Makes 8 small scones.
Ten minutes later, while Jake attacked his kibble, the four of us hunkered down on the striped back of Lady, Maureen and proved the adage that hunger makes the best sauce. We slathered the hot scones with butter the general had brought a stick with his supplies and apple butter, courtesy of the Hardcastles. The butter and apple butter oozed comfortingly between the moist, tender, biscuitlike layers. A morning coffee devotee, I was surprised by the delicious taste of the English Breakfast tea I’d brewed. Any port in a storm.
“Time to pack up,” the general announced. He wanted to get to Idaho Springs and the Eurydice Gold Mine as soon as possible.
We left the Hardcastles’ cabin somewhat cleaner than we’d found it, and my only hope was that a new layer of dust would cover the interior before the Hardcastles took it upon themselves to visit their country property.
When we drew up to the mine an hour later, it appeared utterly abandoned. The heavy grates across the menacing portal were wrapped shut by a thick chain. The sheds were tightly locked. How different the old site seemed now, with no tent, no portable ovens, no food, and no partygoers. Arch talked to Jake, who had howled on our way up High Creek Avenue. Jake scrambled over his lap, poked his nose out the window and let loose with a grandiose, ear-splitting wail.
“Not again,” muttered Marla.
“Close the damn window,” the general commanded.
“Okay,” Arch said meekly, “but it’s like up at the cabin. Bloodhounds remember a scent. When they smell it in the air, they howl. It’s just the way they are. I think Tony’s been here.”
“Honey,” I said mildly, “Jake always howls.”
“Not true,” Arch maintained, ever loyal.
“Well, then,” I asked as we piled out of the Jeep, “what if whoever kidnapped Tony was here, and then went off? Or say the kidnapper got the gold, then came back down this dirt road? The dog certainly won’t be able to distinguish between coming and going, will he?” And particularly not this dog, I thought somewhat peevishly.
“Bloodhounds always go after the freshest scent,” my son replied earnestly, anxious to exhibit his beloved pet’s unique skills. “At this point, the whole idea in Jake’s mind, his whole purpose in life, is just to f-i-n-d Tony.
Arch coaxed the working harness, a leather and metal contraption attached to a thicker leather leash, back over Jake’s head. Jake immediately lowered his nose to the train track leading into the mine. I turned and saw Marla staring at the portal. There was fear in her eyes. Jake cast along the area where the party tent had been, nose to the ground, paws taking him first here, then there. He sniffed out a ditch, then the entrance to a shed. My heart sank. This would never work. And even if it did, and if we did find Tony in the mine, what would we do? Suppose he really was dead? Would we call the sheriffs department? I couldn’t imagine De Groot and Hersey driving up in a department vehicle with big smiles on their faces. Hey, sorry everybody! Marla didn’t kill Royce! Nobody got pushed into Grizzly Creek! Big mistake!
ake had a scent. He was pulling dementedly on his leash.
“Hold up,” said the general. “There’s a road around the side of the mountain. It goes down some rough terrain and ends up on a back road to Central City, not far from Orpheus Canyon Road. Maybe Tony and his abductor came for the gold samples, and they went out the other way. Be very sure to let the hound cast for the freshest scent, Arch.”
But Jake was determined that there was only one scent to follow, and that led straight into the Eurydice Mine. He stopped at the closed grate, and howled.
“Wait,” the general commanded briskly. He strode over to the corrugated metal shed on the right side of the mine, where the party tent had been pitched less than ten days earlier. He pushed hard on the door until the wood splintered and gave. A moment later, the string of lights leading into the mine lit up. I recalled that Marla had told me the lights had been specially hung for the investors’ tour of the mine, and did not go in very far. But to me, the tiny lamps seemed to go down and in forever, like a vision out of Alice in Wonderland.
Bo poked his head out the shed door and signaled to us.
“I don’t know this place at all,” he said, almost apologetically. “And I have no idea what the scent will be like inside the mine. I don’t even know where the safe is, but the tracks should take us to it. I’m hoping that’s where we’ll find Tony.” He looked hard at Arch. “I really don’t want you to be subjected to this, son. Please let me take Jake. You can stay here, in the car if you like, with your mother.”
