by Cindy Myers
“I hope so.” He crossed his arms over his chest, gaze fixed on the ceiling still. She could feel him closing her off and wanted to shake him.
She stroked his arm. “You’re going to be a great dad, you know.”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. When he did finally speak, his voice was soft. “I hope so. I want to be. It feels like I have a lot working against me—history, a lot of bad examples.”
“You’re your own person. That’s what made me fall in love with you.”
She felt some of the tension drain out of him. “I thought it was the motorcycle leathers.” He sat up and pulled her close.
She settled against him. “Mmm. That, too.”
“I love you, Maggie. You know that, right?”
“I do know it.” There had been a time when she’d doubted the truth behind those words, but no more. “It’ll be all right, Jameso. We’ll be all right, and so will Sharon and Alina.” And Adan too, she hoped.
Sharon eyed the man on the other side of the circulation desk. Chris Amesbury wore an Indiana Jones–style fedora and a denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, over skinny jeans and hiking books that were so new they squeaked. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand what you’re looking for,” she said.
“I’m compiling a list of the most interesting people in Eureka,” he said. “People with unusual hobbies or habits that might interest television viewers. Obviously, this is a difficult task for someone who doesn’t live here. But as a librarian, you know all your patrons and their reading tastes, so I thought you might point me in the direction of some Eurekians who might be good candidates for my list.”
She suspected interesting people was code for eccentrics and nuts. Didn’t he think it might be just a bit insulting for him to pick out the oddest people in town as representatives of “typical Eurekians”? He had a lot of nerve, asking her to help him in his quest. “Information about the books people check out is confidential,” she said.
“Of course.” He leaned across the counter and looked into her eyes, in a way he probably thought was charming. “I’m not asking you to divulge state secrets, just give me a little help. For instance, who, in your professional opinion, is the most eccentric person in town?”
In her short time in Eureka, she’d become acquainted with more than a few people who might qualify as “most eccentric.” The mountains attracted people who marched to a different drummer. “I don’t have a professional opinion on that subject,” she said.
The buzzer on the back door sounded and Cassie entered, returning from her lunch break. “The lilacs are going to be truly spectacular this year,” she called. “Another week and the bushes here at the library will be in their full glory.” She emerged from the back hallway and froze when she spotted their visitor. “Mr. Amesbury! Such a pleasure to see you.” She sent Sharon a look that clearly said, You can leave now, I’ll take care of him. Sharon gladly took a few steps back toward her desk. Speaking of eccentrics, Cassie could be number one on Amesbury’s list.
“Miss Wynock! Or may I call you Cassie? I was hoping I’d find you here.”
Twin spots of pink bloomed on Cassie’s cheeks. “So nice of you to stop by. I hope you’re enjoying your visit to Eureka so far.”
“I am. This morning I was taken on a guided tour of the surrounding mountains by one of the locals, who regaled me with tales of an area legend named Jake Murphy. Quite the character. I wish I could have met him.”
The wattage on Cassie’s smile dimmed at the mention of Jake Murphy. Sharon had heard her share of stories about Maggie’s father—about how he built Janelle and Danielle a fireproof chicken house after bigots destroyed their first one; how he climbed Mount Garnet every Fourth of July to hang the flag at the pioneer cabin there; how he’d won the trophy at the Hard Rock Days competition three years running, and about how he’d abandoned Maggie and her mother three days after Maggie was born, then left her everything he owned in his will. None of the stories Sharon had heard involved Cassie, but clearly the librarian had little love for Jake or his memory.
“I’m sure you’re not really interested in someone who isn’t even around anymore,” Cassie said. “Can I help you with something else? Do you need to use one of our computers, or would you like to do some research about the town?”
“Research, yes! That’s exactly why I’m here.” He explained his mission to ferret out information about the town’s most eccentric “characters.” Sharon sat frozen, fingers poised over her keyboard, waiting for Cassie to launch into a speech about privacy rights and rules and the impropriety of divulging information about the library’s patrons.
