. “As opposed to bobcat people or hawk people. I guess we’re a weird bunch. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that the general consensus is that these are a new subspecies that is significantly different from other flying-squirrel populations.”
“The Northern and Southern flying squirrels,” Kate said, recalling her research.
“Exactly. If you looked them up, you’re probably aware that these little guys look different from those.”
“We thought maybe they were babies at first,” Kate told him. “But the more we saw of them, the more we thought they might be something unusual.”
“Very unusual,” he told her. “No one has documented this particular squirrel anywhere else but in that one location. It seems likely that there are additional populations, but finding them may take time. And the chances that there are very, very few of them are high.”
Kate perked up. A small sliver of hope worked its way through her. “You mean they might be endangered?”
“They might be,” he agreed. “I’ll leave that to someone farther up the food chain to decide, although I registered all of your documentation—excellent job, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Kate swallowed. “Are you aware that the building in which they appear to be living is scheduled for demolition on Monday?”
“What? This Monday?” The man sounded shocked. “That’s terrible.”
“I know. For more reasons than one.” She sighed. “Is there any chance of having them designated endangered immediately?”
“Not one,” the fellow said, his tone somber. “The whole process takes a lot of time and money and ultimately has to be decided by the US Fish and Wildlife Service. It may help if I send this information on to the Center for Biological Diversity, but not by Monday. The best we could hope for is a temporary injunction to give researchers time to study them and make a recommendation to the USFW. And I have to warn you that it’s extremely difficult to get a judge to issue an injunction.”
“So whom do I contact at the Center for...what?” Kate felt a surge of renewed energy. Maybe today was Saturday, but that didn’t mean she had to sit back and do nothing all weekend.
“The Center for Biological Diversity. You don’t have to do anything. I already sent this to them as well.” He chuckled. “I guess I got a little excited.” He went on. “The only thing I need to do is confirm your contact information, because they’ll want to talk to you when they see this. I’ll be sure they understand the need for speed.”
Kate gave him her full name, her address, her home and cell numbers, the library’s number, and Paul’s e-mail address as well as hers. Just in case.
She thought again about the next problem looming. Should she ask Louisa about Foxfield? She wanted to, but she was afraid that Louisa would immediately contact Gerald. And she didn’t want him alerted that she planned to look at the deeds for herself. Her suspicions about exactly what those deeds said grew.
Kate marched to the kitchen, where a pad and a pen lay on the counter near the telephone. In great big letters, she wrote COURTHOUSE across a sheet. That had to be her priority Monday morning.
SHE SPENT THE AFTERNOON in her studio working on Jeremy’s sun catch
er. It wouldn’t be done by his birthday, but it wouldn’t be too far past it either, if she worked steadily. The photos she had taken for the wildlife people turned out to be a blessing for her, allowing her to closely copy the little creatures’ appearance. It wasn’t highly complicated. The biggest issue was choosing the right pieces of glass.
Fortunately, she’d recently purchased an assortment of colored glass that had a dark opal gray kokomo in it that would be perfect for the animal’s coat, and once she had the pattern worked out to her satisfaction, she began the process of cutting her glass.
At suppertime, she assembled the fixings for tacos and turned on the oven to bake the shells, which Paul preferred crispy. There was melon left over from the previous night, and she set that out as well.
Checking her watch, she saw that Paul would be home any minute. He’d been working harder on that roofing project than he’d worked on anything in years. The sheer physical strength and endurance required was staggering.
The phone rang. Absently she picked up the one in the kitchen and greeted the caller.
“This is Gerald Foxfield. Lady,” began the rough male voice, “I’m only going to say this one time. You need to stay out of my business.”
“You mean the business of the town of Copper Mill?”
“It’s my property,” he said, “and I can do what I want with it. Stop digging into my property records. I’ve already called my lawyer—”
“Ellis Hayer,” Kate recalled. “A very pleasant young man.”
Her lack of agitation seemed to inflame him more. “My lawyer will be contacting you!” he told her just before he hung up on her.
Kate replaced the receiver. How odd. She had assumed the creepy caller before was Gerald. But if that was Gerald, who had the scary voice been just now? She rubbed her arms, more unnerved than she liked by the unknown voice.
Chapter Twenty-Four
After the pressures of the week, it felt wonderful to have a leisurely breakfast and go to church on Sunday. It was definitely cooler today, and people looked happier and more energetic as they congregated in the sunshine outside the little white church.
When Kate arrived, she went to prepare for the service with the choir. She wasn’t surprised, but she was saddened when Livvy didn’t join her in the alto section. As she looked at the congregation from her vantage point in the choir, she saw that Danny, James, and Justin were in church. But no Livvy. Just like the previous Sunday.
As the service began, she did her best to slide her worries into a drawer, which she closed for the duration of the service. She might have to give it a shove to keep it closed, but she intended to do her best. This was her time to give praise and thanks to God for the many blessings in her life.
The opening hymn was “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Kate loved the song. The familiar melody and lyrics were comforting, taking her back to the church of her childhood. She had sat with her father during services, watching her mother sing in the choir, and she blinked back tears as she realized that she was following in her mother’s footsteps. Did people ever get over missing their mothers? She couldn’t imagine it.
Singing the hymn today, Kate was struck by some of the lyrics, which seemed especially appropriate to the dilemma the library faced:
A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
Our helper He amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing.
