“Seems to me if a man found that much gold he would keep it a secret,” Flint said.
“Story goes Parsons came into town one night, lit up some whiskey, and let his tongue run loose for a few minutes,” the old man explained.
Flint waved his hand at the old man. “Yeah, yeah, and I suppose this gold has just been sitting buried in the desert all the time, waiting for some lucky sap to dig it up. Mister, if there was that much buried gold buried near Gold Pot, everybody and his grandmother would be there digging up the earth. Drunks, drug dealers, thieves...”
“Don't think they haven't tried,” the old man scolded. “Listen to me, you smart mouth, I've seen all kinds searching for the gold. I've seen men kill each other because of that gold, too. That's when I decided it was time for me to pack up my family and leave. I took what money I had and opened this gas station. You can believe what you want but believe it elsewhere. Pay up and get out and don't come back here.”
Flint reached into the front right pocket of his jeans, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, tossed it down onto the counter, and walked out of the store.
“Have a nice day,” Tori told the old man and hurried after Flint. “Hey, Flint, wait up!”
Flint walked to his car and leaned against the trunk. “How did that old geezer know the gold is worth a hundred million dollars?” he asked Tori, staring across the street at tall, thick, green pine trees.
“I don't know,” Tori admitted. “Could be Parsons wasn't working alone, Flint.”
“That's my thinking,” Flint agreed. “If this Parsons man who found the gold was working alone, married, expecting a child, I doubt he would go into town and loosen his tongue with whiskey. We need to find out more about Fiona Parsons.”
“I'll give Melinda a call later,” Tori assured him. Leaning against the trunk, she looked at Flint. “The Chief was serious when he said if the people who are running the Strike It West Company find out we're cops they wouldn't let us leave alive, wasn't he?”
“Yep,” Flint said. “Arnold, gun smugglers are deadly people. Somehow, these people are tied into the gold, too.”
“Well,” Tori said, working on her diet soda, “my life definitely isn't boring anymore. “So far I've fallen into a pool, been shot, and now I'm going into the den of rattlesnakes.”
“And you're handling yourself like a real pro, Arnold. I know at first I wasn't too excited about having a partner, but you've turned out to be... well, a good cop, okay?”
“Thanks... hubby,” Tori said with a teasing, affectionate smile.
“You want to walk to Nevada?”
Tori began to answer but before she could the gray SUV sped into the parking lot and slid to a stop. A very large woman in a brown dress climbed out of the driver's seat. Spotting Flint, she pointed her right finger at him. “Who taught you how to drive?” she yelled.
“Good grief,” Flint whispered, “is that the wife of Paul Bunyan? Woman looks like she can bench press nine hundred pounds.”
Tori watched the large woman charge up to Flint.
“Listen here you miserable road hog, you put my children in danger. I've called the state troopers and they are on their way here right now.”
Flint watched four kids get out of the gray SUV, each one staring at Flint with angry eyes. “Get him, mom!” one kid yelled.
“Yeah, show him who's boss!” another kid yelled.
The woman glared at Flint. “I'm taking my kids to Gold Pot, Nevada,” she yelled at Flint. “We would like to arrive in one piece, do I make myself clear?”
Flint cast weary eyes at Tori.
Could this day get any worse? he thought.
Tempted to pull out his shield, Flint instead spoke in a very thick Irish accent, words Tori didn’t recognize.
“Huh?” the large woman said, then turned to Tori. “What's he saying?”
Tori could only stare at Flint. “Uh... my husband… he can't speak any English,” she answered, trying to sound British. “We're from Ireland, you see, well he is, and I’m—”
“Figures,” the large woman said, and stormed back to her gray SUV. “Get in kids, these people are from Ireland. No sense in waiting for the State Troopers. All they will do is shake hands with that awful man.”
Flint watched the woman heave her bulk back into the gray SUV and speed away.
“What in the world were you speaking in?” Tori asked.
“Ancient Gaelic,” Flint said. “My family is from Ireland, Arnold. Took it upon myself to pick up some phrases on YouTube. Come on, let's split.”