“I’d love to help you,” she said, and Sharon almost fell out of her chair. Who had replaced the real, acerbic, rule-enforcing Cassie with this compliant, even pleasant version?
“I knew I could count on you.” Amesbury opened a small notebook and clicked his pen, poised for any information she could provide.
“Bob Prescott ought to be on your list,” Cassie said. “He isn’t rowing with all his oars in the water.”
“In what way, exactly, is Mr. Prescott distinctive?”
“He reads all those survivalist books. He’s got a stash of food and ammo big enough to wait out the end times—or so he says.”
Thanks to Joe, Sharon knew plenty of people like Bob. Some of them were odder than others, but none of them was outright nuts—just a little more cautious, or a little more suspicious, than everyone in the mainstream.
“All right, I’ve got Prescott.” Amesbury looked up from his notebook. “Who else?”
“Let me see.” Cassie touched the tip of one finger to the corner of her mouth in a coquettish pose. “There are so many to choose from.”
The front door to the library opened and a breeze swept through the building, ruffling the papers on Sharon’s desk. “Hello, Miss W, Mrs. Franklin.” Lucas Theriot shambled in, followed by Alina, both bent under the burden of backpacks.
“Hi, Mom. Hello, Miss Wynock,” Alina waved and deposited her pack on the center table between the shelves.
Lucas joined her and took a camera from his pack and handed it across to Alina. “Thanks for letting me borrow it,” he said. “I didn’t have any luck.”
“Any luck with what?” Sharon asked. Alina gave her a pained look, but she ignored it. A mother had a right to be nosy.
Lucas didn’t seem to mind the question, though. “I was trying to get a picture of whoever—or whatever—is stealing stuff at the house my mom and D. J. are remodeling,” he said, turning in his chair to face her. “I set up this motion detector thingie so the camera would take a picture if anyone came into the room. But all I got were pictures of my mom and D. J. and workmen and stuff.”
“Are things still going missing?” Sharon asked. As mysteries went, this wasn’t a big one, but it was curious.
Lucas nodded. “I’ve been keeping track. This week a fork, another earring, and a tin of snuff have disappeared.”
“Maybe your folks are just careless.” Alina stuffed the camera in her pack. “Those are all items that are easy to misplace.”
“I think the ghost is taking them,” he said.
“There are no such things as ghosts.” Cassie had apparently decided not to be left out of the conversation.
“Wait. I want to hear more about this ghost.” Amesbury moved over to join the two teenagers at the table. “I’m Chris Amesbury, director. I’m thinking of filming a television show in Eureka.”
“Hi.” Lucas shook the director’s hand. “Uh, I’m Lucas Theriot. And this is Alina Franklin.”
Amesbury scarcely glanced at Alina. “Tell me about your ghost, Lucas.”
“My mom and her fiancé are fixing up this old house that used to belong to an old woman who had to go into a nursing home. But before she lived there, the house belonged to a man named McCutcheon. He was married to a woman named Adelaide, but she disappeared about 1966, and some people think her husband murdered her and burie
d her in the backyard and now she haunts the house.”
“Now, that is interesting.” Amesbury scribbled furiously in his notebook. “Have you seen the ghost?”
“No,” Lucas admitted. “But stuff keeps turning up missing. Little stuff like jewelry and doorknobs and bolts and stuff. Whatever it is, it managed to steal more stuff without tripping the camera we set up.”
“I still don’t see what Adelaide would want with forks and single earrings,” Alina said. “You wouldn’t think a ghost would need anything really.”
“This is her way of communicating,” Lucas said. “Of letting us know she’s here.”
“I thought you were too sensible to believe in nonsense like this,” Cassie said.
“We-ell, yeah.” He grinned. “But wouldn’t it be fun if it was true?”
“I’d still like to know what happened to Mrs. McCutcheon,” Alina said. “We looked at the courthouse, but we didn’t really learn anything. She was here in 1965, and she wasn’t here in 1966, but Mr. McCutcheon lived in the house another three years before he sold it to the Gilroys.”
