by Ann Charles
She froze.
Mac stared down at her, his finger over her lips.
The knock came again, harder. “Claire?”
Claire winced at the sound of her mother’s voice.
Grabbing his jeans from the floor, Mac tossed Claire’s clothes at her. He yanked on his skivvies and was buttoning his jeans before Claire managed to slip on one pant leg.
Deborah knocked again. “Open this door, Claire. I know you’re in there.”
Sweating, Claire pulled up her pants.
The doorknob twisted back and forth. “Claire Alice, what are you doing in there? You’d better open this door right now.”
Mac slipped into his shirt and sat down in Joe’s chair, pulling on his boots. Claire scrambled into her shirt, took a couple of deep breaths, and ran her fingers through her hair.
Ready? she mouthed to Mac.
He nodded, leaning back, looking relaxed.
Claire unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Her mother stood there, her fist raised to knock again, her cheeks red.
“What took you so lo—” Deborah’s eyes narrowed as her gaze fell on Mac. “Oh. I should have known.” She stepped into the room, sniffing. “What’s going on down here?”
Seriously, she had to sniff the air? Claire felt a blush blooming in her cheeks.
“Would you look at the time?” Mac rose from the chair. “I need to get going.” He rounded the desk and paused long enough to drop a kiss on Claire’s mouth. “Stay out of trouble, Slugger.”
After giving her fingers a quick squeeze, he nodded toward Claire’s mom and walked out of the room.
Deserter! Claire scowled at Mac’s back as he disappeared up the steps.
“What were you two doing down here?” Deborah asked, her nostrils flared, her lips pinched tighter than the end of a sausage. “It smells like—”
“None of your business.” Claire’s face baked. She slipped around the desk and flopped down in the chair.
“You’re being extremely rude.”
“You’re being extremely nosey.”
Deborah harrumphed. “I’m not being nosey. I’m interested in what you do because you’re my daughter and I love you.”
Claire crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at her mother. Deborah had been using her “love” to manipulate Claire since the womb. “Why is it that when people say they love you, they really just want to control you?”
That earned Claire another pinched glare.
“Ever since you started dating Mac you have had nothing but attitude with me.”
“We’re doing much more than dating, Mother.”
“I don’t want to hear about that.”
Fine. “What do you want, Mom?”
Deborah closed the door.
Uh, oh. That couldn’t be a good sign.
Approaching the other side of the desk, Deborah said, “I want you to stay away from Porter.”
“What?” Claire was surprised to hear Porter’s name instead of Mac’s.
“I overheard Kate and you talking last night.”
“You mean you eavesdropped on our conversation.”
Her mother just smiled. Acid might have dripped from the corners of it; Claire wasn’t one hundred percent certain. “Stay away from Porter. Your sister needs a nice, respectable man, not some bar owner.” She wrinkled her nose at those last two words.
“What if I don’t?” She still needed to figure out what he was up to, because writing a book was a definite cover.
“Stay away from Porter or I’ll tell Mac you kissed another man.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mac stood high up on the hillside just outside of the Lucky Monk mine, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sunshine. Across the valley, two black turkey vultures circled, sailing on the thermals rising from the desert floor, waiting for the Grim Reaper to call on some unlucky creature.
Boom! The percussion raced across the desolate earth.
A gust of oven-hot air thick with the scent of baked greasewood ruffled his hair and plastered his shirt to his ribs, where it stuck to his sweaty skin.
His gaze followed the valley’s left flank north as it skimmed along the base of the water-rutted foothills of the Sierra del Gato Loco Range. The view before him quivered as heat rose from the fried landscape.
Boom!
The ground beneath his boots quaked just enough to make him question if he’d really felt that one. Pebbles clattered down from the crust of reddish-brown rock perched above the mouth of the mine and littered the cliff ledge.
Mac frowned into the distance, unable to catch sight of dust from the Copper Snake Mining Company’s blasting efforts. They’d started early in the pit today, and by the sound of it, they weren’t wasting time scratching around on the surface.
