Later, upon first entering his house, the old man stopped. “Oh, Jeepy.” He hugged and kissed her.
Jeep, Carlotta, and Mags had cleaned up the whole place. It hadn’t been so bad, but now it sparkled. They’d put flowers in a vase on the kitchen table and filled the refrigerator with Carlotta’s stuffed pork chops, salad made with everything but the dressing, and baked potatoes that just needed to be warmed up. Cereal, bread, butter, everything he needed, plus a six pack of Land Shark Beer.
Also at the house was Tito, a young workman from Wings Ranch.
Howie had finally accepted that this was the way it would be for a while, and Tito was an easygoing young fellow.
“You have a lot of chores. You’re going to need his help,” Jeep said, and glanced in Tito’s direction before turning back. “Enrique and I will bring the cattle back tomorrow. Your fence is already repaired. Twinkie, Bunny, and Jake did it.”
“I’m fine.”
A knock on the door sent a barking Zippy in that direction.
King and Baxter showed interest but it wasn’t their house.
Jeep stood up, then sat down as Mags headed for the door. “Howie, I forgot. Twinkie’s coming over. He called me and I told him when we’d get you home. He has something he wants to show you. He wouldn’t even tell me.”
Twinkie walked in, almost as glad to see the old fellow as Zippy had been. “Howie. You shaved.” He laughed.
“Didn’t know I was this handsome, did you?” Howie stood up and the two men clasped hands. “Sit down, Twink. Take off your coat.”
Mags took Twinkie’s coat. He reached into his jeans pocket and placed the piece of silver ingot on the table.
Jeep immediately knew what it was. She’d made her first fortune in mining because she could read the earth from the air and on the ground. “Where did you get this?”
Twinkie told them.
Tito examined it when it came to him as it passed from hand to hand. “Big enough.”
“Yes, it is.” Jeep stated the obvious with puzzlement: “Silver doesn’t just lay around on driveways.”
“Was here. Right out front.” Twinkie repeated where he’d found the ingot section.
“Wonder why the boys didn’t find it?” Mags said, meaning Pete and Lonnie.
“Probably parked on it.” Howie chirped up as he rolled the small heavy silver in his hand.
Tito had heard the discounted stories. “Maybe someone did find the old treasure.”
“Anything is possible.” Jeep smiled. “That’s one thing old age teaches you. You know, the conditions in those mines took such endurance. Often men worked with water up to their ankles, the temperatures might reach one hundred twenty degrees, and there was always the danger that an airshaft would be clogged and you wouldn’t know it until it was too late, you got sleepy. Those old Nevada people were tough.”
“Still are.” Howie was fascinated with the silver piece.
Mags held out her hand. Howie dropped it into it. She studied the Sunrise mark.
Jeep was as intrigued as everyone else. “Well, neighbor, maybe you do have the Garthwaite treasure on your land.”
“Ronnie and I crawled over this land for fifty years. How could we miss it?”
“Maybe you were looking for the wrong things. You know the Garthwaite boys didn’t bury it down by the creek bed. They were smart enough to know what happens when the mountain snows melt. Whatever they did, they made it look natural. No one ever said there was a mine here but in the early part of this state’s history everybody and his brother were digging. Could be a small little worthless hole. The Gathwaites might have known about it. Hid their stash. Camouflaged the opening. Time did the rest.”
“Let me pay you for the value of this silver,” Howie offered. “Finders keepers.”
“Thank you, Howie, but it really belongs to you.”
“Do you think whoever took a shot at me dropped it?” Howie’s voice rose in excitement. He looked at Tito, Jeep, Mags, and Twinkie. “You think?”
“It’s possible,” Jeep replied, now completely fascinated. She turned to Tito. “I’d keep a gun close at hand if I were you. You, too.” She now looked at Howie.
As the humans left, Zippy said to King and Baxter, “Whoever did this will be back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Patrick Wentworth’s Reno office was in a storefront on Plum Lane, the main road from town to the airport. “Wentworth for Congress” had been neatly painted on the front window. He also had a small office in Carson City.
In keeping with Wentworth’s “I am a man of the people” stance, visitors to his Plum Lane office encountered no hallway, waiting room, or receptionist. Three simple desks with computers on them for the volunteers hummed as the phones rang. The candidate’s desk, exactly like the volunteers’, was in the rear, behind it a small conference room with some chairs and a coffee table. No phones jangled or computers hummed there.
In general, Patrick didn’t put on airs. Raised in Reno, his father had welded for a living, often suffering from welder’s blindness caused by the flash. Even after the temporary blindness went away, his eyes would still hurt. Patrick’s mother, a first-generation American, had worked in a local elementary school cafeteria. Sophia’s parents had left Chile for America. Like so many people south of the U.S. border, her coloring was stunning, her eyes dark liquid brown, her lips chiseled. To some extent her beauty had been passed on to her middle son, Patrick.
Like so many people in public service he had started out with the goal of doing good for the people, then settled for doing well for himself. There were times when Patrick grumbled to his campaign manager—his older brother, Norton—that if only their mother were Mexican or Hispanic they’d clean up that vote. Such talk presumed that anyone Hispanic cared nothing for the issues.