“We checked the death records, too,” Lucas said. “She’s not in there.”
“A murder mystery!” Amesbury said, and wrote more in his notebook.
Sharon glared at him. She wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but with Cassie encouraging him, she had to keep her mouth shut.
“What’s this show you want to film in Eureka?” Lucas asked.
“I’m envisioning a documentary format that examines what happens when you bring young people from the city and put them in a small mountain town to interact with the local citizens and absorb the culture.”
Lucas frowned. “You mean, like a reality TV series.”
Amesbury clicked his pen three times. “Some people react badly to the words ‘reality TV.’ I picture this production as being a cut above the ordinary. And I’ll be looking for local talent to participate.” He grinned at Sharon. “Perhaps you’d like to audition for a role. You definitely have the looks to be a star.”
“No, thank you.” Sharon refrained from making a face. “Though I’m sure Cassie would be perfect for a role in the show.” Might as well score points with the boss while she was at it.
“Chris has already promised me a part.” Cassie didn’t exactly preen, but she couldn’t have looked any smugger.
“Oh, definitely,” Amesbury said. “I’ll want to feature as many Eurekians as possible.”
Alina giggled. “Eurekians? That sounds so funny.”
Amesbury flushed. “What else would you call the people who live here?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “People who live in Eureka, I guess.”
“I don’t think—”
But they never learned what he didn’t think, because a loud siren’s wail split the air. “What is that?” Sharon called over the din.
“Emergency siren.” Cassie headed for the door. “It’s used to summon the volunteer firemen and EMTs.”
They all followed her to the door and out onto the sidewalk in front of the library. Cassie put up her hand as if she was hailing a taxi, and to Sharon’s amusement, a car screeched to a halt at the curb. “Paul, what’s going on?” Cassie addressed the driver.
“There’s been an accident up at Lucky Lady Mine,” he said. “Word is people are trapped inside.”
Chapter 15
“Remind me why I ever wanted to be mayor?” Lucille asked Reggie as she gunned her Jeep up the steep grade leading to Lucky Lady Mine. The lawyer had shown up at Lacy’s seconds after the emergency siren sounded, with the news that Bob Prescott and Gerald Pershing were trapped in one of the tunnels after an explosion.
Reg clenched his jaw and braced one hand against the dash as the Jeep jounced over deep ruts. “I thought they fixed this road when they reopened the mine.”
“They hauled three truckloads of road base up here and the first hard rain washed it all back down.” She steered the Jeep around a particularly deep gully. “There are a lot of reasons no one’s ever developed the land up here, and access is one of them. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I didn’t think you were serious. When you ran for mayor, I think you said something about wanting to give back to the town.”
“Well, I think I’ve given enough. Can I turn in my resignation now?”
“Not in the middle of a crisis. It wouldn’t look good.”
“When are we ever not in a crisis these days?” She steered around a big boulder, then braked hard and brought the Jeep to a halt next to a sheriff’s department cruiser. The crowd of men gathered at the mine entrance turned to stare as she stalked up to them, Reg hurrying after her. “What’s the situation?” she asked.
“An explosion at the north end of the main shaft caused the midsection of the tunnel to collapse, blocking the entrance,” Charlie Frazier, head of the local Search and Rescue volunteers, said.
“But there’s a back way out, right? An escape route?”
The men looked at her blankly.
She turned to Reg. “It was part of the new safety features Gerald was so insistent about installing. The features we paid for.”
“There’s no escape route,” Charlie said.
A sick feeling swept over—one she’d experienced before. “But I saw it. It was on the engineers’ drawings Gerald submitted to the town council.”
“Well, yeah, it was on the drawings,” Charlie said. “It just isn’t in the mine.”
“Why not?”
The men exchanged glances. “We don’t know why not. Maybe they hadn’t gotten around to installing it yet.”
“Or maybe Gerald Pershing took the money we paid and put it in his own pocket. Where is he?” She looked around. “I want to personally strangle him.”
