Both buildings had rear parking spaces. A newer economy car sat behind the ice cream parlor, fitting with the image of the college-aged clerk. A dusty vehicle that had to be older than Paige filled a space behind the coin shop. Although multiple layers of dirt made identifying the color difficult, tan was her best guess. She stepped around it, trying not to brush up against the filthy metal, approached a window at the rear of the shop and pressed up against the glass.
The dim interior of Chancy’s shop wasn’t much to look at. Wooden cabinets lined the walls, most with narrow drawers much smaller than one might use for clothing or tools. Stacks of papers covered the floor. An overflowing trash can sat to one side of a worktable. A wall divider approximately ten feet from where Paige stood separated the back area from the front of the shop, making it impossible to see where she and Jake had stood during their previous visit. It didn’t matter. Now that she’d seen both the front of the shop and the back, she didn’t see much of note.
Paige whirled around at the sound of a slow whistle to find Jake. His attention wasn’t on her, but on the dusty car. He held two paper cups of coffee.
“Nice ’63 Impala,” Jake said, admiring the vehicle. “The owner ought to fix this up.”
“That old thing? It looks ready for the junk yard, if you ask me.” Paige turned her head sideways, as if a different angle might make the car more appealing somehow.
“You just don’t know your classic cars,” Jake said, circling the Impala.
“Never were high on my interest list. And you don’t know how to grab a table and wait for me,” Paige teased lightly, hoping to diffuse the inevitable conversation.
“Yes, speaking of which,” Jake’s tone became more serious. “Did you really think I’d fall for that trick? I got the coffee to go and followed you as fast as I could. Would have been here sooner if I hadn’t had to walk around to the alley. Did you squeeze through that passage between the buildings?”
“Yes, barely.”
“You could have gotten stuck.”
Paige glared him.
“Not the right thing to say?”
“No.”
“I meant that anyone could get stuck in there.”
“I know what you meant,” Paige said. “Anyway, we can go. We’ll drink the coffee on the way back to the inn.”
“Learn anything here?” Jake asked.
“Only that whoever owns that car needs to wash it.”
Paige took the coffee cup Jake held out. They followed the alley around to the main street and returned to Jake’s truck, where they climbed in and set the coffee cups in the drink holders.
As Jake pulled away from the curb, Paige took one last look back at Chancy’s Coin Shop. For a brief second, she thought she saw movement inside the front window. But the early evening shadows on other windows were identical. She brushed off the idea and settled back for the final miles to Hutchins Creek.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sam clapped her hands as Paige pulled the replica coin from her pocket and handed it over. The little girl jumped up and down then ran out the museum’s back door and immediately placed the coin in the birdbath, now firmly replanted in the yard. She then skipped in circles, bright sunlight dancing through her blond curls. Her pink ruffled skirt lifted up and down in the light summer breeze with each hop.
Paige smiled. Just as she’d hoped, Sam didn’t notice the different year stamped on the coin; the detectives were right when they suggested the substitution would work. Sam was simply happy to have the coin back. That was all that mattered.
“You sure made Sam one happy girl today,” Jesse said. “She loves that ‘bird.’” He finished sticking prices on the back of a short stack of coloring books, turned the stack right-side-up and carried it to a rack in the book section. After he straightened the display, he returned to the main counter. “How did your trip go? Rose said you were hoping to get more information about the coin. Did The Denver Mint have anything to say about it?”
“Did they ever,” Paige started to fill Jesse in, but abruptly changed direction. “Wait, I meant to ask you something as soon as I came in today, but Sam’s joy at getting back her coin distracted me.”
“What did you want to ask me? I’m happy to oblige,” Jesse waved to a young couple wandering in then turned back to Paige.
“I was just wondering if Sam has mentioned finding any other birds.” Paige watched Jesse take his time processing her question.
