by Vella Munn
It was the moisture glinting in the woman’s large, deep-set hazel eyes that made the first impact. Mark had been aware, in a distracted way, that she was almost too slender. It gave her an intriguing frailty, but after having Nora thrust her hips at him, Mark wasn’t in the mood to be confronted by another woman. Having this woman march up to him and threaten to sue the city because her car was stuck was not what he wanted to hear.
But the lady with the eyes wasn’t screaming lawsuit. She was looking at him as if her morning was ten times worse than his. “Where are you heading?” he asked. “Maybe I can give you a lift. It’s—” He didn’t get any further.
“Mark. The phone’s been ringing off the wall. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here any earlier.”
Mark acknowledged the slightly built man with the bushy mustache who was Camp Oro’s mayor. “It’s been a circus.” Mark explained about the warning signs, then went on, “I’ve already heard from Harden Langford and some women from the community pride group. I wasn’t even out of my car when Harden snagged me. They want to see the cave-in left the way it is. Turn it into a tourist attraction. You know how Harden is when he digs in.” Mark glanced over at the stranded woman.
“A tourist attraction? Interesting thought,” Josh Bertrum acknowledged. “Well, it looks as if you have things pretty well in hand.”
“There’s one more problem. This woman isn’t going to be able to use her car until we get the hole filled up.”
Kim stuck out her hand, waiting for the mayor to acknowledge it. “I’m Kim Revis. I’ve been staying at my grandmother’s house.” She gestured up the driveway.
Kim. Margaret had said her granddaughter was an attractive young woman. Mark had chalked that up to grandmother talk, but now he knew Margaret hadn’t exaggerated. “Help me, Mark,” Margaret had begged him. “I should have never started—it’s too late. If she ever finds out—” He had agreed to help, but suddenly the words were much more than an old woman’s fear. They represented the loving bond between a dear friend and her granddaughter. Like it or not, he was now part of that bond. “Everyone knows Margaret, Ms. Revis,” Mark supplied. “In fact I’m her attorney.”
Mark. Mark Stockton. If she hadn’t been upset, first by the cave-in and then by her reaction to the man, Kim would have put the pieces together sooner. “Grandmother mentioned you,” she said, smiling a little. “She said you were going to arrange to have her furniture delivered to her.”
Mark frowned. “That’s going to be a major problem now, isn’t it? If we can’t get your car out of there, we’re never going to get a moving van up to the house. In fact—Josh, we’d better make sure nothing heavy gets near the cave-in. Until we know how much is undermined, we’ve got to block off the whole street. Otherwise some fool is going to try to squeeze around. Ms. Revis, at the moment, the best I can offer you is a lift to wherever you’re going.” He turned toward the mayor. “What’s your pleasure, Your Honor?”
“Don’t do this to me, Mark. I’m not going to order the expenditure of who knows how many thousands of dollars without taking it to the council first. And I suppose Harden and the community pride people are going to demand to be heard. I’m sorry, Ms. Revis.” The mayor smiled tentatively. “As you can see, not much that happens in this town is easily resolved.”
“What do you mean?” Kim hadn’t been able to get a reading on the mayor from his handshake, only that she was certain she knew him, or had once known him. “Can’t you throw some dirt or gravel or something in the hole and pave over it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mark answered for the mayor. “Thanks to the efforts of your grandmother and others who feel the same about Camp Oro, this town’s claim to fame is its history. This—” he jabbed a finger at the hole “—is history.”
“I’m aware of the work my grandmother has done,” Kim pointed out in an effort to hurry the conversation. Carrying on a rational discussion with Mark Stockton was taking more effort than it should. It’d be much easier on her nervous system if she could escape those fascinating eyes and the take-charge physique.
“I’m certain you are. However, what you may not be aware of is that we operate on a limited budget, as do all small towns. The budget is managed by an unpaid mayor and volunteer city council. People here can and do approach the governing body whenever they have a complaint or suggestion.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Several members of the community pride group are looking at the commercial value of this particular hole in the ground.”
“That’s ridiculous. A hole doesn’t have a commercial value.”
“Mark?” the mayor spoke up. “I’ll leave you to explain this to Kim. You do remember me, don’t you, Kim? I’m Josh Bertrum. We went to school together. I was a few years ahead of you. If you went to any of the football games, I was the one sitting closest to the water bucket.”
“Josh Bertrum. Of course. Didn’t you live just outside the city limits? You rode a bike to school, didn’t you?”
“You remember.” Josh smiled. “I thought it was beneath my dignity to ride the bus or have my mother drop me off. One of these days, if you have time, you can tell me what you’re doing back here and I’ll tell you why I never left. Mark? I need to talk to Charles.”
Neither Mark nor Kim spoke as they watched the mayor walk over to where the city police car had just pulled up. Seeing Josh Bertrum erased a lot of years. Yes, she would like to talk to Josh, to have him fill in some of the blanks about the people who’d made up her childhood world. But that would have to come later.
Mark interrupted her thoughts. “Your grandmother told me you’ve contracted to work with the museum. Something to do with their security system.”