“He’s trapped in the mine. At least, that’s his car over there.” Charlie pointed to the silver Cadillac Gerald drove.
“There is some justice in the world,” Lucille said. “Who’s in there with him?”
“Bob Prescott, we think.” Charlie nodded toward the battered pickup that was a familiar sight around town.
“What caused the explosion?” Reggie asked.
“We’re not sure,” Charlie said. “Though we suspect dynamite.”
“They weren’t using dynamite in the mine,” Lucille said.
“They weren’t supposed to be,” Charlie agreed. “But you know, Bob’s kind of old-fashioned. He’s used dynamite before to blast away rock. Maybe he decided to use it again.”
She clenched her hands into fists. “If he’s still alive, I’ll strangle him, too. What are we doing to get them out?”
“Search and Rescue is trying to establish where they are in the mine, and a crew is on its way from Lake City to try to either clear the blockage in the tunnel or drill a new exit,” Charlie said. “That could take a couple of days or more.”
“Wait, could you repeat that for me?” a familiar voice called from the parking area.
Lucille turned and gaped at Maggie, who was struggling up the path to the mine entrance. “You shouldn’t be up here in your condition,” she scolded. “Where’s Rick?” One more man she’d have to give a piece of her mind. What did the publisher of the Eureka Miner mean, letting his pregnant reporter trek up the mountains like this?
“He’s at the dentist . . . in Montrose. He had . . . an abscess.” She stopped next to Lucille, panting, one hand cradling her belly.
“You’re not going to go into labor right here, are you?” Reg asked.
“At least if I do there are plenty of people here who are qualified to help.” She nodded toward the crew of EMTs. She switched on her tape recorder and extended it toward Lucille. “Madam Mayor, what’s the situation?” she asked.
“Right now we don’t know much,” Lucille said. “There may or may not have been an explosion, and Bob and Gerald may or may not be trapped in the mine. If they are trapped, we don’t know if they’re injured or not, and we don’t know how l
ong it will take to rescue them.”
The roar of an engine accelerating up the grade announced a new arrival. A black Escalade hove into view in a cloud of dust and parked haphazardly. Chris Amesbury, in an Indiana Jones hat and aviator sunglasses, stepped out of the driver’s side, while Cassie Wynock, looking more than a little flushed and disheveled, slid out of the passenger seat.
“What are you two doing here?” Lucille asked.
“A mine tragedy is great drama,” the director said. “I couldn’t stay away.”
“And what about you?” Lucille asked Cassie, who was straightening her skirt and smoothing her hair. “Don’t you have a library to run?”
“Sharon is there. I came to show Chris the way.” She adjusted her sunglasses and looked around. “It doesn’t look like much is going on up here.”
“All of you need to stay back.” Charlie ushered them some distance from the mine. “We don’t know if there’s more explosives in there or not.”
“Explosives?” Amesbury took out his notebook. “What kind of explosives?”
Everyone ignored him. “What were Bob and Gerald doing with explosives?” Maggie asked.
“We don’t know,” Charlie said. “Maybe cutting a new tunnel the old-fashioned way.”
“More likely he had a stash of the stuff just in case,” Cassie said.
“Just in case of what?” Lucille asked.
“Just in case of the end of the world or the crash of civilization or invasion by foreigners or natural disaster—you name it, Bob was prepared for it.” Cassie shrugged. “He had a stash of supplies he said was hidden in a secret storage area in the mountains.”
“He was hiding things in the Lucky Lady?” Lucille asked. She’d thought Gerald had merely used his report of Bob storing things in the mine as an excuse to talk to her. She’d meant to ask Bob about the accusation, but it had slipped her mind. If the old man survived this disaster, she was going to kill him!
“It would be a good place—out of the weather, underground, hidden,” Charlie said. “He wouldn’t have put the supplies in a tunnel where they were working, but in a more remote shaft. You know these old mines, they have tunnels running every which way underground.”