“You mean coins? Not that I can recall,” he said. “Hard to tell sometimes, though. The child’s imagination sometimes makes it hard for me to tell what’s real.” He laughed.
“Yes,” Paige laughed. “I can see that.”
“What makes you think there might be more?” Jesse asked.
Paige was surprised at her reluctance to answer. She’d planned to fill Jesse in on the information about the stolen coins, but something told her to hold back. Did she suspect he might be involved? That was absurd. He was far too young to have had anything to do with the theft itself. But…that didn’t keep him from knowing what went on in previous generations.
“Just curious,” Paige said. “They minted close to a half million that year. It makes sense a few more might be around where one was found.”
Jesse shook his head. “We would have found them by now. We’ve done a lot of work out there in the yard. I’m surprised Sam found the one she did. I wish we could ask Grandpa Jasper, but he’s long gone, died back in 1969. He’d probably know something about the coin. He worked at the Denver Mint for a few years.”
“I thought he was a railroad man?” Paige could barely get the question out, stunned as she was at the new information.
“He was, for many years. But he started out working different jobs. Maybe didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. You know how kids can be rebellious as teenagers.”
“Sure,” Paige said.
“Or maybe he was just heartbroken. He married his first wife young, at just eighteen. A year later he lost his bride when the Spanish Flu Epidemic hit. Wiped out ten percent of Silverton’s population, that flu. That’s when he took off for Denver.”
Jesse answered the ringing phone, gave out the operating hours of the museum, and hung up with a cheerful “we hope to see you.” Changing subjects, he asked. “Where’s your friend today?”
“Oh, Jake? He decided to get some work done on his business and stayed at the inn while I came to see Sam. Either that or he wanted more of Rose’s pancakes.”
“I can understand that,” Jesse said. “Rose managed to pick up the cooking gene from our mother.”
“She was a good cook?” Paige welcomed a chance to talk about Hutchins family history.
“The best,” Jesse insisted. “You’ll never find a pie crust as flaky as hers, or a roast with such perfect spices. She knew what she was doing in the kitchen. You can’t imagine the family dinners we used to have.”
“Tell me about them,” Paige said, leaning on the counter.
Jesse excused himself to hand a museum brochure to the young couple, who were headed out to the back yard.
“Sunday evenings were the big draw,” Jesse said as he returned to the counter. “I remember those meals back to when I was just a boy. Mom would cook up a feast and no one in the family would miss it. Dad was there, of course, along with a few of his friends who just ‘happened to stop by.’ As if everyone in town didn’t already know the Hutchins house was the best place for a Sunday meal. Mom always cooked huge portions, way more than just the family could eat. Hard to know if she cooked that much knowing people would come over or if people came over knowing there’d be that much food.”
“Sounds like good times,” Paige said.
“Great times,” Jesse said. “Grandpa Jasper was still alive when I was young. Boy, did he ever love Mom’s meat loaf. That and potatoes, mashed but still lumpy. He must have put four tablespoons of butter on one serving of those potatoes. Pearl used to scold him something awful.”
“My grandmother,” Jesse explained. “Jasper’s second wife. She was always the reasonable one. Grandpa lived on the edge, but she kept him under control. All except that butter, that is,” Jesse laughed. “She never won that battle. Jasper was proud of it, too.”
“You must miss your grandparents.”
“They were fun to be around growing up,” Jesse said. “I still visit Grandma Pearl when I can. I should go more often.” He popped open the cash drawer and broke out a roll of quarters, letting them fall into the tray like a cascading metal waterfall.
“Is she buried in a local cemetery?” Paige said. “I visit my grandparents where they’re resting on the East Coast.”
“Oh, no,” Jesse shook his head. “Pearl’s still alive, down in an assisted care facility in Durango. One hundred and one years old on her last birthday, can you believe it? She even makes sense some days. Has her confused days, too.”
“Wow, that’s certainly understandable. That means she was born in…” Paige paused to do the math.