Boom! Boom!
So much for Sunday being a day of rest.
Mac retreated from the cliff’s edge. His plans today didn’t include cartwheeling down the steep hillside.
He faced the shadow-filled mine opening, hesitating. The earth-shaking effect of Copper Snake’s blasts made his legs reluctant to lead him into the Lucky Monk’s rock-lined intestines. As he stood there, a packrat scuttled out of the mine and nearly brushed his boot as it raced past him and dashed down the hillside behind him.
“That can’t be good,” he said under his breath.
Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he drew one last breath of fresh air and then ducked his head and walked into the mine’s dark throat.
* * *
Claire sat behind the counter in Ruby’s store, examining the figurine made of bound twigs that she’d found in Joe’s safe.
Kate leaned against the other side of the counter. “I thought you said it was a horse.”
“I did, but after doing some research, I’ve decided it’s a deer. Or a mule.” Claire glanced at Kate, wondering why her sister was wearing all black on such a toasty afternoon. “What’s with the Johnny Cash look?”
Kate shrugged. “I’m in mourning.”
“Why?”
“My sister stole my boyfriend.”
Claire snickered. “As if you hadn’t already wadded him up and tossed him aside.”
“Mom doesn’t know that.”
“Ahhh, I see. This is all for her benefit.”
“You’d do it, too, if Mom had bitten a chunk out of your ass this morning.” Kate strolled over to the candy aisle and plucked a package of red Twizzlers from the shelf. “She really doesn’t want me spending any more time with Butch.”
What would Deborah say if she found out Kate had been playing tongue tag with Butch last night?
“Why are you wearing those?” Kate nodded at the yellow, rubber, dish-washing gloves Claire had donned after realizing just how old Joe’s stick figure might be.
“Precautionary measures.” She grinned at Kate. “Something you should try practicing the next time you feel like breaking and entering at The Shaft.”
Flipping Claire the bird, Kate stuffed a Twizzler in her mouth and tromped toward the coolers at the back of the store.
Gingerly placing the twig figurine on the countertop, Claire scanned the pages of Ancient Southwestern Cultures in a Nutshell, one of the books Kate had checked out of the library for her last week after Claire had wrestled with that old dame.
Could this toy-looking-thing really date back over four thousand years? According to the author, the people who made these animal figures had lived in and around the Grand Canyon prior to the Anasazi’s occupation. Constructed of willow twigs, the effigies were used in hunting ceremonies.
Kate placed a bottle of diet soda on the counter, along with a couple of bucks. “So, what’s the big deal with this stick deer? Besides Joe stashing it with the mummified hand.”
“Others like it have been found only in caves.” Claire shoved Kate’s money in the cash drawer and pushed it closed.
“Hey, what about my change?”
“Consider it my tip.”
“For what?”
“Not telling Mom you were mauling Butch last night when she prodded me for details.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Kate stuck another Twizzler in her mouth. “So you think Joe found that in a cave?”
“Or one of his mines.” Claire tucked the figurine in a Ziplock bag and peeled off her gloves, her hands wet with sweat.
“But those mines are only a century old. If this thing is as ancient as you say, how would it have ended up in a mine?”
“Maybe somebody found it and stowed it in the mine.”
“That sounds pretty flimsy.”
“I know.” Claire stole a piece of candy from Kate. “But it was with the mummy hand, which I think came from one of the mines, too.”
“What about the sandal and bag?”
Claire paused mid-chew. “What do you mean?”
“What have you learned about them?”
“Nothing yet. I’m still searching for similar-looking designs in these books for the bag, and I haven’t read a thing about footwear.”
Kate opened her soda pop. “Speaking of footwear, can I borrow your tennis shoes again?”
“Why? What’s wrong with yours?”
“They still reek of skunk, remember?”
“Fine, but watch where you step or you’ll be scraping the dog shit out of the grooves this time.”