God was a bulwark, whom she had failed to lean on during the hectic discoveries of the week. Oh, she had taken time for her daily Bible study, and she’d offered a few fleeting prayers here and there, but she hadn’t done a very good job of living her faith. It was a very human failing to forget to put God before all else, and Kate acknowledged that she had indeed done exactly that.
Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing;
Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He.
Well, she thought, that told it like it was. She had been trying to rely on her own strength, forgetting that right beside her was her Savior, ready to carry her load and walk with her. Ready to carry her if need be.
The choir sang an anthem right before Paul’s sermon, and then her husband took his place at the simple wooden pulpit. In a ringing voice, he declared, “‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.’ Psalm 46:1.”
He let that statement hang in the air for a moment. Then he said, “And you had better believe that when Kate and I were lying in a ditch listening to a tornado roar over our heads last Sunday night, I was awfully glad to know that.” He said it with a self-deprecating humor that lightened the impact of his words and made many in the congregation smile as heads nodded.
As her husband continued to deliver his sermon, Kate felt that he had designed it especially for her, encouraging her not to give up the struggle she’d been in all week, reminding her that the Lord was with her, even when she forgot about him.
It warmed her and gave her the courage and strength she needed to get up the next morning and fight as she never had before to save the Copper Mill Public Library.
AFTER LUNCH, Kate headed for the kitchen. A parishioner had given her a bag of blueberries, and she wanted to use most of them for a contribution to the Faith Freezer Program. She had seen a recipe for blueberry pound cake in the cookbook Ida Mae Beasley had given her. It looked tasty, and she thought it might be a nice change from blueberry pie. But she’d promised the Beasleys a pie, so she whipped that up first, using a familiar recipe she had made for years.
The blueberry pound cake was actually a simple recipe in which blueberries dredged in flour were folded into a butter and sugar pound cake batter and baked in a tube or Bundt pan dusted with confectioner’s sugar. She owned two fluted Bundt pans and a classic straight-sided tube pan that she occasionally used when she made angel food cake. It was a good thing she had all three, because the quart-and-a-half of blueberries she still had left after she made the muffins were exactly equal to the three pints she needed for three cakes.
As she mixed, dredged, and folded, she thought about the library dilemma. In one week, she’d gone from knowing nothing about the proposed library closure to learning that it was going to be demolished, and from there, ultimately to the name of the property owner who intended to demolish it. She also suspected that Louisa Pellman was helping Gerald Foxfield somehow in his bid to demolish the building. And Tosten Glass, although she hadn’t figured out how he fit in yet, unless she could find a connection between the library demolition and the discovery of gold in town.
Oh, it was no use. All she was going to be able to do was obsess about the library. She might as well go down there and help Livvy with the final evacuation of the contents of the building.
After she finished with her baking, she explained to Paul where she would be. It took only moments to reach her destination. As she walked in, she was shocked by how sad and lonely the empty rooms looked. Almost everything had been moved out, and there were large places on the floor where the carpet was darker because it had spent years beneath shelves and furniture. It was like someone had disappeared and left only fingerprints behind.
“Hey.” Livvy appeared in the doorway of her office. It was clear that she had been weeping. “What are you up to?”
Kate gestured to the empty room. “I came to see if you needed any more help, but...”
Livvy shook her head. “Everything is out. Everything.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
A youthful voice calling “Mrs. Hanlon! Mrs. Hanlon!” made Kate turn around again, dragging her arm across her eyes to dash away the tears that had collected.
“Hi, Jeremy.” She looked over the boy’s head. “Is your mother here with you?”
He shook his head. “My grandma dropped me off and said she’d pick me up in a couple of hours. Mrs. Hanlon, what’s going to happen to our squirrels when they tear down the building?” The boy had tears i
n his eyes.
Kate put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know, Jeremy. I’ve talked to some wildlife people about them, but I just don’t know.” Somehow she wasn’t surprised at Louisa’s absence. The woman had to know Kate had some hard questions for her.
“Maybe we could trap them,” he suggested, “and take them somewhere safe.”
“That’s a good idea.” Kate hugged him. She couldn’t imagine much success with that method between now and Monday, not to mention that they had no idea how many squirrels there were to start with. “I can call the wildlife people back and ask them how to do that. Maybe they can get us some traps and tell us the best way to get them out of the walls.”
Jeremy nodded in agreement, pleading in his eyes.
“I have to go,” she said, squeezing his shoulder again. “I’m still looking for ways to keep this library from being torn down. And I’ll still be looking tomorrow morning if that’s what it takes. I’m not giving up.”
“Me either,” he said stoutly, making her smile for the first time since she’d arrived at the library. “I’m going outside now and watch to see if I can figure out a way to catch them.”
When the child was gone, she turned back to Livvy. Surely there had to be something she could do to further her investigation, even if offices were closed. Sunday was a day of rest, but her brain refused to rest. Maybe she needed to spend some time in prayer. Perhaps an answer would come from a wiser source than she.
Then she thought of the Center for Biological Diversity. She wished she’d thought to get the number of someone from that center. She would have liked to have spoken to them herself, to impress on them the desperate race against the clock in which she was engaged. It had sounded as if that organization was capable of taking a more activist stance than a government facility, and it might be of more immediate assistance. Then she remembered that she still had the number of the first wildlife expert who had contacted her. He would have a number for her, she thought, already reaching for her cell phone.
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