For the remainder of the drive, Flint said very little. He let his mind focus on the case, going over every lead with intense concentration. When they finally reached the city limits of Virginia City, he pulled over to the side of the road.
“Why are you stopping?” Tori asked.
“Shoot to kill,” Flint said. “We're walking into a snakes den, Arnold. Don't wait for me to yell snake before you shoot at one, are we clear? Use your instincts and trust in your decisions. I won't question you. You're my partner and I will always have your back. Out here, there are no rules for survival.”
“I understand,” Tori replied, although her voice left her mouth very nervous.
Flint reached out and grabbed Tori's face with his hands. “Listen to me, Arnold... Tori... I mean what I'm telling you. Shot to kill and don't hesitate. We're out here looking for a killer and the killer isn't going to play by the rules. He might not expect us to show up, but if he finds out two cops from Los Angeles are on his tail, you better believe the guns will be aimed right at our backs.”
Tori stared into Flint's eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded her head. “I'll shoot to kill, Flint. Don't worry because I will never be shot again. I can promise you that.”
“That's my girl,” Flint said and patted Tori on the shoulder.
“Woman, Flint,” Tori said. “Woman.”
“Yeah. Now, let's track down our killer,” Flint said, starting the car back up.
As he drove into Virginia City, he noticed a blue Ford, changing into his lane behind him. His eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror again and again. The woman behind the wheel seemed strange to him, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.
*****
Chapter 2
Digging for Danger
Flint glanced down at the oversized tan safari shirt he was wearing and mumbled, “I look stupid. I look like a clown. Where did you buy these clothes, anyway? Giants-R-Us? At least my sunglasses look half-way normal.”
Tori grinned at the baby green shorts which exposed a pair of white, hairy legs. Legs which were surely going to get a good taste of a hot sun sitting overhead in a clear, blue sky. “You look snazzy,” Tori said in a thick British accent, and pushed the sunglasses on her nose up to her eyes.
Flint moaned. Standing outside of a two story wooden hotel that had a large wooden boot standing in the middle of a gravel parking lot, he felt like one of three stooges. “Looks like we're the only ones going on the tour to Gold Pot today,” he said.
Tori leaned back against the rental car. The blond wig on her head quite suited her, actually. Flint thought the white blouse and pink ankle skirt Tori was wearing were a nice touch, but he never said as much. All that mattered to him was that their appearance was realistic enough to fool the cautious eye. Running his right hand over the red wig on his head and then causally rubbing the thin mustache sitting above his lip, he wondered how authentic he really appeared. Sure, Tori looked British, but did he really reflect an Irish man? “Make sure you can get to your gun,” he cautioned Tori.
“I stashed my gun in my purse,” Tori said.
Flint ran his right hand over his gun, which was tucked into the back of his shorts. That's when he realized Tori had thought ahead and deliberately purchased his clothing in extra sizes in order to help him conceal a weapon. Glancing at Tori over his shoulder, Flint saw Tori smile.
“Fits good, huh?” she said.
&nbs
p; “Don't get smug.”
“I know how to put together a disguise, partner,” Tori replied and tossed Flint a wink. “You gotta give me that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Flint began to fuss and then stopped. Drawing in a deep breath of air, he knew what had to be done, even though he wasn’t in the habit of doing it. “Thanks, partner. I... appreciate your efforts.”
“Wow,” Tori said, leaning up off the back of the rental car. “Did you just do what I think? Did the crabby old Flint I know actually show appreciation?”
“I take it back, Arnold.”
Tori giggled sweetly. “You're something else, Flint and…” Tori paused when she heard a hotel room door open and then close. Turning around, she saw a very beautiful woman with raven black hair walking toward the parking lot. She wore a dark gray blouse over a long, black, dress, a perfect picture of monochrome style. “Maybe we're not the only people taking the tour after all.”
Flint coughed into his hands. “That could be our mystery woman,” he said quietly. She was the very same woman who had pulled up behind him as they entered Virginia City.