He was wrong about that, but Patrick was right about other things. Raised a Catholic, he saw that his religion would be of no great benefit to a political career in Nevada. Not one for much religion anyway, he left the Church and allied himself with the evangelicals, riding their coattails into office the first time. He was careful, though, not to sound too strident on what he termed “personal choice” issues.
More than anything, he wanted to sidestep the backlash against people in office who had voted for any kind of state or federal spending. Naturally, as part of his job, he had voted for some state spending. He was attacking vice in Reno in hopes of deflecting any criticism of him on throwing money around. Given the level of Nevada’s state government programs, he hardly spent much of the taxpayers’ money. However, the public remained virulently anti-incumbent. He needed his incendiary anti-vice approach or his political career was dead in the water.
Patrick looked up from his desk when Michelle Speransky walked into the campaign headquarters. So did Norton. Without saying a word, they headed to the small meeting room in the back. Patrick followed them in and shut the door.
After sitting down, she wasted not one moment. “Lay off Cracktown.”
“It’s a good hook.” Patrick defended himself.
“No doubt, but you’re drawing attention to an area in which our bank has a great deal of holdings.”
“They’re worthless without me. If I clean up that area, people will buy there again. I’ll clean the vermin out for you,” Patrick bragged.
“Wentworth, Robert Dalrymple was killed there. All you’re doing is stirring up scrutiny at a bad time. Drugs, prostitution, crime—the far right eats this crap up. They live for it. My bank does not. We’ll eventually remove the squatters, but you’re stirring up the criminal element. It’s not like they can’t watch the nightly news or your campaign ads. You’re bad for their business and right now, ours. Just let this alone.”
Patrick held the quaint opinion that speaking his mind was always a good thing. “Michelle, I have an election to win.”
Her face flushed. “And I have assets to protect. In the long run, Reno Sagebrush can do more for Reno than you can in W
ashington.”
Norton, seeing his temperamental brother about to go off, said smoothly, “There’s a lot of truth to what you say, Michelle. As a banker, I would guess you have little affection for Congress.”
She smiled. “They’re cowards. They can create all the regulatory commissions they want. They are in this as much as the banks and they loosened the lending regulations, not us. The bottom line is, they aren’t as intelligent as people in private enterprise. They never are. It really doesn’t matter what they do, it’s smoke and mirrors for the public.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got to go. Sorry I didn’t call you first. I didn’t know if I could get away. Just lay off, Patrick.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” he replied stubbornly.
“You’ll have to think about your campaign contributions, too.” She stood up, smoothed her skirt, and walked out.
As to who had the biggest balls in this meeting, there was no doubt.
Furious, once she was out of earshot, Patrick sputtered, “Bitch.”
Norton cracked his knuckles. “Calm down.”
“I’m running this campaign. I’m getting a lot of traction from this cleanup campaign.”
“Traction is one thing, votes are another. And how do you propose to pay for the campaign ads if businesses like the bank withdraw support? Look, they gave to Anson Sorenson, too. That’s smart business. But their contributions to our campaign paid for some of the TV ads. We’d be nowhere without that money.”
“I’ll look like a coward.”
“Pat, public memory lasts about two days. Forget it.”
“All of a sudden I shut up about Cracktown! What do you mean no one will know? And there has been a murder there. A man getting his throat slit is news. Too bad for him, but good for me.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Who’s to say you won’t get yours slit?”
“Oh, bullshit.”
Later, Norton called their mother, recounting the meeting and ending with, “He’s going to shoot himself in the foot.”
With deep knowledge of her impetuous middle son, whom she loved, of course, Sophia sighed. “It won’t be the first time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I wasn’t sure. I mean, that it ended.” The clear blue eyes of Emma Logan, Robert Dalrymple’s girlfriend, looked into Pete’s deep brown ones as he sat across from her in her high-rise apartment. “I mean, uh, no fights or, well, I don’t know. Robert returned my calls and texts and all but the last few weeks, I didn’t see him.”
“Any idea why?” Pete crossed one leg over the other as Lonnie silently scribbled in his notebook.
She pushed back a stray lock of blond hair. “Uh, well, he said he was working on a deal.”
“Did he tell you about it?”
“Kinda. He said he wouldn’t go back into banking but he was really glad he had put in those years. He said he was going to start a business linking up real estate investors, as well as people buying homes, with the proper lenders—kind of like a mortgage broker. Robert knew all the banks and bankers. He said after he closed this one deal he’d have his start-up money.”
“But he didn’t say what the deal was?”
“No.”
“Did he say who he was working with or trying to work with?”
“No.”
“Did you see him take drugs?”
“Never,” she answered quickly.
“What about friends? Did you ever see his friends, acquaintances, take them?”
“No. Robert could knock back a drink or two but I never saw anything to worry about.”
“Did he have a temper?”
This surprised her. “Uh, well, he could get irritable sometimes but he didn’t lose control.”
“Irritable how?”
She looked at Pete curiously, trying to figure out this line of questioning. “Curse at someone who cut him off in traffic. Stuff like that. He threw a cellphone across the room once.”
