The Lost Mine Murders

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Author's Notes

  About the Author

  Excerpt from the Missing Heir Murders

  Excerpt from Death of a Secret

  The Lost Mine Murders

  By Sharon Rowse

  Copyright © Sharon Rowse 2011

  Published by Three Cedars Press

  Cover photo copyright © 2007 by Sharon Rowse

  Cover design Copyright © 2011 by Three Cedars Press

  E-book edition: 2011 ISBN-13: 9780986917110

  Trade paper edition: 2011

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  For my parents – with love.

  ONE

  Saturday, December 30, 1899

  John Lansdowne Granville eyed the grimy old man standing in the middle of their new office, feet defiantly planted and rain dripping from the brim of his hat. He glanced at his partner, Sam Scott, and the big man gave him a wry grin.

  “Why choose us?” Granville asked.

  “You’re detectives, ain’t you?” Marty Cole ran a rheumy eye over them. “You look like you c’n take care of yourselves. And rumor has it you know a thing or two about mining.

  He coughed, a deep hacking sound, then stared at Granville. “And since you’re gentry, I figure you won’t try to cheat me.”

  Which showed how little he knew about the English nobility. “Where exactly is this mine?” Granville asked.

  “Out past Pitt Lake. I figure it’ll take us two, three days to get there. More if the snow’s drifted.”

  “Why not wait till spring?” Scott asked. He stood with one shoulder leaning against the wall, deceptively casual.

  Cole shook his head. “I want to get that claim staked and registered before anybody else happens on it. No-one’ll be getting in ahead of us, not this time of year.”

  He chuckled wetly and spat.

  Granville stepped back as the stream of tobacco juice barely missed his feet. He’d met Cole’s like before, prospectors who’d spent years chasing rumors of gold—and finding it, wouldn’t breathe a word to a soul before the mine was safely registered. So why was he telling them? “And what role would we play?”

  “You know something about locating mines. Plus you’re witnesses, ain’t you? And protection, in case anybody gets ideas. Specially since I’ll be bringing the gold out.”

  “This time of year? You’ll get nothing out of the ground or the streams now,” Scott said.

  “Do I look fresh off the train to you? I’m not planning on digging it out. There’s a cache, ain’t there?”

  Granville and Scott exchanged glances.

  If there was enough gold already out of the ground, why hadn’t a claim been staked? And who had mined it?

  But the unwritten rules of the miner, learned the hard way on the frozen creeks of the Klondike—don’t ask, don’t tell—kept them from asking outright.

  “How do you plan to bring the gold out?” Granville asked the old miner instead.

  “Don’t plan on taking much this time—just what a couple of pack mules can carry.”

  Granville’s eyes met Scott’s, and his friend shrugged.

  “Assuming we were foolish enough to sign on for this adventure of yours, what would it be worth to us?” Granville said. “We’d expect adequate compensation for the hazards, of course.”

  “Course.” Cole rubbed gnarled hands together.

  Granville noted the fellow had lost the fingertips on his right hand to frostbite. He obviously knew the dangers of undertaking a winter expedition, but gold hunger could trap even the wariest.

  “You and your partner here will be entitled to as much gold as you can carry out between you,” Cole said. “But only on the first trip.”

  “The cache is that large?”

  Cole nodded, but there was a furtive look in the old man’s eyes that Granville didn’t like.

  It sounded too good, especially given the lies and half-truths the old man was trying to slide by them. Under truly bad conditions, they might be able to bring out almost nothing. He’d known miners lucky to carry each other out.

  Before he could speak, Cole smiled, showing long, yellowed teeth. “Too smart to miss the problems in my offer, are ya? And not greedy enough to think you can overcome them. That’s good, that’s good.”

  Cole looked from Granville to Scott and back. “So I’m also offering five percent of the profit of that mine, for as long as I mine it.”

  “What if you sell it?” Scott said, frowning at their would-be client.

  “Said you were smart, didn’t I? If I sell, you get five percent of the sale.”

  Cole had sweetened it too much. He had to be desperate to make such an offer. “If this mine of yours is as rich as you say it is, that’s a lot of money,” Granville said. “Why are you willing to pay us so much?”

  “Because without your help I might be lucky to get the gold out.”

  “Why’s that?” Scott asked.

  “Storms c’n be pretty bad up there,” Cole said, but his eyes shifted away from theirs.

  Granville didn’t think it was weather the old miner was worried about. “Is someone after this map of yours?”

  “Hope not.”

  Which meant they were. Granville scanned Cole’s weathered face, but the old man’s expression gave nothing away.

  “If we’re so important, maybe we should get more of the profits,” Scott said.

  “You want to stay on, help me work it?” Cole asked.