“You’re the one in charge of taking care of Henry while Gramps is gone, including scooping up his parting gifts.”
Claire sat back, her arms crossed. “You know, I’m getting pretty damned tired of cleaning up after everyone’s shit. How is it you’ve managed to avoid any tasks requiring even the least bit of crap-work yet again?”
Kate shrugged. “Just good karma, I guess.” She opened the latest copy of a scandal rag and scanned a page while chewing on her candy. “Oh, I also need a ride to town tonight.”
“Ask Mom to drive you.”
“You know she doesn’t drive after dark.”
“We’re not going to the bar again.” Claire’s stomach heaved at just the thought of tossing back more alcohol.
“No, this is for something else.”
“What?”
Jess shoved through the curtain. “Claire, what’s this?” She raced up to the counter and held out a couple of pieces of paper, her breaths quick, her cheeks pink, and one side of her hair still damp. Obviously fresh out of the shower, she smelled like her favorite coconut-scented shampoo.
Claire took the papers. “One is a receipt for a general delivery post office box at Creekside Supply Company.”
Make that a twenty-five-year-old receipt, according to the date scrawled on the receipt. The box must have been Joe’s originally, since Ruby hadn’t even lived in town for a decade. Claire laid the receipt on the counter.
“I didn’t know this place even had a post office.” Kate leaned over to take a look at the receipt.
“The hardware store rents out the back corner of the store to the government.” Claire explained.
“What’s the other?” Kate asked.
Claire read the faded words and numbers. “It’s another receipt covering the cost of the post office box through next year.”
“Is this the key for the box?” Jess pulled a small, brass key from the front pocket of her red shorts.
“It might be.” Claire wondered what Jess was up to.
“Do you think Mom might be keeping my money there?”
Ah. Claire caught the caboose of Jess’s train of thought. “There’s a slim chance.” But she doubted it. If Ruby didn’t trust the bank, she surely wasn’t going to trust the good ol’ U.S. Postal Service to keep her money safe.
“But there is a chance.”
“Sure.” There was also a chance that Bigfoot really roamed the forests of the Pacific Northwest.
Clapping her hands, Jess said, “Let’s go see.”
“We can’t. The post office is gated off on Sundays.”
Jess’s face fell. “Crud.” She started to turn toward the green curtain and then stopped. “Oh, yeah.” She dug in her back pocket. “What’s this?” She placed a small, rectangular, black box on the counter along with the post office box key.
“Looks like a jewelry box.” Kate offered some candy to Jess as she stared at the box with a slightly furrowed brow.
Claire picked up the box and gave it a slight shake while loosening the lid. As she lifted the top off, she gasped, gaping down at the slice of shiny gold.
“Holy shit!” Kate leaned close to Claire, breathing sweet-scented warm air on her. “Is that what I think it is?
Claire raised her gaze to Jess. “Where did you find this?”
Jess shrugged and smiled wide—too wide. Red bits of candy laced her white teeth. “I can’t remember.”
“Think harder then.” Claire didn’t feel like playing games.
The girl’s smile faltered. A dark pink blush climbed her neck and spread across her cheeks. “Umm, it might have been in the floor of Mom’s closet.”
* * *
The layers of earth surrounding Mac muted everything but the sound of his footsteps on the dirt and rock floor as he traipsed further into the depths of the Lucky Monk. His hard hat light bounced along the craggy rock walls and ceiling. Shadows nibbled at his boot heels as he followed the rusted, half-buried tracks that ran down the middle of the adit, the avenue through which all copper had found its way to the surface.
The cool air trapped under the earth made his sweat-dampened T-shirt feel like a cold, wet sheet. He paused near a wide-mouthed tunnel that drifted off to the right and lowered his pack to the floor. First things first—a dry shirt. He peeled off his wet shirt and fished out the clean one he carried with him for times like this.