Kim nodded her head. She knew the necessity of keeping a low profile but certainly she could be open with the city attorney. “I haven’t seen what they have yet, but it sounds as if there’s a need for a major overhaul. Unfortunately, thanks to that—” She indicated the hole, the still-mocking hole. “I’m already late for my first meeting.”
“I’ll give you a lift, Ms. Revis. If I stay here, I’ll just be bombarded with everyone’s theories as to why the street chose this time to give out, and their opinions on what we should do with the hole now that it’s here. That, fortunately, is the council’s headache.”
Mark nodded and exchanged greetings with several people, but didn’t stop to talk to any of them. When they reached his four-wheel-drive vehicle, he held the door open for her. Once they were inside, he explained his gesture. “When I met your grandmother, she made it clear that she expected to be treated as a lady. I’ve never forgotten the lesson.”
Kim liked being in this powerful, masculine vehicle with Mark Stockton. He completely filled his side of the seat, but didn’t impose on her space. “My grandmother’s that kind of woman,” she said as she straightened her skirt. “I keep teasing her that it’s the age she was raised in. She tried to convince me I didn’t have to take the bull by the horns, but I went to school with a bunch of rednecks. Now that I think about it, Josh was one of them. I’ll have to take him to task about that. Josh and his friends believed that the only girls who had a right to the swings were the ones who fought for them. I liked swings. I learned to fight.”
Mark brought the vehicle to life. “Your grandmother’s a gentle woman, but there’s a strength to her that has gotten her just about everything she set her sights on. Once she’s made up her mind about something, the rest of us had better let her have her way.”
Because Mark had turned his head away from her, Kim was able to study his profile. The man’s face was built with strong lines and angles and just enough flesh to soften the impact. She decided, without having anything more than these few minutes to base the decision on, that Mark was born to be a lawyer. “You’re right. She has a great deal of strength. You wouldn’t think she’d need that considering the way her husbands doted on her, but I think it was being widowed with three small children that force
d her to be strong. Grandmother doesn’t talk much about that time. Someday I’d like to get her to write down her life story. If I can get her to hold still long enough, that is.”
Mark’s jaw tightened. “How is she doing? She’d like me to think she doesn’t feel any different than before she broke her hip.”
“I can’t be sure. She still thinks of me as her little girl. I’m going to have to keep an eye on her to make sure she isn’t trying to hide any worries I can help with.”
Mark drove slowly through the town. The buildings were two-stories tall or appeared so at first glance. About half of them had fake fronts above the street level. The brickwork was authentic and, according to the old stories, had originally been built as protection against Indian attack. Most of the commercial buildings bore plaques identifying them as having been blacksmith shops, assay offices, or dry-goods stores in the 1800s. Although the businesses now operating in them were those most likely to appeal to the tourist trade, the historic exteriors remained. Kim felt as if she had never left. The streets looked narrower than they had when she was a child, the buildings smaller. Still, very little had changed.
“I love this town,” Kim said softly. “When I was a little girl I loved having the freedom to go anywhere I wanted because it was so safe. Knowing everyone and having them know me. Then when I got older I thought it was the most boring place in the world. Now I finally understand and appreciate the forces that created Camp Oro. I think I know why Josh stayed here. I wonder how many others did the same.”
Mark signaled and waited until he was off the main street and pulling up to the right of the museum before speaking. “We’re so blasé as young people aren’t we? We feel it’s beneath us to show enthusiasm for certain things. It’s only as we get older that we’re able to give our curiosity free rein again.”
Kim had known Mark Stockton less than an hour and yet it already seemed that in many respects they operated on the same wavelength. “I’m glad I’m not a teenager anymore,” she told him. “It’s better to be comfortable with oneself.” She reached for the door handle but didn’t quite get it open.
Because she was concentrating on Mark and he on her, neither of them noticed a figure passing in front of one of the second-story museum windows. The figure stopped, turned around and leaned against the window, watching.
“What happens now?” Kim was asking Mark. “How long is it going to take before I can use my car?”
“I wish I had an answer for you. Look, the phone at your grandmother’s house is still hooked up isn’t it? I can give you a call once I know what the city council has in mind. Better yet, maybe you should attend the meeting. There’s sure to be one called to discuss and, if we’re lucky, deal with this.”
“I’d like that. I still don’t understand what the problem is. Gravel can’t cost that much. Just dump some down the hole—”
“Do you have a minute?”
“I guess so. I’m late enough now that I don’t think a few more minutes will make that much difference.” A workman was starting to mow the museum lawn. The sound made it necessary for Kim to lean toward Mark.
“You grew up in Camp Oro.”
“Until I was in my late teens. Then my father remarried and we moved to San Francisco.”
“Then you understand the town’s history.”
“I think I do. Mark, I was a child when I lived here.”
“But you do know that Camp Oro was founded during the gold rush.”
“Of course.”
“That the creeks around here were extensively prospected.”
“Of course.”
“And that mining kept many people from starving during the depression.”
