“Fair enough. Bu--ah, Mark’s got a friend of his, Josh . . .”
“Kinsolving. He works for Schlumberger,” Mark said.
“That’s the one. He came out to The Park with a great big blue truck and all sorts of stuff on it. Wonder it didn’t break my bridge. Anyway, they loaded some kind of instrument in my boat and took it to the far end of the lake. It had a steel cable tied on it running back to the truck. When they got it to the end of the lake, they pushed it into the water and then pulled it back to the other end using that steel cable. Did that several times and drew a bunch of charts.”
Mark broke in. “The tool was an electro—“.
“Hold it,” Eula said. “You’re going to bog down my story. Anybody wants a technical description can ask you after I finish. Let’s just say it worked like a big metal detector.” She looked at Mark. “I know that ain’t exact, but it’ll do.”
Everybody laughed.
“So we got a back hoe and dug where the charts said to,” said Eula, grinning from ear to ear. “Sure enough, about fifteen feet down we hit some wood and then the metal.” She stopped, looked at the rapt audience, then picked up her sandwich and took a big bite.
Mark just grinned. Crystal said, “Come on, Nana. You’re being mean to my friends. Tell them or I will.”
Eula picked up a napkin and dabbed at her lips. “Well, it wasn’t gold . . .” There was a collective sigh of disappointment. “Exactly. It was silver. Seems some people back in them days called silver ‘Mexican gold’. Somewhere in the retelling, it went from ‘Mexican gold’ to just plain gold.” She shrugged. “Oh well.”
Sally spoke up. “Shoot, a ton of silver isn’t anything to sneeze at.”
“Well, turns out it wasn’t a ton either. Probably a thousand pounds and that just got ‘xaggerated over time, I suppose. We only found nine hundred, sixty-seven pounds. Guess some of it’s still stuck in the mud down there. But I’m not complaining. It’ll rebuild my house that got burned.”
There was a low buzz of excitement among the group. A buried treasure, even if it wasn’t a ton of gold, could still be thrilling.
“None of you asked, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I know some of the stories talked about pirates and all. But since it was on my land, I think I’m entitled to my own theory. And I think it came from the San Saba mines down in the Hill country.”
Several eyebrows were raised, but no one said anything.
Eula continued. “The San Saba Apaches was always trading a lot of silver. But no one could ever find out where their mine was. Well, Jim Bowie, you know—the knife man— got to be friends with Chief Xolic there and got initiated into the tribe as Xolic’s son. Afterward, the Chief told Jim where the mine was, even let him get some of the silver for himself. Well, old Bowie got a little greedy and brought in some men to help him dig out more. When the chief died, Tres Manos took over and he ran Bowie out, tried to kill him.
“I think it was some of Bowie’s men who had that wagonload of silver. And I think it was the San Saba Apaches who followed them and killed them for stealing the silver. Mostly to protect the secret location of the mine. Nobody’s ever found it since.
“That’s what I think.” Her chin jutted out, daring anybody to contradict her.
No one did.
#
It was Wednesday, and the weekly seminar had just concluded. Mark and Crystal were walking to their offices when Mark said, “Shall we have dinner together tonight?”
Crystal stopped, her eyebrows knitted, and looked at her boss. “Is this like a date?”
A boyish grin spread over his face and Crystal thought he might even have blushed just a touch. “Well, ah, I’m not sure. But I’ll pick you up and I’m paying.”
Crystal looked at the very intelligent, handsome man standing in front of her, looking like a school boy. “I want to know if it’s a date.”
“Okay, then, yes. I’m asking you out on a date.”
She thought of her Nana and her granddad. “I’d love to.”
the end
A note from the author.
Thank you for reading A Ton of Gold. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, it would be a great favor to me if you would leave a review (it could be only three or four sentences) on Amazon so others would know what you thought of the book. You can do so by clicking this link: http://amzn.to/UQrqsZ
And here's what New York Times Bestselling Author Bobbi Smith had to say about A Silver Medallion, the next Crystal Moore suspense --
A Silver Medallion is a gripping, action-packed adventure from talented author James Callan. Crystal Moore is a tough and savvy heroine . . .