Next, he unfolded the eleven-by-seventeen inch copies he’d made of Joe’s old map of the mine and spread them on the floor in front of him, lining up the edges. While exploring yesterday, he’d marked some of the side tunnels with orange spray paint, but not enough to go skirting willy nilly through the mine without consulting the map every few hundred feet.
His stomach growled for some dinner. He dug in his pack for his flashlight and the protein bar he’d picked up at Biddy’s Gas and Carryout on his way to the mine. As he chewed, he scanned the underground roadmap.
Unlike Rattlesnake Ridge, which followed a mostly-vertical vein deep into the ground, the Lucky Monk spread out along a horizontal wave of copper, with three relatively shallow shafts sunk into the earth—although, there were only two noted on the map in front of him. Side tunnels branched off from the main adit, and more branches spread from those, making the map look like a lopsided tree, with twice as many branches on one side.
At some point in history, the Lucky Monk had been a prosperous claim. And from the clues Mac had found so far in the walls and ceiling, with enough capital, it could flourish again.
In addition to the slew of tunnels shown, there were several X’s marked on the map. But there was no explanation for each X—a casualty of many old mine maps, especially ones that had passed from hand-to-hand over the years.
The first X Mac had sought out had led him to a solid wall jagged with scarred rocks—a dead end.
The second X turned out to be the third, unlisted shaft: a hole, four-feet in diameter, dug straight down into the earth. Rusted remnants of ladder anchors were all that remained of the past. Mac had scooped up several pebbles and dropped them down the dark shaft, expecting a splash as they hit water, which often filled old shafts around these parts. Seconds later, he’d heard the clatter of the pebbles bouncing off solid rock.
Not only was the shaft shallow, but dry too. One of these days, he’d have to bring his climbing equipment and slip down there to see if any drifts spliced off from it.
The third X represented a small chamber where a prospector had been digging out some copper ore mixed with tiny glints of silver that zig-zagged along the wall, up the ceiling, down the other wall, and into the floor. A square shovel and
broken pickax had been left behind to rust together in the dark.
The last X he’d had the time to seek out turned out to be another dead end, almost half a mile back in the mine. This time, a pile of rocks—the results of a cave-in—blocked any further travel. There was no telling how long ago the beams holding up the walls and ceiling had submitted to the god of gravity.
Stuffing the last of the bar in his mouth, Mac scooped up the maps. He glanced back the way he’d come. His nerves waged a campaign to head for sunshine and Claire, to inhale fresh air instead of the musty breaths from the Lucky Monk’s dusty lungs.
But his sense of duty didn’t suffer quitters well. He’d made a commitment to his aunt, not to mention the gut feeling he couldn’t shake that there was something yet to be found in this mine that made it worth stealing out from under Ruby.
He shot one last look behind him as he slipped his arms into his pack, and then hiked deeper into the mine.
* * *
“How did you find this?” Claire asked Jess.
They stood in Ruby’s closet staring down at a trap door in the floor that lay open. A 40-watt light bulb dangled from the ceiling. The parquet-style, oak floor boards creaked under Claire’s feet as she stepped over the carpet Jess had pulled back from the wall. The long, skinny room smelled faintly of jasmine, no doubt due to the two packets of fragrant beads hanging from a nail next to the accordion-style closet door. Shoe boxes lined the shelf above Ruby’s clothes.
Jess popped her gum. “I was in here looking for my money yesterday, and the floor kept squeaking when I’d step right here.” She pointed at the trap door.
With her back to the bedroom, Claire squatted next to the trap door cleverly disguised in the floor’s triangular design. The handle lay flush with the wood, visible only under scrutiny, and accessible only after removing a triangle piece.
“Then today, when I was in the shower, I was thinking about you and that loose board in the tool shed last spring and it hit me—maybe the boards squeaked because Mom hid the money under it.”
Claire lifted a small box from the hole in the floor, the metal cool in her palms. Listening with half an ear as Jess prattled on about why Ruby should just share the money with her now instead of waiting two more years, Claire opened the lid.