Oh, no, I’m not. She let it go as dust clogged her nostrils. Should they be wearing filtration masks? For that matter, was lethal gas a danger here? She asked their guide.
“Methane isn’t a problem since there is ventilation, but radon is always a possibility. We don’t want to be down here for long. Have you had enough of a taste?”
He must have assumed we’re crazy tourists. I won’t disavow him of that notion.
“It’s a fascinating glimpse into a bygone era,” Dalton said like a true history buff. “Let’s go a little further. Just make sure we can find our way to the surface.”
His words reverberated through the tunnel. Had that been his lone voice she’d heard, or more than one? Was her mind playing tricks on her again?
On a whim, she whipped out her camera and snapped some photos as they proceeded into a large chamber. She took pictures at the entrance to another darkened passage and toward a higher level accessed by ladders. How cool was this? She’d want to show her friends back home what they’d experienced. A mining adventure hadn’t been on their original itinerary.
“We should return,” Quinn said, as they took a break to rest. “We’ve descended quite a bit, although it might not feel like that to you since the angle is gentle. But there’s always danger down here. Let’s head back.”
“Wait, do you hear that noise?” A faint clanging sounded in the distance.
The men glanced as her as though she was nuts.
“I don’t hear anything.” Quinn peered at her. “You don’t look so good. We’d better get you out in the fresh air.”
Something scratched her back, and she jerked away from the wall. “Who did that? One of you touched me.”
“Marla, we’re nowhere near you.” Dalton’s face registered concern. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m not imagining things. I heard a banging noise.” Mines could be haunted by the ghosts of miners felled in accidents. Quinn was right. They shouldn’t linger. But as they turned to go, Dalton halted, a look of rapt intensity on his face.
“I heard something, too. Let’s go down this tunnel a bit before we leave.”
They came upon another series of ladders leading downward. A faint glow shone from below.
“Someone is down there,” she whispered. “Quinn, what’s going on?”
The man’s brows folded together. “I have no idea, but this is damn odd. I’ll climb down to take a look. You guys stay here. That ladder might be half rotted by now. I promise to be quick.”
Finding nothing to sit on, Marla leaned against a wall after checking it for spiders. Her helmet lamp cast a harsh illumination on the rock face. Quinn had left his lantern behind, so they had that lighting as well. They followed his progress down the ladder until his form disappeared.
Dalton crouched beside her. “It must have been a tough life to be a miner. Who would want such a job?”
“Men who had no other skills? Imagine being down here for twelve hours a day. That’s bad enough without the added risks. How many men fell off ladders like that one? Some of them may have drowned if they did. I read that groundwater seeps into these mines. It collected in a pit called a sump at the bottom of the main shaft. They used pumps to keep the water under control.”
“And they always had the threat of cave-ins or blasting gone wrong.”
“Dust in the air was another concern. That’s why they did the blasting at the end of each day, so the debris could settle by the time they returned.”
“Speaking of returns, here comes Quinn. He made it fast.”
They both stood upright as Quinn scrambled up the last rung. His worried expression set her pulse rate racing.
“We have to get out of here. I may have been spotted.” He hurried to their side while tightening his backpack straps.
“Who’s down below?” Dalton asked, his expression somber in the lantern light.
“Guys are working the mine. It’s an active operation.”
“What?” Had she heard him correctly?
“Somebody has resumed ore prospecting.” He led them back the way they’d come.
“You’re kidding.” Marla couldn’t believe no one would know about it. “How extensive are these tunnels?”
“They loop around for thousands of miles.”
Dalton brought up the tail again as they moved along toward the exit. “According to our research on the subject, mineral rights for local property owners go down a hundred feet or so. What happens when someone wants to dig deeper?”
“If you plan to extract ore from deep underground, you have to register a claim with the federal government. And if you have a smelting plant as well, those require all sorts of permits. I can understand why somebody would keep this operation secret. Possibly the person in charge doesn’t own the mining rights.”