Pete smiled. “Understandable.”
“Officer Meadows, I don’t know why it didn’t work out better between us. I don’t know why he was murdered. Don’t you think I’ve gone over this in my mind? Thinking of every conversation we had, thinking of the people I met with him. Remembering how much he liked to drive up to Virginia City; he liked the curves in the road. He read every car magazine in the universe.” Her face crumpled. “And then I think of him tied up, blood everywhere.” She held up her hands in mute appeal.
“Miss Logan, if it’s any comfort, his death was quick.”
She blinked. “But why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Given where Robert was found, drugs would seem the obvious motive, but you and everyone we’ve questioned said he was clean.” He paused. “Did you think he was arrogant?”
She tilted her head. “Oh, he liked to brag, cock of the walk or what-have-you, but not around me, around other men. I don’t know if I’d call that arrogant. I just figured it was a stupid guy thing.”
Lonnie smiled as he wrote in the notebook.
Pete nodded. “Lonnie and I understand that. Did you ever meet his parents or his brother?”
“We’d have dinner with his brother and his wife sometimes. Very nice people and they were kind to me. I got the feeling they, oh, I don’t know, they were waiting for Robert to grow up, settle down. Maybe I was, too.”
“When did you last hear from Robert?”
“He texted me. I saved it.” She handed Pete her iPhone after retrieving the message.
Pete read the text aloud. “Another week. I’m sorry I haven’t seen you. I miss you. Your big guy.” Without thinking Pete said, “But he was only five nine.”
She shrugged. “His penis. He always referred to it and himself as ‘big guy.’ I called him that, too. It made him happy.” She again turned her palms upward.
Lonnie smiled.
Pete nodded, then added, “I think we can chalk that up to another guy thing.”
She smiled a sad little smile. “Robert had his faults but he was basically a good guy.”
“Did he ever speak to you about a gambling problem?”
“He was over that, and I never once saw him go into a casino. When we first met, he had money. He bought me jewelry, took me to the best restaurants. I thought he really liked me. If I mentioned something I saw in a magazine or in a store, he’d surprise me with it. Even when he was laid off, he was never cheap. I mean he would always bring me a little something: flowers, a magazine, a silly pair of socks with chickens embroidered on them. Even so, later on, I knew he was worried to death about money.” She blinked again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I hate the word ‘death’ now that Robert’s dead.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Logan. He seemed like a good guy.”
“He was.” She thought for a moment. “I take that back about his gambling. He would always bet for the Phillies to win. You know, five dollars. I could never understand why he was so nuts about baseball in the first place. It’s s-o-o slow. But the Phillies? Robert had never been to the East Coast.”
“Miss Logan, the best way I can explain that is to tell you that baseball is the most serious thing that isn’t important.”
She smiled. “Another case.”
“I have my moments, but not for the Phillies.”
Emma rolled those big blue eyes.
Lonnie cleared his throat. “Miss Logan, did Robert ever mention anyone at Truckee Amalgamated that he didn’t like?”
“His boss, Carl Giannini bored him to death, always going on about the good old days. The former bank president bored him, too, stuff like that. Michelle Speransky, her ambition got under his skin. He thought she was the smartest person at the bank but that she would roll over anyone if it advanced her career. He said she wanted to be president of the bank.”
“I’m sure a lot of people are like that in business,” Pete said.
“That’s what Robert said. That the whole bank seethed with ambition, and then fear when people started gettin
g laid off. But he swore those on top would cream off the government bailouts. The public would never see that taxpayer money being given out in loans. He said the American public was being cheated blind and was too dumb to see it. He even went to the guy running for the House of Representatives. Said he could help him, but the guy didn’t want it. I should remember his name, his face is plastered all over Reno.”
“Patrick Wentworth.”
“Robert said he was really stupid. But Robert said that about a lot of people. He could never understand why people couldn’t see what he could see.”
“Was he political?”
“Sort of. Getting laid off changed him and that was one of the ways. He read lots of newspapers and magazines. He’d go to Sundance Bookstore for the latest books and one of the owners, Christine Kelly, would call him when a new book about Wall Street or the economy would come in. I thought maybe he was going out with her.”
“Was he?”
She shook her head. “No. She’s very attractive but he really was reading all this stuff.”
“What other ways did getting laid off change Robert?”
“He was quieter, I mean for him. He was a ‘can do’ guy even when he was worried, and he was really worried, I could see it. He just didn’t want to talk about it. Said for me not to worry. He could handle it.”
Pete exhaled softly. “You’ve been very helpful and I appreciate you taking all this time and allowing us into your apartment. You have a nice view of the river.”
“I like to watch the water roll over the big rocks,” she replied.
“Ever open your windows to listen?” Pete smiled at her.
“All the time.”
As the two men rose to leave, a little Yorkie woke up, yawned, and bounced over to Emma. She scooped him up, kissing him.
Pete asked, “What’s the dog’s name?”
“Velcro, ’cause she sticks to me.”
“Well, we thank you and Velcro,” Pete said as he and Lonnie left the apartment.
Waiting for the elevator, Lonnie said, “We’re getting a range of opinion about Dalrymple.”
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