Arch pushed his glasses up his nose and squared his shoulders in unconscious imitation of Bo. “Wherever Jake goes, I go. That’s the way it is. My dad’s a doctor and Tom’s a homicide guy. I know about life and death, and you know my mom’s been involved with solving some crimes before.”
Bo scowled. Then he nodded. Maybe he recognized that Arch could be as stubborn as he was.
“All right then,” he said. “Here’s the deal. Sorry to take over, Goldy, but with safety an issue, I’d feel better being in charge.”
I nodded an assent. The general went on: “I want Marla to stay at the portal with my gun. Arch, Goldy, and I go in wearing mine safety equipment. We follow the rails with Jake to the safe. No matter what happens, we stay together. A lamp goes out, Jake starts to howl, we all come out and I go back in alone. Got it?”
Arch said yes. I nodded. General Bo led us, catlike, through the shed. He handed Arch and me hard hats, then put one on himself Arch clamped his foot over Jake’s leash while he fastened the hard hat strap under his chin.
“Put these on, too,” Bo advised. He held up bulky belts whose loops were crammed with equipment. When we had fastened the cumbersome leather straps around our waists, Bo grinned. “Before we take off, ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to demonstrate the safety features of your belt.” He reached to one side of the belt and pulled on a round reflective device attached to a cord. “This is a cap lamp.” He slid the light into a metal bracket in the front of his hardhat. “Used one of these once when I went into a VC tunnel in ‘Nam.” He flipped a switch on the lamp, and it came on. “Only use this if you have to.” He touched the cord on the lamp. “It’s attached to a wet cell battery back here.” He grasped what looked like a miniature flask from the belt. “This is what’s called a self-rescuer. If there’s a fire in the tunnel, what you most need to worry about is carbon monoxide. You use this like diving equipment.” He glanced around the shed, tucked his self-rescuer in his belt, and reached for another of the flasks. Unlike the ones on our belts, this flask was red.
“This is a training device. Nonfunctioning, that’s why it’s painted red. You pry up this lever to break the seal and discard the cover. Then you bite on this mouthpiece.” When he pulled the cloth cover off the flask, underneath was a metal container with an attached nose clip. He held the mouthpiece of the training flask up to his mouth. “Then close your nostrils with this” he pointed to the nose clip “and breathe. The filter inside the self-rescuer turns carbon monoxide into carbon dioxide for about an hour, depending on the concentration of carbon monoxide. You probably won’t need it.” He nodded, his eyes sternly assessing us for signs of cowardice. “Okay? Ready?” Arch said yes, eagerly, and scooped up Jake’s leash. I bobbed my head inside the hard hat. It was tight on my head, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to fit the cap lamp into the hat’s bracket if I had to, much less use the respirator. All I wanted to do was find what we had come here for, and get home to Tom. If Tom wanted me back home.
General Bo carried a hammer out to the portal entrance, where he examined the chain and padlock, Loudly, he said, “Okay, here we go.” A few swings of the hammer broke the padlock, and Bo unthreaded the chain.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Arch told me as we neared the iron doors that Bo pulled open. Jake surged forward expectantly. “Mines are really safe these days. Not like they used to be.”
“What a comforting thought.”
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Marla listened to Bo explain that the safety on the Glock was a small lever on its trigger. His ice blue gaze held her as he explained in a no-nonsense voice, “You aim and shoot. This is a nine-millimeter semiautomatic and you’ve got nine rounds. You see a guy. You see a jackrabbit. You see a bumblebee. You shoot. Got it?”
Marla nodded mutely and took the gun. I had my doubts about her ability to use it. General Bo lithely stepped out of the way so Jake, tugging Arch with all his canine might, could enter the mine first. I was the last one to step into the tunnel.
The dank air struck my nostrils like a blow. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t cold, musty dampness blowing gently in my face. The moist breeze stank of metallic earth.
“Fifty-one degrees year-round,” General Bo reported cheerfully. “No matter what the weather is outside, that’s the temperature inside a mine or cave.