“The depression?’ Kim repeated. “No. I—”
Mark nodded. The corners of his mouth lifted just enough to give him away. He was enjoying being thrust into the role of teacher. His explanation of what had happened in the 1930s was factual and yet presented with just enough emotion that Kim was able to understand the desperation that had driven men to dig up their backyards during the uncertain time. “The city fathers couldn’t sanction the digging of mine tunnels under the streets,” Mark explained. “But because it had to be done if people were going to survive the politicians turned their backs. They pretended they didn’t know that the ground under the town was being honeycombed with tunnels. There wasn’t much gold left around here by then, but for some people, that was all they had.”
“That’s what happened this morning? One of the tunnels dug during the depression collapsed?” Kim tore her eyes off Mark’s face, seeking a foothold in the present by watching the lumbering pace of the riding lawnmower. But the 1883 brick county courthouse turned museum was another tie to the past. She could sense men, their faces pinched with concern, digging inch by inch as they searched for the illusive precious metal. What did it matter to them that their tunnels might eventually undermine the town? They had hungry children to feed.
“There have been several attempts to chart the mines dug both during the depression and earlier,” Mark continued. “The mines constructed in the 1800s were sources of pride. We’ve been able to document most of them. But during the depression, it was another story.”
“The one that caved in today—” Kim turned back toward Mark to finish her thought. “I wonder if any of my relatives had anything to do with it. What if—” Kim broke into a delighted grin. “Mark! What if my grandfather dug that tunnel? But no. I don’t suppose so. It was Dow’s property, not my grandfather’s. Just the same—”
Mark’s eyes were on her face, not the excited gestures she was making. “There’s probably no way you’ll ever know that. Like I said, most of those tunnels were dug surreptitiously.”
Mark’s words brought Kim back to earth. “I know. I was just indulging in a little whimsy. It’s always bothered me that my grandfather died so long before I was born. All I know is what Grandmother told me. All those wonderful things. I feel a little cheated.” Once again she reached for the door handle and opened the car door. “Mark, I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about what the council is planning to do. And if going to the meeting will help, I’ll do that. I want it made clear that something has to be done. My grandmother has made a difficult decision. She wants the house sold. She doesn’t need things to be any more complicated than they are already.”
“I talked to her about the house a couple of times. I thought she might change her mind. I wanted her to have the opportunity to do that.”
How lucky her grandmother was to have an attorney who saw her as more than just a client. “I thought the same thing,” Kim said as she got out of the car. “But she’s made up her mind. I’m not going to argue with her.”
“You think you’re going to be able to handle all the details? Get it ready to sell?”
“I think so,” Kim told him. “The house is sound. It doesn’t need anything done to it structurally. I’ve started—” Kim paused as she gave Mark what she hoped was a confident smile. “I’ve started going through things, getting them ready to put in storage or give to Dad and my aunts. I keep getting sidetracked, though. Going down memory lane.”
“I’m so scared she’ll find out,” Margaret had said. “Don’t let her, Mark. Please.”
It wasn’t going to be easy. Not now that Mark had met Kim Revis and discovered a woman who appealed to a side of him that had nothing to do with law and ethics and representing one’s client. Keeping his emotional distance from the woman leaning in the window might very well be impossible. “Just as long as memory lane doesn’t trip you up, Kim. We romanticize the past. We forget things like miners tunneling under a town so their children won’t starve.”
“I know.” Kim straightened. The morning light was filtering through the massive oak and walnut trees ringing the museum. A current of gold touched her hair, turning auburn into shining copper. The planes and angles of her face blurred under the bright light.
This wasn’t an ordinary woman. She was smo
ke and shadow. A presence as illusive as she was compelling.
What had gotten into him? Mark was a respected attorney who, in addition to having his own practice in Grass Valley, was on retainer to the town of Camp Oro. He’d been asked by one of his oldest and dearest clients to guard Kim Revis from the truth, not to allow his imagination to take flight.
Mark forced himself to speak. “Do you have any idea how long you’ll be here?”
Kim shook her head. The light that had settled on her hair danced with the gesture. “After I’ve done my study, I want to stay on to oversee the installation of the security system. I don’t know how long that’s going to take.”
“Probably longer than you’d like. You’re not going to get a quick decision from that bunch. Your study? I take it you’ll be spending a lot of time in the museum, becoming familiar with it.”
“That’s the first step.”
“Yeah. I guess it has to be. Kim, good luck.”
“Good luck? Is there a problem?”
Mark started to frown but composed himself. He’d come too close to a slip a moment ago. He had to change the subject. However, he also believed he had to give her some inkling of what she was walking into. “That’s not for me to say. Just— They’re strong individuals, Kim. Keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Is that advice? Or a warning?”
“Maybe neither. Maybe both. I’m just saying you’re not a trusting little girl anymore. The town has changed.”
“I know, Mark,” Kim said as she backed away. “Nothing really stays the same, no matter how much we might want it to.”
Because she was concentrating on what Mark had said, Kim headed for the museum without really looking at her surroundings. If she had, she might have noted the shadowy figure pulling back from the second-story window.