“Nineteen fifteen,” Jesse said. “She was younger than Jasper, who was born in 1905.”
“Ten years, not that many, really,” Paige said. “I know couples with similar age differences who have great marriages.”
“Well, it worked for them, that’s for sure. They were quite a team, adored each other. Grandma Pearl still talks about Grandpa – though, like I said, sometimes she makes sense, other times she doesn’t. The nurses there call her ‘The Bird Lady’ because she tends to poke the air with her hands and talk about ‘all the pretty birds.’ We never know which stories are true and which aren’t. But she loves to tell ‘em. That’s what matters.”
“’The Bird Lady,’ you say? Like Sam, who talks about her ‘bird’?”
“I suppose so,” Jesse said. “Maybe this whole family is a little ‘cuckoo,’ if you know what I mean.”
Paige’s cell phone rang, so she stepped outside the back door to take the call, expecting it to be Jake. Instead it was Susan, checking progress on the railroad article.
“Great,” Paige said. “I’m about to start working on the full article.”
Paige had already set the evening aside to go over notes from the Colorado Railroad Museum. Starting on the final article wouldn’t be a problem. She’d even allotted time for a meal at The Iron Horse with Jake. They could hit the early bird special before her writing session. Or she could finish up the article and then have a late romantic meal. She smiled at the latter thought. It was definitely the more appealing plan.
“You’ll like this one, Susan,” Paige added. “The railroad history out here is fascinating. I took photos at the museum outside Denver yesterday, too. I’ll send high-resolution images along with the copy. Say hi to everyone in the office.”
Paige disconnected the call and turned her attention to Sam, who’d been playing on the ground underneath The Morning Star. As expected, the child emerged covered in dirt. Paige smiled. Clean or dirty, the young waif was enchanting.
“Find anything interesting?” Paige called out.
“Nope,” Sam replied. She brushed her hands against each other and returned to the birdbath.
“How’s your bird doing?” Paige walked closer.
“Fine. He’s clean now.” Sam patted down her skirt, which did nothing to clean off the dirt. Paige suspected it would find its way into a washing machine that evening.
“Have you found any other birds out here?” Paige asked.
“Nope.” Sam shrugged, removed the coin from the birdbath and dried it off with her skirt. Examining it closely, she determined it wasn’t clean enough and dropped it back into the water.
The soft chime of bells from her phone blended perfectly with the wind. The call was from Jake this time.
“How’re the business calls going?” Paige said.
“Great, actually,” Jake said. “I’ve got a good lead on some used horse fencing and a couple of experienced workers to put it in.”
“That’s nice…” Paige said hesitantly. “Except for one tiny detail – you don’t have any horses.”
“True,” Jake laughed.
“So am I missing something?” Paige watched Sam emerge from the house. She looked over to make sure Paige was watching before running back to the museum yard.
“Probably,” Jake said. “Why don’t we talk about it over a nice dinner at The Iron Horse?”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Paige agreed. “I just have to draft some of that article first. I promised Susan I would. And I don’t think I’ll feel like working on it after dinner.”
“No, I don’t think you will.” Jake’s smile came through in his voice. Paige felt a jolt of excitement run through her. The man had no idea what kind of effect he caused, the way she lost her breath just thinking of being around him. Still, work first. The email to her editor was non-negotiable.
“Let me finish up here, say goodbye to Sam and Jesse. I’ll come back to work on the article at the inn – by myself,” Paige added.
“Collaborating might be more fun,” Jake hinted.
“Collaborating might mean missing a deadline,” Paige countered. “I’ll work in the front parlor or out at the gazebo if the wind settles down.”
“Anything new at the museum?”
“Not really,” Paige said. “Sam’s happy to have the coin back.”
“I take it she didn’t notice it was a substitution.”
“No, it passed the switch test just fine. She ran right out to bathe it.”
“Does this give new meaning to the term, ‘laundering money’?”