Might get a tad warmer as we go in.” Jake tugged forward down the tunnel, then made a quick right into what General Bo informed us was a “drift” cut out of the rock. This was the way, I surmised, to the magazine that held the explosives I’d read about in the inspectors’ reports. Once he was in the drift, however, Jake seemed to become confused. With his long ears flopping, he backtracked from the drift and sniffed energetically along the floor of the main tunnel. He sniffed up the walls, around the tracks, started up the tunnel, then headed back to where Marla stood.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Pool scent,” Arch said as he tugged Jake back. He sounded discouraged. “Tony’s been in here, Jake can tell that. But because of the enclosed space, Jake thinks Tony’s everywhere. In this kind of situation, it’s very hard for a bloodhound to be able to tell exactly where the scent was, or how far back the person he’s tracking went.” He grimaced with dismay. “That’s why they use German shepherds in places like this, like when someone’s trapped in a building. Shepherds don’t get overwhelmed by so much scent.”
“Just give him time,” Bo advised. I felt less hopeful, but said nothing.
After more uncertain sniffing, Jake shuffled down the railroad track. The general pointed to the shadowy tunnel ahead. We were to move into the mine. Just what I was dreading.
Step by echoing step, we moved deeper into the earth. Twice I tripped on the old, rusted track. The damp breeze coming from inside the mine grew mustier and staler. Only three feet over our heads, the rough-hewn rock was occasionally covered with chain-link fencing.
“To sheath unstable rock,” the general explained. “By the way, the top of the tunnel is called its back.” He reached over to touch the stone walls. “These are called the mine’s ribs.”
The cold air was seeping through my outerwear and into my underclothes. Our footsteps echoed eerily. About fifty feet in, I looked back. Marla stood motionless in the entry, guarding the portal. I wished with all my heart that Arch and I were back there with her.
About seventy feet in, the tunnel and the track made a right-hand turn. Jake, still sniffing up the ribs, turned right also. But again he seemed confused. Water dripped from overhead. By the light of the lamps along the wall, I could just make out a crack in the rock above us.
“Fault,” General Bo said matter-of-factly. “Why does the air smell so bad?”
“That’s one of the biggest problems, bringing ventilation to the miners. They ventilate the place with raises that go up the mountain. They’re like shafts, only miners climb from level to level via ladders “
We were diverted from discussing this by Jake scrabbling frantically up what looked like a timber wall built up on the left side of the tunnel. I glanced backward. Because of the turn we had made, I could no longer see Marla.
“What is it?” I said. “What’s he found?”
“More pool scent, I think,” Arch responded. He held out his hand to the wall. “Maybe this is the sump.” He clambered up the side of the wall, put his hand over the side, and made a splashing sound. “Yep, it’s water.”
“The sump,” the general explained, “is the reservoir of water that drains down from the mine. They use the water for the drilling, as I was saying “
Jake was going nuts. He sniffed up the side of the sump wall, came back down, sniffed up again. He pulled furiously on his thick leash. It was all Arch could do to restrain him. Tony, or Tony’s scent, had spent some time by the sump.
General Bo reached back to get his cap lamp. Arch stepped firmly on Jake’s leash but couldn’t keep his balance to get up on the sump step without pulling too hard on his dog. I mimicked Bo’s actions and groped along my belt for the cap lamp. Clumsily, I pulled the cord out, snapped the lamp into its bracket, and turned the knob. Given my current frame of mind, I was almost surprised when the light flashed on. My small thin beam swept over the ribs of the mine. While Arch struggled to secure Jake’s leash, talking to and soothing the excited animal, the general and I climbed up the uneven steps leading to the sump. The hound whined as Bo and I shone our pale cones of light into the liquid depths.
The water was so still it was almost impossible to tell it was there. The pool seemed to go back about fifteen feet, and down about eight. We swept our lights along the murky surface of the water, and then down to the sump floor. I cried out in shock.
At the bottom of the pool, fully clothed, bald head shining, eyes wide with surprise even in death, was Albert Lipscomb.
20
“Stay still, Arch,” I commanded sternly as I turned away from the corpse to protect my son. “Just… wait until we get down.”
