Ghosts in the Gulch: An Evergreen Cemetery Mystery (Evergreen Cemetery Mysteries Book 1)

by S. L. Hawke

  “Mr. Sloan!” the Missus exclaimed as she fanned herself. Her makeup was running.

  The chef’s cursing was the only audible sound now. Sally looked back at me, her lovely grey eyes narrowing just a small amount as a tiny flush crept up her cream-colored neck. A sense of victory, not of mind, but of seduction, thrilled me. She suddenly covered her neck, feigning modesty, or what, I wasn’t sure. She laughed and turned her face away in a gesture of demureness. I was not fooled and continued my story. It seemed a relief to mention it. “My wife was killed while we were trying to flee Japan.” Words of condolence left the lips of the Missus and the Mister, but they were flat. Royal blood or no, marrying outside one’s race was considered...poor judgment.

  Sally watched me again and I could see she was looking for any changes in my manner. Men would sell their souls for a kiss from her. I could see by the unwavering way in which she held my eyes that she was searching for this quality in me. Those lovely silken lips parted slightly. My confidence rose. I had her on my hook. I struck.

  “I’m looking for a wife, as I have a son to raise.” Other thoughts, of silk falling away, crept up, but I forced them down. “My sisters no doubt have plans for me.” She was beautiful and it was tempting to take her on.

  “Is it true that the women in Japan bathe several times a day? I have heard that it is most healthy to do so.” She leaned forward and whispered this, drawing color to the Mine Manager’s face. Odd, why should he care if an available man or woman flirt at dinner? We were closing the distance of the table and Sally angled her face as if in a few inches I could choose to kiss her if I should want to. I could, perhaps later…

  “There is nothing more relaxing than repose in the warmth of water.” I angled myself the other way, intimating that I would like to kiss her. The ‘hook’ went in as I withdrew from her charms and picked up my knife. I began my meal again, just as the server placed our last course of plates in front of us. “When are you planning to return to Santa Cruz? Perhaps we can,” here I paused for effect, “travel together.” I raised my glass to her, keeping my eyes on her face, not the silk that begged to be ripped away.

  Sally giggled, pretending to be flattered and flustered by my somewhat roguish manner. “Oh, Mr. Sloan, I’m afraid I won’t be returning for at least three weeks. My aunt in San Juan insists I stay for a visit.” Sally took a sip of her wine then ran the glass slightly on the side of her neck, as if to cool herself, at the same time suggesting, no, inviting me to kiss that part of her. Mr. Mine Manager’s mouth gaped and he cleared his throat loudly, unable to look away from Sally’s now highly visible breasts. In fact, the opaque material seemed to darken from her sweat and cling to their shape, suggestive of the promise that the whole gown would drop away with a caress. “And I imagine you’ll be wanting to get to your mother soon.” There was a pause here. “Being that your mother is poor and near her time.”

  How did Sally know of my situation? Or was she simply fishing for a response, right or wrong, to this question? Worse yet, what had Beth told them? Was she in trouble with this family? God, Beth, what foolish idea did you have by marrying in haste? As with Elijah, are you trying to save the family by marrying a bully? The thought did not hold up for me. If John was anything like Sally, Beth never had a chance. This John Towne was not to be underestimated at all.

  Andrew was listening in on our conversation quite keenly now.

  “Yes, I will be going on to Santa Cruz as soon as I am able to gather supplies.” My throat felt tight. One pull in the right direction would upend that gown. I swallowed. French and accented English shouted out from the kitchen again. The more I listened to this French voice the more familiar this voice sounded to me.

  “Your sister Beth is very fragile. It was a shame to send her son off to his late father’s kin in Oregon. I do hope the young fellow can survive such a long harsh trip. I hear Oregon is quite cold this time of year.”

  “The passes are snowed in,” Gilbert, the Mine Manager, said with some discomfort. Now I remembered these folks’ names. Gilbert and Martina Bratton. My distractedness by Sally was not good. A Chinese servant brought a plate with a note on it for Sally. She took the note, opened it, then closed it just as quickly and placed it in her small hand bag.