Named a winner in the International Readers' Choice competition.
Winner in the ETWG novel contest for suspense/thriller category over entrants from across the U.S. and Europe.
Named Best Mystery of 2016 by the Readers Passion Book Club.
A Silver Medallion, the second title in the Crystal Moore Suspense series, reads like a gold-medal thriller from page one ... Crystal emerges as a compelling heroine with a big heart and bold personality... From BookLife Prize in Fiction
A Silver Medallion ... is the thrilling sequel to A Ton of Gold ... The page-turning suspense kept me up well into the pre-morning! Alyssa Elmore for Readers' Favorite (On Barnes & Nobel)
If you would like to read the opening chapter of the next Crystal Moore Suspense, it starts on the next page. I think you will enjoy it.
A Silver Medallion
Chapter 1
CRYSTAL Moore drove slowly along the sandy road that curved through the property she had roamed as a child. Her grandparents had christened it “The Park” when they purchased it over fifty years ago. To Crystal, they could have named it Serenity. The tall, stately Southern pines, the oak and hickory trees, the mirror-still lake, the peaceful quiet, all worked to cast a spell of tranquility over her.
Crystal's maroon LeSabre crested the hill. Two hundred feet ahead, her grandmother stood under a maple tree, its autumn foliage creating a golden halo above her grey hair. Eula Moore was staring at the small storage shed about twenty feet behind her cedar-shake house. She aimed a double-barreled shotgun at the door of the building.
Fifty feet from Eula, Crystal switched off the ignition, eased out of the car, and moved forward, careful not to crack a twig or crunch a dried leaf. Now she saw her grandmother's right index finger curled around the trigger. Whatever was going on, she did not want to distract her Nana.
Eula Moore pointed the shotgun at the shed, her wrinkled hands as steady as those of an eye surgeon. “Don’t make no sudden moves. I got a nervous trigger finger. I might just blow your head off.”
Nothing moved.
“Now, very slowly, come on out in the open, and keep them hands over your head where I can see ‘em.”
Experience told Crystal her grandmother had heard the car, but Eula’s attention never left the shed. The elderly woman stooped down, gaze still fixed on the building, picked up a rock with her left hand and made a sweeping, underhanded throw. As the chunk of limestone arched skyward, Eula pulled the ancient shotgun up and once more trained it on the shed.
The rock struck the tin roof with a satisfying bang. No animal came bolting out the door. The noise echoed and died away. The birds stopped their chirping. All was quiet.
Crystal crept up beside her grandmother. “What’s in there, Nana?” she whispered.
“Animal. Person. Beats me. But I didn’t git to seventy-five being careless.”
Eula Moore, five feet two inches tall, ninety-five pounds with short-cropped grey hair, held a strategic position. No one could leave the shed without coming into her gun’s sight. And no one could see her without first revealing himself. Eula looked frail, but her voice was strong, her will stronger. “Better come out ‘fore I start shootin’.”
A slight breeze wiggled the leaves on a towering oak tree shading the area. A squirrel sat motionless. The scene was as peaceful as a painting of a country
lane. Except for the shotgun.
A few moments passed. Then a single finger came into view. Gradually, it turned into a whole hand, waving in a small arc. “Por favor, no dispare.” The tiny brown hand fluttered again. The voice quavered slightly. “Please. No shoot. No shoot.”
Eula didn’t lower the gun or take her gaze off the shed. “Por favor? Spanish?” Eula said to Crystal. Then to the tiny hand, “Manos arriba.”
Now, two hands waved. But no body appeared.
“You need to work on your Spanish, Nana. He may not know what you’re saying.”
Eula snorted. “Pardon me. I didn’t go to S.M.U. Or Stanford. Maybe you can do better.”
Crystal turned toward the shed. “Salga con las manos arriba. Come out with your hands up.”
A foot materialized in the opening. “Hands up.” Then a body began to emerge. “Hands up.”