“Hi.” Tori waved at the woman. “Are you taking the tour, too?” she asked, utilizing her British accent.
“I hope to,” the woman answered, speaking in a clear California tone. “I know, I know,” she said, embarrassed. “I'm just another crazy gold hunter.”
Flint examined the woman. She was wearing sunglasses, which was to be expected because the sun was bright and blinding overhead. A white straw sun hat sat on her head over her long, black hair, which flowed out of the hat like soft streams of water. Flint glanced down at her feet. And there, he saw a pair of white high heels. “You're not going to walk very far in those,” he told her, speaking in an Irish accent that drifted into the hot air in a believable bubble.
“Forgive my husband,” Tori said quickly. “He believes all women must be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.”
“Then why are you here?” Flint asked Tori and turned his back to her. “Where is the bus? It's hot already.”
“My name is Sandy McGregor,” Tori said. “That’s my grouchy husband. His name is Andrew. And yes, there was a time when love was in the air between us.” Tori sighed. “He seemed like a nice bloke, when we first met.”
“Like you're an angel now,” Flint snapped over his shoulder.
“My name is Judith Morris,” the woman said, looking rather embarrassed to be caught up in their tiff.
Tori smiled. “It'll be nice to have another woman along.”
Judith smiled back. “I take it you and your husband are not from America?”
“Dublin,” Tori explained. “We're on holiday. Andrew's brother lives in Seattle. After visiting with him and seeing John and Stacy and Rachel, we decided to see some of your country.”
Judith nodded, and held her hands up around her like she was offering up America for Tori.
Tori looked around to see rows of thick dry trees lining the street across from the hotel, hiding a steep slope leading down to a small stream of water. The hotel itself sat three miles outside of Virginia City on a bumpy track of rugged land. The scenery and feel of the land—the feel of being back in the old 'Bonanza' days when Ben Cartwright and his sons worked the Ponderosa—brought people to the hotel.
“America is a beautiful country,” Judith said. “I'm from Los Angeles, California.”
“We're flying out of Los Angeles to Atlanta,” Tori said. Flint was impressed at how natural and easy it was for Tori to sound so convincing. “If I can get my husband to fly, that is. He gets airsick.”
“Be quiet,” Flint said. Turning around toe face Tori, he once more examined Judith. “You might want to change into a pair of walking shoes.”
“I'm used to high heels,” Judith said. “Thank you.”
Tori thought that was rather gracious. It was none of Flint’s business what shoes she was wearing.
“Are you now?” Flint asked. “You must be a model, then?”
“No,” Judith answered politely. “I'm a freelance writer. I write for different magazines and newspapers across the country.”
“Oh really?” Tori said. “How exciting.”
Judith broke into a genuine smile. “I'm hoping to get my own column with the newspaper in Los Angeles... someday.”
Flint nodded. “Are you on holiday alone?” he asked.
“Yep.” She looked embarrassed. “I know, I know.”
“It’s all right, love,” Tori said.
“I'm twenty-eight years old, single, and live in a one bedroom apartment with a cat. I just haven't met the right man yet.”
Tori threw an evil glare at Flint. “Better to be single than with the wrong man.”
Judith glanced up at the hot sun. “Will you please excuse me,” she said quickly. “I forgot my water bottle. I’d better not go on the tour without water.”
Flint and Tori watched Judith rush back to her room. The woman walked in the pair of high heels the way a skillful running back runs down a football field.
“I called Melinda last night,” Tori said, “and she ran every license plate on the vehicles parked at this hotel. Judith Morris gave her correct name, Flint.”
“I know she did,” Flint said, folding his arms. “She knows we're cops. And she wants us to know she's the mystery woman we're after. Ten dollars she is going to come back out of her room wearing walking shoes. I bet ya.”
“No thanks,” Tori said. “I need my money, Flint.”
Flint leaned against the back of the rental car and waited. Five minutes later Judith came out of her room and strolled back up the parking lot wearing a pair of gray walking shoes and carrying a black purse with a bottle of water sticking out of it. “I took your advice,” she said.