“But where do they house the workers?” Marla queried, unable to conceive how this activity could be kept under wraps. “And how can the men be prevented from talking? For that matter, how come no one has seen them and raised questions?” Maybe the number of miners was small enough to keep them contained. But they’d still have to live somewhere.
“All valid points, ma’am.”
The voices from behind faded as they scurried along. Marla almost tripped over a rail as the passage narrowed. She squeezed past an abandoned ore cart, touching the cool rock wall for balance. At an intersection, they followed the route indicated by the chalk marks. Unfortunately, if anyone pursued them, it gave a clear direction to follow.
“We should take another tunnel to throw them off,” she suggested in a low tone.
From her rear, Dalton put a hand on her shoulder. “We could use a map of the tunnel system. Too bad I didn’t find one in the town’s archives.”
“It would have come in handy.” Another passage intersected with theirs, winding into the dark. On an impulse, Marla snapped a picture of the inky blackness.
“We don’t dare risk getting lost by taking a different route,” Quinn said, his eyes bright in the lantern’s glow. “Let’s hope these guys don’t show up at an intersection ahead of us. They might know these passages better than we do.”
Marla’s throat constricted. What if those men discovered them? This place could easily become their tomb.
“I thought you’d worked down here.” That’s why we hired you, Marla thought. Well, not exactly. Quinn couldn’t possibly know every passage.
“This section wasn’t near any place where I’d mined the rock. I wonder how they’re processing the ore.” Quinn’s voice sounded hollow in the narrow passage. “It can be a messy business. Stamp mills produce sulfur dioxide emissions and release particulate matter into the air. Plus copper processing requires large amounts of water. They must ship the ore somewhere.”
“Surely today’s methods are cleaner?” Marla’s forehead crinkled. Somehow this information was relevant, but other questions took priority.
Quinn stepped around a rusted drill on the ground. “That’s true, but stricter controls raise production costs. I’ll bet the person running this mine is ignoring regulations.”
Marla fell silent, considering the ramifications. Who would control an operation this large? Moreover, why reopen the mine and go to the trouble unless it was profitable?
“Quick, go down that side tunnel,” Quinn urged. “I hear voices ahead.”
They dodged into an intersecting passage and squelched their lights just before a gang of four men rushed past, chattering in Spanish. Had they noticed the chalk marks in this section?
“We’ll wait it out,” Quinn said in a hushed tone. “When those men don’t see anybody up ahead, they’ll double back down the same tunnel. Then we can head for the exit.”
“I wonder if these passages underlie the ghost town Uncle Ray is renovating,” Dalton whispered into Marla’s ear. “Heavy construction equipment and a lot of surface activity could stress the tunnels and endanger the miners. That might explain why somebody is sabotaging his project.”
“You could be right.”
This find had the potential to change everything, but only if they lived to tell their tale.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
As Quinn had predicted, the mine workers passed them by on their return trip. Nor did they leave anybody behind to see who emerged from the shadows. Marla hoped they dismissed any claims of spotting an intruder as a ghostly apparition. These guys were likely to be as superstitious as Raymond’s labor force.
She was starting to wonder if their beliefs were real, though. Had it been a ghost tapping on her helmet inside the mine? She couldn’t wait to upload her photos onto their notebook computer to see what showed online.
“I should have taken pictures of those miners as they went past,” Marla said, once she and Dalton were safely ensconced back at the dude ranch. They’d paid off Quinn while exacting his promise not to speak about what they’d learned.
“It’s best you didn’t, or they might have noticed us,” Dalton said, unbuttoning his shirt. “We’ll find proof another way. In the meantime, we can tell Sheriff Beresby what we found.”
“I’m too tired tonight, and he has enough on his plate anyway. It can wait until the morning. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
After they showered, changed, and ate dinner, she uploaded her photos to their laptop. She’d captured the tunnels, the square-set constructions, the abandoned machinery, and even the ladders leading away into the dark. But she hadn’t counted on the orbs that populated her pictures.