  “Kin usually come down to escort a young child back home.” Andrew entered the conversation carefully, by making the obvious statement.

  “Why would anyone wish to separate a child from his mother?” Gilbert rumbled, watching Sally, I saw. Yes, I too wondered. Beth wouldn’t make a decision like that. Who did? My mother couldn’t make decisions like that. What about my sisters?

  This information was starting to put together a different picture of my brother-in-law. Back in San Francisco, John Towne was already suspected of supporting some of the Rebel activity in town. His sister was up to something. I was intrigued. The fate of my nephew was taken out of my hands. One thing at a time, I told myself. Sally watched me again, violet eyes turning to stormy grey. This was a woman not to be trifled with unless she gave you permission. Very nice.

  “Well, I do hope we can see each other again.” Sally Towne looked me directly in the eye. An audible gasp from Mrs. Mine Manager at the impropriety of this offering was heard. Miss Towne stood up suddenly, prompting every man, including myself at the table, to stand. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m a bit tired and need my rest for tomorrow’s journey. It was lovely to meet my new, and much admired brother-in-law.” Sally offered a hand to me, which I took and bowed, but did not kiss, as she had a smell to her that was musky, tempting, and disturbing. Any kiss upon her skin would send me after her like a mutt after a bitch in heat. I noticed Mr. Bratton lingered on Sally much longer than anyone else in the room, except for, of course, the Missus.

  7

  The night was crisp and welcome. Fergus was singing a version of “The Washerwoman” I had only heard once, from the Irish sharing the ship’s passage from the Islands. Andrew was silent and grim. Suddenly Fergus went quiet and held up a hand. Then he gestured for us to go sidelong to the dark side of the manager’s house.

  A man’s groan was audible.

  “Okay—I’m not doing this… Andrew started to whisper, when Fergus grabbed his arm and put a finger to his own lips. Like school boys on a mischievous errand, we started to creep closer to the sound of moaning.

  A shed, or perhaps a servant’s room, separate from the main house, appeared. I was not interested in knowing or violating another human being’s privacy. Then I thought about whether those sounds weren’t what we all hoped they might be. Was someone suffering from a gunshot or knife wound? A small lantern illuminated a ground floor room’s tiny window. Andrew looked at me, thinking the same thing as we crept up to the window. The moans seemed to increase to a breathlessness that was definitely not one of suffering.

  I grabbed Fergus’ arm and shook my head. We didn’t need to see this. A couple trying to find some brief pleasure in this hell hole was not a crime. But Fergus was undeterred.

  The glass window was covered by drapes. A large knot hole betrayed the inside by illuminating the ground beside us. Fergus quickly went to it.

  He watched for a minute, stiffened, then let Andrew see. I held back, annoyed at this game. Andrew withdrew and looked troubled enough that I had to see what resided behind this peep hole. Fergus also did not look happy and made the gesture for me to look as well. Images of Miles’ class emerged from the back of my mind.

  I peered through the hole expecting to see two men engaged in the act of self-pleasure but instead found the General seated in a chair with a blond woman’s head bobbing up and down in his lap. Not just any woman but one of means. Judging by the dress, it was Sally Towne. The bobbing of her head increased and she turned briefly allowing me to see her face. It was, beyond a doubt, Sally Towne.

  The shock of it was not as great as I expected. Part of me had seen the cunning look in her eyes. She saw all men as targets, but to what end? Blackmail? My mind was all whi
rligigs and shuttles whizzing back and forth at the implications for such a deed that went beyond impropriety to one of vicious, cold control. Worse yet, why?

  And the final, very awful truth: this woman was my sister-in-law. A choking sensation began and my chest felt enormous pressure upon it, even though I was upright.

  The General convulsed and cried out as Sally expertly covered the offending penis with a handkerchief. She knew what she was doing, but how she knew made me shiver… I withdrew my eye, staggered back and turned away, feeling nausea, only to be quickly replaced by Fergus.