Was it a child? Little more than five feet tall and slender as broomcorn, she could have been a girl of fourteen. Her uncombed hair, nearly reaching her waist, appeared as black and shiny as obsidian. Pink and blue embroidery decorated the rough-woven, white dress hanging from her shoulders and stopping just short of her scratched knees. Well-worn leather sandals revealed feet accustomed to no shoes at all.
The small hands trembled slightly as the young Mexican edged forward, but she held her head high and her back ramrod straight.
Eula waggled the barrel of the shotgun at the girl. “Far enough. Hold it right there. Alto.” Eula focused on the girl, but spoke to Crystal. “Okay. So I don’t remember my Spanish good enough to find out what I got here. See what you can do. But don’t get in my line of fire.”
A cloud drifted away, allowing the sun to play fully on the girl’s face. This was not a child. Those large eyes could not develop such sadness, such pain, in such a short life.
“¿Como se llama?” Crystal asked.
The thin young woman maintained her focus on the gun. “Rosa. Rosa Bonita Lopez.”
“¿Habla Ingles?”
“Un poco.”
“Hablo Español un poco. Vamos probando con Ingles. Let’s try English,” said Crystal. The young woman’s expression did not change, nor did her attention waiver from the shotgun. “Okay. Your name is Rosa Bonita.”
“Si. Yes.”
“And what were you doing in the shed?”
The Mexican woman’s forehead wrinkled and she tilted her head slightly to one side. Is she puzzled by the English or by what kind of an answer to give? Crystal tried Spanish again. “¿Que hacias en el cobertizo?”
After several seconds, Rosa looked at Crystal. “Food.”
“You were looking for food?”
“Si.”
“Are you hungry?”
Eula made a small grunt. "Dumb question.”
“Si. Yes.”
“When did you eat last? ¿Cuándo comiste por última vez?"
“Ayer en la mañana.”
“Yesterday morning!” Crystal turned to her grandmother. “She’s probably starving. Let’s take her in and give her something to eat. Then we can find out why she’s here.”
Eula didn’t move or lower the shotgun but Crystal walked over, smiling, took the young woman’s hand and led her into the house.
#
Inside Eula's large country kitchen, Crystal gave Rosa a tall glass of orange juice while Eula put the finishing touches on a chicken and rice meal she'd been preparing for her granddaughter’s arrival. Rosa drank the juice without stopping and her dark, wary eyes remained focused on the chicken as Eula moved it from pan to serving dish.
“Why haven’t you eaten?” Crystal asked.
“No dinero.”
“Where do you live?”
“No casa. No casa.”
“No home?” Crystal glanced at Eula, then back at the Mexican girl. “¿Por qué?”
“I run away.”
“From your husband? ¿Esposo?”
“No.” Her sad eyes closed for a moment, then softly, “No.”
“Parents? ¿Padres?”
“No. From hombre malo.”
“¿Quien? Who is the bad man?”
“Señor Blackwood.” Rosa scrunched her mouth and eyes as if she had bitten into a piece of spoiled fruit.
“Who is he? What is your relationship to him? A relative? ¿Un familiar?
The Mexican woman shook her head violently from side to side. “No. No familiar. I am ... his ...” She furrowed her brows and cocked her head to one side. “How to say esclava?”
Crystal looked down for a moment as she searched her limited Spanish vocabulary for a translation. Finally, she looked up at Rosa. “The only English word I can think of for esclava is ... slave.”
Rosa’s head bobbed up and down. “Si. Si. Slave. I am his slave.”
Order A Silver Medallion at: http://amzn.to/1WxoEaF
If you would like to read the opening chapter from Over My Dead Body, one of my cozy mysteries, it starts on the next page.
Over My Dead Body
Chapter 1
Syd snorted and thrust his chin toward his adversary. “Over my dead body.”
The man almost smiled. “If you insist,” he said easily.
Seventy-two year old Syd Cranzler squinted against the bright Texas October sun and scrutinized the well-dressed man in front of him. Syd was probably six inches shorter than the man, but Syd’s voice had more iron in it. “Was that a threat?”