“Why? What’s there?” He was bent awkwardly over Jake. The leash had become tangled between his legs, and Jake was paying no heed as he pawed up and down and moaned deep in his throat. “Tony Royce must have sat down here or something,” Arch said, frustrated. “The scent’s really strong. That’s why Jake’s going ballistic. Is there something in the water, Mom?”
I turned back to the sump. If that fool dog was correct, we’d find Tony’s body next. General Bo moved his light over the length of the dead man. I swallowed hard.
“It’s Tony’s partner,” I murmured.
“I figured,” Bo said. “This is the corpse we’ve been looking for, I’d wager.”
I struggled to clear my mind. But yes, he was right. Victoria Lear had died because she had discovered the Eurydice was worthless. Albert had disappeared, ostensibly with all the money from the Prospect account. A bank teller who could have identified someone had been strangled. Marla had been accused of the murder 9f Tony Royce. But in discovering Albert Lipscomb, we’d found the main corpse, the key to unraveling the bizarre happenings of the last week.
His body did not float. This was Colorado, not Florida. As Tom had told me several times, it takes a month in forty-degree water for a corpse in a lake to come to the surface. Underwater, Lipscomb’s narrow, surprised face had a waxy, bluish appearance. His skin was shriveled. His long fingers, splayed outward, looked like those of a person too long in the bath. I didn’t remember him having age spots on the backs of his hands. I blinked and focused on the dark, round marks. They looked suspiciously like burns. As if someone had tortured him
“No, no!” cried Arch. He’d unfastened the leather lead. “Jake, come back!” But even as Arch called frantically, Jake trotted away. Apparently his powerful nose was telling him to go back down the track in the direction we’d come. Or perhaps he was again confused by the pool scent. Or maybe, like me, he desperately wanted to get as far away as possible from the presence of death. Arch took off after his pet, but the general was faster, bounding off the sump steps and racing nimbly down the rails with the same stamina I’d come to expect from him. Arch tripped and made a spectacular spill in the mud. As I stumbled after my son, a gunshot cracked loudly down the close space of the tunnel.
“Arch!” I yelled. Sprawled on the earth, he didn’t move. “Arch! Arch, tell me you’re all right!” He did not appear to hear me. “Arch, please!”
Finally, he sat u
p and shook himself dazedly. “It’s okay, Mom. I just fell. I have to go get Jake!” He scrambled to his feet, heedless of the danger behind us.
In the distance, Jake howled. The general was nowhere in sight. I heard Marla scream. “No! No! Damn it! Damn you!” And then another gunshot exploded. I grabbed Arch and shoved him against the rock wall, out of harm’s way. After a breathless moment, we heard the general’s voice bellow down the dark passageway:
“Arch! Goldy! Get down! Go back! Back where you “
Light burst from the main tunnel like a blinding photo flash. A deafening boom flung us backward. In that instant, I somehow registered that all the light bulbs along the mine’s ribs were shattering. Then it was like a flame suddenly snuffed in a blackout. Darkness abruptly engulfed us. My nostrils picked up the faintly acrid smell of smoke.
I don’t know how long I lay, stunned, on the cold, moist stone before I tried to use my voice. “Arch,” I said into the blackness. “Arch, please, please, where are you?”
The darkness was ominously silent. Then, to my immense relief I heard a cough.
“Here,” Arch called hoarsely. I struggled to my feet, but could see nothing: There was no light whatsoever. “Sorry, Mom.” Arch’s voice was close. “I don’t know where here is. What was that? Do you know where Jake is?” As usual, his first concern was for his dog.
“I don’t have a clue.” Get your bearings, get your bearings! I ordered myself. We’ve got to get out of here. It’s not safe. I held my arms out in both directions. But there was nothing to get bearings from. The dark was absolute, unyielding.
“Mom.
I strained my eyes into the blackness. I squatted and felt along the damp floor. No Arch. Then my fingers fumbled against a metal chain, and thick leather: Jake’s leash. I crammed it into my jacket pocket.
“Arch? Where are you?”
“Here.” Two feet away? My son drew in his breath sharply. “Jake, Mom! What happened to Jake? Is Jake okay? Oh, Mom!” he cried. In the dark, I heard him fumbling, then the scrape of his footsteps on the damp stone floor. “Hey! Jake! Jake!”
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