  How could a woman do such a thing? For profit or power? What woman of Sally Towne’s social standing would allow herself to do such a thing without expecting some sort of favor in return?? Why did I ever think social standing excused bad behavior? After all, my family used their social place to go against the law. Was there really a difference?

  Yes. We saved lives. This was something else.

  Fergus pulled us quickly into the shadows as we waited and watched the two lovers leave the shack. The General staggered a bit, making Sally giggle. Words, murmurs of affection, were exchanged.

  All three of us remained silent until the pair were gone from our sight.

  “Now we know,” Fergus said to himself. Andrew also nodded.

  “It would explain why we have been unable to catch them, why they seem one step ahead,” Andrew whispered.

  “Damn it. Well, let’s take this into our own hands,” Fergus answered.

  “What are you thinking?” Andrew asked.

  “I wonder if she gave Gilbert Bratton a taste?” Fergus mused, making me both uncomfortable and angry. “Sloan, how good are you at poker?”

  “Slow down. What are you two planning? We have orders.” I waved both hands at them, but there was no stopping youth. Andrew closed the distance between us.

  “Look, we’ve been trying to figure out why the thieves have been one step ahead… Andrew began.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure this out. My mind recalled our dinner table exchange. Sally was involved in something and quite possibly her brother John Towne too, because they were kin. I wanted to believe, for my sister’s sake, that he was not involved with what was going on with the Confederates. There would be time to gather evidence on that account. Sally, however, was also not to be underestimated.

  “The General has been compromised,” I finished, thinking.

  “More than that,” Fergus began. “He’s been bought. From now on we move on our own, as originally planned.”

  What? Again, I was not party to some deeper movement, some deeper agenda.

  “I’ll explain later — until then, let’s just find out what Ms. Towne’s ‘escorts’ are up to.” Fergus held one hand up.

  “How do you expect to do that?” I was clearly out of my league here. None of this was going as I expected. Or as I thought the plan was to go. What was, as Fergus inferred, the original plan? I could see Aimen Sensei laughing quietly in the back of my mind. I wondered briefly what Lam would have made of this situation and what was he was up to right now?

  “There is a poker game that happens every Saturday night here. I say we go in. Find out if the Rancho lads have some connection with the Rebels.”

  “Why the hell would you, the Quartermaster, suddenly have an interest in politics?” My tone sounded more resentful than stern. Fergus gave me his usual impish smile.

  “I thought you ‘briefed’ him,” Fergus said to Andrew. Andrew nodded. “Look Sloan, we are officially at war with the South, and this mine brings in the revenue we need to win. Plain as that. I’ve been assigned to find and assist in capturing Thomas Poole and Captain Rufus Ingram, a traitor to both The United States of America and to our partners in Europe.”

  “This is a joint operation,” Andrew said carefully.

  “This is a great opportunity—” Fergus went on, “—to understand how bad the Ranchos have it here.” Fergus turned towards the mountain range and the mines behind us. The glow of the furnaces from the quicksilver cooking process made the place look like the lava fields on the Main Island of Hawai’i. “This mine alone is trying to invalidate all Rancho grants. They will succeed because we need this wealth on our side. I’m opposed to stealing land, but in this case, the land was signed away and sold. But near the coast, the politics of North and South are ripping titles away from any Don who has a deed that runs on any creek to the sea.” A large, sad sigh left this ferocious young man.

  “We pick our battles.” Andrew summed this up succinctly, as always. My fondness for them was growing.

  Looking at the two young men, I was both impressed and exasperated by this ambition and outlook. For the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful for my future and the future of the world.

  “Of course, your Commanding Officers know nothing about all of this,” I said, finally catching up with these two boys.

  “Our COs are idiots!” Fergus said with chin pushed up. I decided not to fall for his young man act.

  “And because I am a civilian, you expect me to just up and follow you, make excuses to your elders when the time comes,” I answered slowly. Fergus suddenly looked angry.