“Smart woman,” Flint replied. Pretending to stare at the trees across the street, he made a mental note of the vehicles parked in the parking lot. There was the renal car he and Tori were driving. The blue Ford Judith Morris was driving. A white SUV an older couple were driving. And last, a gray Ford Bronco witting at the end of the parking lot. All the vehicles had California license plates. “Well,” he said, spotting a white trolly bus approaching with a big red letters painted on the side, reading Strike It West.
Tori smiled at Judith, then focused on Flint. “Now, remember, this is all for fun. Don't go being a grouch if we find fools gold. You know all those silly tales about gold are simply for fun.”
“I paid money for this tour and I want a bit of gold,” Flint said, watching the trolly pull into the gravel parking lot. Hot dust kicked up into the air. Flint and Tori both began coughing and Flint swatted dust away from his face. “Stay with Judith,” he coughed into Tori's ear.
Tori nodded and watched as Judith stepped back, away from the dust cloud. “I've got her.”
“You folks waiting for the tour?” the driver asked through the window.
“We're standing out here trying to get a tan,” Flint said. “Who taught you how to drive? You can't pull into a parking lot at that speed.”
Tori examined the driver. A man in his late forties with a scraggly beard and stringy blond hair sat behind the wheel on a worn down black leather seat. His face was hard and dark from years of living in the hard sun. A simple brown short sleeve button up shirt tucked into a pair of old jeans and a dusty brown baseball cap finished off his rugged look. “You can always walk to Gold Pot,” the man told Flint indifferently. “Walk all back to Ireland, for all I care. I'm guessing that's where you're from, right?”
“Dublin,” Flint proclaimed in a proud voice. “My wife is from London.”
“We met,” Tori coughed the last bit of dust out of her lungs, “at a business conference. We both work for the Bellington Pharmaceuticals.”
“Never heard of it,” the man said in a bored voice.
“Not many Americans have,” Tori pointed out. “Bellington Pharmaceuticals is headquartered in London.”
“Sure, fine, lady,” the man said. “Oka
y, whoever is going to Gold Pot get aboard. Daylight is wasting.”
“It's now a just a little past ten in the morning,” Flint said. “Don't rush us or we'll ask for a refund. And I don't care for your attitude.”
The man glared at Flint through a pair of gray, cold, eyes. “I'm driving the trolly. That's my job. Now either get aboard or walk. Your choice.”
“Come on,” Tori said and grabbed Flint's hand. “We'll complain to his boss later. We're on holiday, Andrew. Do let's try and have a pleasant time.”
Flint nodded and climbed up on the trolly with Tori. They handed the driver their tour tickets and took two seats near the back, hot to the touch from the sun beating through the windows, and waited for Judith, who eventually boarded and sat down in front of them. She waited until the man got the trolly moving before she turned and her seat and spoke to Tori. “He's not a very nice man, is he?” she asked, feeling a dry but welcome wind begin blowing in from the open windows.
“Quiet rude,” Tori agreed. “I can see why this company doesn't acquire much business.” She then giggled and tossed a thumb at Flint. “No worse than my Andrew. But then he’s not in customer service.”
Judith allowed the wind to refresh her hot face and gave a quick smile. “Listen,” she confessed in a low voice. “I'm a on a case. I'm out here searching for a man who killed someone in Los Angeles. I'm not really here searching for gold. If… anything should happen to me...” Judith paused.
“Who was killed?” Flint asked, pretending to be alarmed and curious.
“An old actor named Henry Parsons,” Judith explained, keeping her voice low. She eyed Flint. “Have you ever heard of him?”
Flint knew Judith was aware of his true identity. He stopped talking in his Irish accent. “You were in the mansion with me and Detective Arnold, weren't you?”
Judith didn't flinch when Flint changed his voice. “Detective Flint, I'm here to find the man who killed my grandfather.”
“Why didn't you say so to begin with?” Tori asked. “We weren't aware Henry Parsons had a granddaughter.”
Detective Flint Box Set: A Detective Story Box Set Books 1-3 Page 29