“Look, do you think they’re ghosts?” she said in wide-eyed wonder to Dalton.
“I doubt it. Those circles are more likely to be dust molecules caught by the camera.”
“I’m not so sure. We should go to Sedona and consult one of their psychics. We can tell the sheriff about the mines later. And if we pay a visit to the forest supervisor while we’re in the area, we might have more information to add.”
A seat of mysticism and spiritual vortexes, Sedona housed numerous New Age centers that catered to tourists. Late Sunday morning, Marla gazed at the red cliffs that rose around them as they drove into town. Each view unfolded in spectacular majesty. Words failed her to describe the awe-inspiring scenery.
No wonder people felt a heightened spiritual awareness here. Who wouldn’t experience this oneness with nature when surrounded by such beauty?
They parked in a public lot and strolled down a main street bustling with tourists, intriguing stores, and outdoor cafés. Stopping at the Pink Jeep tour center, Marla asked the clerk if he knew of any psychics who might have knowledge about the copper mining industry. The guy referred her to a spiritualist center on a side street.
Chimes tinkled on the door as she and Dalton entered. Marla sniffed pine-scented incense as she gazed at display cases showing a dazzling array of crystal rocks. Jewelry, books on New Age topics, and Indian dream catchers were also for sale. In the rear, a curtain divided the front section from the psychic who offered readings.
Marla didn’t want a reading. She’d already had one at Cassadaga, a Florida town owned and operated by certified mediums.
“You want to talk about the copper mines? I don’t know if I’m the best person for you to consult,” Madame Duval said to Marla in her private enclave. She might be well into her seventies, Marla guessed, judging from the deep creases in her face, the wrinkled skin on her hands, and the gray roots on her bleached hair.
“You were recommended to me as someone well versed in the region’s history.”
The psychic offered her a friendly smile. “Well, then, what would you like to know?”
“I explored an old mine shaft and took photos. Lots of orbs showed up in them.”
“That’s not surprising. If you’re interested in this sort of thing, you should visit the vortexes.”
“We haven’t had time yet. What are these vortexes supposed to do?”
“They amplify the energy that surrounds us. Two types exist. Upflow vortexes draw energy from the earth. When you stand on a mountain, you are able to view life on a higher plane because of these energies. You’ll feel a sense of renewal and spiritual oneness with the universe.”
Tell me something I don’t know. Anyone standing on a mountain surrounded by the beauty of nature would feel the same thing. “And the other kind?” she asked to be polite.
“Inflow vortexes are where energy flows into the earth, like in a valley.”
“How about a cave, or a manmade tunnel like in a mine?”
The woman’s eyes glittered. “You’re closer to the electromagnetic grid that circles the globe when you’re underground. This cosmic energy field underlies the tectonic plates. The grid lines are called ley lines. Where they intersect, vortexes are located. These resonate and interact with our chakras and meridians. Thus people experience them in different ways.”
“Let’s talk about ghosts. Why do spiritual beings supposedly appear as orbs?”
“That’s the easiest form for them to take. It’s not uncommon to find them in the mines. Mining accidents killed more miners than homicides back in the day.”
“How so?” Marla asked as though she didn’t know. She glanced toward the curtain that partitioned off the psychic’s space. Hopefully, Dalton was entertaining himself in the shop. She’d spotted a pen inlaid with turquoise stone that might make a nice gift for him if she could buy it on the sly.
“The miners had to climb ladders, yes? Someone from above might drop a tool. That could hit a miner on the rungs or cause him to lose balance. Rotten rungs could give way, or he could slip and fall. Falling down a shaft was a common hazard. Fires were always a risk, and so were explosions. Often a man would pull out a stick of dynamite from the rock wall where it had been set to go off but didn’t. Instead of being a dud, it would blow up in his face.”