  “Our senior officers are doing things like—” he gestured to the shack with one sharp hand movement “— that while we are fighting and trying to win the war. We are the ones DYING for it. Don’t lecture me about our elders. If anything, it’s the ELDERS that have gotten us in this mess in the first place.”

  Andrew was silent, watching Fergus and me. There was truth to what he said. Young men were the old men’s pieces in games of war.

  “Look, maybe you should confront him.” This suggestion was greeted with shock and reluctance. “Maybe I should confront him.” I looked over at Andrew. “Your father vouched for him. Said he could be trusted to bring in the bad guy.” I wrapped my coat around me and found a place to sit. “So, you both think that your father—” I pointed to Andrew, “trusted the wrong guy.”

  “It happens. In love and especially in war.” Fergus paced a bit. Then mercifully became still. “We can’t confront him because we want to see where this leads.”

  “Trust him, A.J. Draw him out. You’re good at that. I mean, what you did with Miss Towne at the table was pretty good. For an old guy.” Andrew smiled as he said this.

  “I’m good at what?” I repeated, in disbelief. “You mean I’m reckless enough for us to take this road, which may fail, to unearth the Rebels, bring in the Ring Leader which isn’t the Rebel leader—” I placed my elbows on my thighs and held my head.

  “I think he’s finally understanding everything,” Andrew said to Fergus.

  “Good enough. The question is, will he be able to follow this trail to its end?” Fergus held one finger to his chin and leaned against Andrew as they both, in parody of me, studied me as if I were a bug.

  “I’m thinkin’ he may opt out,” Andrew added. I sat there suddenly aware that my mouth was open in protest.

  “Yes, especially if true love is involved.“ Fergus nodded.

  “He did reel in the Tong,” Andrew said in a bargaining manner. This was ridiculous. I stood to my full height. Both young men were unimpressed.

  “Both of you, just shut up!” I interrupted, feeling teased. “I will do this. Because I agree with you.” I held my hands up as they both smiled and laughed at me. “But, if this becomes some sort of dangerous, illegal way to profit from a bad situation, I will personally—”

  “Point made!” Fergus held his hand up. “We should swear on this.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said, astonished at the way this young man went from mature to boy in an instant.

  “I’m in.” Andrew held out his hand. Fergus put his on top of Andrew’s. Slowly, I extended my hand.

  In true fashion of Dumas we pledged allegiance to our nation and to our goal. I just didn’t want to tell Art the truth about General Harrison Slocum. Then again, we’ve all lost ourselves to silk, one time or another. You just had
to decide if you could live with the outcome. I could not shake the feeling, however, that Fergus and Andrew had orchestrated this entire evening.

  *******

  “And here we process the ore.” Brattonpointed to the pile of rock and the open kettles where the ore was heated. My head was aching from lack of sleep and the image of the General getting his privates sucked clean. Part of me wondered if Bratton had been given the same treatment by Sally shortly before she left. Nausea rose again from that thought, but for once, my stomach managed not to give me any trouble. I was grateful, as the latrine was away and down near the kitchen dump.

  Concentrate on the mission, I forced myself to think. But the image of the lovely Sally Towne bringing the General to his end, and quite possibly followed by or before dinner, Gilbert Bratton, would not leave me. I focused instead on the large piles of red ore, obviously full of cinnabar that seemed to be piled randomly in huge mounds outside the main processing shack.

  “Our ‘savings account’,” Bratton said, noticing my interest. “In case of a cave in or a break down in the rails or disease in the workers, we can still meet our demand.” He too had on dark lenses, as I did, which meant the money from this mine was finding its way somewhere into his pocket. “We could do better, delve differently, and create more sound mine structures. I’ve hired an engineer to survey our current shafts and create a better system to extract the rock than…” here he pointed to a native, bent heavily under an ore stuffed sack, “…this.” Bratton grimaced. We moved on to another section of the vast mines which, from what I could see, extended into the hills. Two towns were popping up around the landowners’ houses near the ridge tops.

  “I hear you speak Castellano,” Bratton inquired.