“No sir, Mr. Cranzler,” Duke Heinz said.
Syd didn’t like this city slicker, wouldn’t have even if he weren’t trying to steal Syd’s homestead. Even Duke’s clothes irritated him. The conservative black pinstriped suit, power-red tie and black wing-tips polished to perfection made the man look like he was posing for a magazine picture in New York City. And what was this “Duke” bit? Did he think he was John Wayne? “Why don’t you just mosey on down the road a mile?” He jerked his hand up and pointed. “Lots of land there.”
They stood on pine needles under three towering trees. Forty feet behind them was Syd’s small, frame house, looking like a giant, square tumbleweed.
Bud Wilcox, Pine Tree’s City Manager, pushed his straw hat back a little and took a step forward. “Syd, Pine Tree wants this shopping center here, inside the city limits. Think of all the tax revenue we’ll get.”
“So’s you can waste even more’n you do now? It ain’t your house and land, Pipsqueak.”
Bud reddened at the nickname Syd often used on him, but kept his mouth shut.
A mud-caked ‘92 Camaro rattled to a stop half off the black-top road. A man got out and started across the yard to where Syd was shaking his finger at Bud.
Duke started to speak, but Syd cut him off. “And don’t tell me again it’s twice what it’s worth. You don’t know what it’s worth to me. And what’s this ‘fee simple’ bit?” He cocked his head to the side. “You think I’m simple? Take your money and go back to Jersey.”
Bud waggled his balding head. “It’s a lot of dollars.”
“He don’t need your money,” said the man from the Camaro. “He stole enough from me.”
“Stay out of it, W.C.,” Syd snapped. But his focus never left Duke. “You keep your money; I’ll keep my land.”
Duke spread his hands. “Mr. Cranzler, the Supreme Court says eminent domain can be used to obtain land needed for a project in the public interest.”
“I know all ‘bout the Supreme Court, and how they trampled all over people’s property rights. I’d like to see some private company try to take the land they live on. They’d change their tune right fast. But that case was decided for a Yankee town. This is Texas. We still believe in property rights down here. And this ain’t in the public interest. It’s in Lockey Corporation’s interest.”
Duke smiled as he pulled a folded paper from the inside pocket of his coat. “Here’s the court order, and it’s signed by a judge right here in Texas.” He held the paper out to Syd.
Syd ignored it. “Judge McFatage, right?
He’d sign anything for a price.”
Bud Wilcox leaned in. “Now, Syd, you shouldn’t talk about the Honorable McFatage that way.”
“Honorable, my foot. He’s for sale. Common knowledge. You know what they say: he’s the best judge money can buy. And it looks like Lockey’s the buyer.”
“Look, Mr. Cranzler,” Duke said. “We’re going to start dirt work in three weeks. I’d like to have all the paperwork in order by then. You’ve lost this fight. You might as well recognize that. You can delay signing. But by fighting this, you may end up getting less money and paying a lot of it to lawyers. You can’t stop it. This project will be built. And it starts in three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” Syd pulled on his chin and a sly grin crept onto his leathery face. “I’m bettin’ my lawyer’ll have my appeal filed before then. And I’m thinkin’ I can tie this up for years. You sure Lockey wants to wait that long?” His head bobbed up and down as he continued. “Be a lot faster to go somewheres else.” Now he laughed. “Bet they’re gonna cut you loose when this don’t happen. Can your butt.”
Duke’s smile faded and his eyes turned hard. “Two months from now, this will all be asphalt.”
“Like I said, over my dead body.”
Duke put the paper back in his pocket. “Old man, you’ll hardly make a bump in the pavement.”
You can order Over My Dead Body at: http://amzn.to/1c81TFJ
Here are a few of the reviews for Over My Dead Body.
I love this book! Over My Dead Body had me reading almost non-stop.
— Eileen Obser
A Ton of Gold (Crystal Moore Suspense Book 1) Page 30