“What kind of superstitions affected the miners?”
Madame Duval adjusted her patterned skirt. She wore ordinary street clothes enhanced by turquoise stone jewelry. “Crows were a bad sign. If a crow flew across a miner’s path on his way to work, he’d turn around and go home for the day. Men carried talismans into work to ward off evil. Some even nailed horseshoes into the timbers where they were drilling. They all feared ghosts, believing the spirits of miners killed on the job still lingered down below.”
“My husband’s uncle is restoring the town at Craggy Peak. That place has plenty of ghost stories associated with it.”
“I’ll bet you can find lots of orbs in those old buildings. Arizona is rich with history.”
“Some say orbs are merely dust globules or moisture droplets. Camera artifacts do seem more likely than spiritual entities,” Marla said, taking Dalton’s viewpoint.
Madame Duval hunched forward, shaking her drop earrings. “If you don’t believe in the paranormal, why did you come to me?”
“I didn’t say I’m a non-believer. In fact, down in the mine, I felt someone tap my helmet more than once. My husband says he didn’t do it. And I’ve had other experiences.”
The psychic jerked upright, her eyes widening. “May I hold your hand? Someone wants to communicate with you.”
Startled, Marla complied as goose bumps rose on her flesh.
“It’s a man who wants you to keep asking questions.” Madame Duval closed her eyelids to concentrate. “The entity says you’re getting close.”
Marla stared at her. Those words reminded her of Jesse’s parting sentence when they’d first met him. If this truly was a spiritual connection, who could it be—Garrett Long, the dead forest ranger? Or maybe Eduardo, the man who’d fallen down the hole? Or Tate Reardon, whose wife and daughter were mysteriously missing?
“Close to what?” she said more sharply than intended.
“He warns you to look closer to home. That is all he has to say.” The woman’s eyes snapped open. “This is why you came here today. You were guided to seek me.”
Marla paid the woman and departed feeling more confuse
d than ever. Not spying Dalton inside the shop, she paused to purchase the pen and hide it in her handbag. She’d save it for a special occasion as a memento of their trip together.
Outside, he loitered under a shady tree while storm clouds gathered overhead. Marla glanced at them with concern. Clouds were an anomaly during their visit, and it didn’t bode well for the afternoon. She hurried to their car.
“How’d it go?” Dalton said as he pulled out of their space and merged into traffic.
Marla related her conversation with Madame Duval.
“Look closer to home? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sheriff Beresby said something similar, so we must be on the right track. We just have to fit the pieces together.”
They drove to Wendall, fifteen minutes down the highway from Sedona. Unfortunately, the forest supervisor’s office was closed for the weekend. Marla cursed their luck. They should have called ahead. Anyway, Beresby had probably interviewed the man by now.
Returning to Sedona, they stopped for lunch. The storm clouds brought rain, but the skies had cleared by the time they finished eating. They explored a few of the area’s highlights before leaving town.
As they drove into the ranch, Dalton pointed out a bunch of cars occupying the spaces in the main parking lot. “Wayne had been expecting a wedding party. Was that this week or next?”
“I don’t remember. Let’s see if he’s in his office. We should give him an update.”
As they entered the lobby, loud voices emanated from the inner sanctum. Janice gave them a weak smile as they approached the front desk.
“What’s going on?” Marla asked the redhead.
“You’d have to ask Wayne. Go on back. He’ll be glad to see you.”
Dalton led the way past the gate. His boots thudded on the tile floor as he strode toward his cousin’s office with an air of purpose.
A semicircle of four men stood facing Wayne who sat behind his desk. The middle-aged individuals wore angry expressions along with the ubiquitous plaid shirts and jeans.
“If you don’t do something, we’ll call our lawyers in the morning,” one guy said. “An injunction should get your daddy to stop his construction.”
Peril by Ponytail (A Bad Hair Day Mystery) Page 17