“I imagine so,” Paige laughed. She ended the call and slid the phone back in her pocket as she walked over to the birdbath.
“Look how shiny it is now!” Sam waved the coin in the air. “It just needed another bath.”
“It looks great!” Paige found the girl’s enthusiasm contagious, a reminder that simple things can be more important than they seem. Children understood this. One shiny coin made Sam’s morning complete.
Then again, that had been Sam’s goal. Paige often set goals that were a bit more complicated. For example, finding out how a Double Eagle from a ninety-year-old batch of stolen coins ended up in the mud behind a small-town railroad museum.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Chancy Conroy flipped the “open” sign over to “closed” and twisted the deadbolt lock on the front door, irritated. He had more important things to worry about than school kids sorting through boxes of pennies, hoping to find wheat backs. The day had been filled with bothersome customers, no one bringing him anything valuable or making a decent purchase. Sometimes he thought he’d just as soon sell off his inventory, close up shop altogether and retire – maybe to Miami or San Diego, somewhere with decent weather, an ocean view and nothing to do but refill a margarita before it ran dry.
His father had talked about doing just that, packing up and leaving. But Frank Conroy had been a man who persevered, yes indeed. Determined to find the coins, he lingered in Colorado for decades after the authorities cleared him of stealing those Double Eagles in 1926. Even on his deathbed, he couldn’t give up the search. Chancy had been confused when his father held up two fingers and whispered, “Eagles.” Thought the old man had lost the last bit of his sanity just before sliding out of this world. But the connection became clear as he sorted through his father’s papers later on. Newspaper clippings about the investigation in the ‘20s told more of the story than Frank Conroy ever had. And a map of Colorado, marked up with locations and notes, had explained the many trips his father had taken over the years. He’d vanish for a few days and always returned disgruntled.
Had his father, a Denver Mint guard at the time the coins went missing, actually been guilty of the theft? He’d probably never know. Frank Conroy had certainly never talked about it, and the newspaper articles only indicated he’d been accused and later cleared. On the one hand, if he’d taken the coins, why would he have ha
d to search for them? Wouldn’t he have known where they were? Perhaps he’d known the thief, but not the hiding place. Or maybe he had been guilty, but someone else hid the coins and double-crossed him in the end. It didn’t matter. All Chancy cared about now was finding the coins. That’s what his father had asked him to do in his last lucid moments.
Sitting down at his desk, he pulled the old map from a drawer and spread it out. The well-worn paper held almost a century of markings. His father had methodically covered areas close to Denver, but also farther away. Many circles and notes dotted locations around Colorado Springs and Alamosa. North of Denver, notes were scarce, indicating he’d focused on the southern half of the state. Additional towns to the south with heavy marks included Chama, New Mexico, and Durango.
It had taken Chancy some time to figure out the connection, but once he did, the method his father used for the hunt became clear. Each town with heavy markings had a train station. His father had been searching stops along the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad line.
It made sense to hide the coins at or near a train station. It would have been easy for the conspirators to pass the coins on to another person this way. It also made it convenient for the thief to retrieve the stash later as long as the hiding place was secure enough to prevent some outsider from stumbling on to their treasure. Inside a brick wall, perhaps?
Chancy sat back, folded the map, and returned it to the drawer. He’d been over it hundreds of times over the years, adding his own notes when he either retraced his father’s steps or continued forward, focusing on the Durango area. That’s where his father’s notes had tapered down to almost nothing. The Durango-Silverton line was the one stretch that Frank hadn’t explored.
Because there were so few stops between Durango and Silverton, it didn’t take Chancy long to search the stations. Within a few months, he was convinced he’d inspected every brick, board and rail between the two towns. He decided to take a different approach: he’d let the coins come to him. He set up Chancy’s Coin Shop in Silverton and slowly built steady business, hoping in time it would pay off, and what he’d been looking for all this time would come walking through the door.
Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set Page 67