  Granville met Scott’s eye, raised an eyebrow. Scott’s grimace had him grinning. They’d both had a bellyful of groveling in the dirt and the cold. Gold fever had been frozen out of them long ago. “No thanks.”

  “Then you get five percent. It’s good pay for a week’s work.”

  Too
good. “If we find this mythical mine of yours. If not, I assume we get nothing?” Granville asked, curious to see how far the old man would go.

  “See, I said you warn’t stupid.”

  “Then why come to us with this job?” Granville said. “You must have known we wouldn’t be foolish enough to take it on.”

  “It’s just a week, Granville. And we have the time,” Scott broke in.

  Where had that come from?

  “I’ll need a moment to discuss this with my partner,” Granville said as he ushered their would-be client back into the waiting room Emily Turner had decorated for them. Walls papered in a soft cream with a faint blue stripe, a gently faded oriental carpet and upholstered mahogany chairs spoke of the success they hadn’t yet achieved.

  Closing the door, he looked over at Scott. “You really think we should take this on? Even if the mine is real, it may be impossible to find.”

  Scott’s face took on a closed look. “We know something about looking for mines, and we’ve nothin’ better to do until we get word from Denver. If we do find it, that kind of money would give us a solid start. So why not?”

  His partner’s voice had a reckless edge to it that Granville didn’t like. They hadn’t talked about their fruitless search through Denver’s back alleys for Scott’s baby niece, left behind by her unscrupulous father nearly three years before, but that failure and their fear for the child hung heavily between them. Hope for new information on the little girl’s whereabouts diminished with each passing day.

  “We haven’t a stellar record for actually finding mines,” Granville said. “And Cole is lying to us. He’s worried about protection from more than the weather.”

  “We’re both decent shots,” Scott said. “And this beats the boring jobs we’ve been offered. I’m willing to risk a week on a gamble like this one. We’ve nothing to lose.”

  “Nothing except our lives,” Granville said with a grin that covered his concern at the fatalistic note in Scott’s voice.

  He’d known anxiety over little Sarah’s fate was taking a toll on his friend. But he’d had no idea it was this bad.

  Perhaps searching for this lost mine would be a distraction.

  “But we’ll do it, right?” Scott asked.

  “Yes.” Granville said. There was nothing either of them could do for little Sarah without more information. At least this job might give Scott something else to think about. “But only if this map of his is good.”

  “Alright then,” Scott said, opening the office door.

  Five minutes later, the three of them were poring over Cole’s map. The fellow had put up an argument against sharing it, but when Granville stood fast, he caved in.

  Nearly illegible in places, the hand-drawn map was rain spattered and frayed around the edges and along the folds. It was dated 1889, or maybe it was 1896; the last digits were smudged. It was signed, too, but the ink had run and the scribbled signature was nothing but a blur.

  Fading blue lines showed what Cole said was Pitt Lake and a long funnel-shaped valley with a stream meandering through it some distance beyond. Gold deposits were marked along the stream at the narrow end of the valley for what looked to be a good fifty yards. The main landmarks on the map were a couple of steep mountains, the valley itself with the lake and the river beyond it and a formation to the west of the valley.

  Scott peered at the yellowed paper. “Is that a hill?”

  “It’s a triangular rock, ya fool,” snapped the old man. “Anyone can see that.”

  “How do we know this map is authentic?” Granville asked.

  “It’s real,” their new client said.

  “We’ll need more than that. How did you get it?”

  “James, my late—partner,” Cole said.

  It was a very slight hesitation, but Granville and Scott exchanged glances. “Is James his first name or the last?” Granville asked.

  “Last.”

  “How’d he die?” Scott threw at him.

  “Gut shot. Near dead from blood loss when I found him.”

  “But he still had the map?” Granville asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And no-one knew he had it?” Granville said.

  Cole looked at him like he was an idiot. “Folks knew, or maybe just suspected. Why d’you think he was shot?”

  “Then how come he still had it?” Scott asked.

  “Poor shot from a distance. He told me he crawled away, they couldn’t find him.”

  “They couldn’t follow the trail left by a badly wounded man who was bleeding heavily?” Granville said.

  “I got to him first,” Cole said.

  “I see. So whoever shot your partner knows you have the map now?”

  Cole shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. They didn’t see me, and I covered my trail.”

  Right. Granville didn’t believe the old man for a moment. But this was clearly all they’d get out of him for now. “What makes you so sure the find is worthwhile?”

  The old man looked from Granville to Scott, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a grimy, creased leather bag. Mutely he spilled a plum-sized nugget into his palm and held it out to them. Pure gold, with rounded edges and white quartz veins.

  “Holy Christopher!” Scott exclaimed, bending closer. “How long have you been carrying this without cashing it in?”

  “There were two. The other was even larger. That one I cashed to pay expenses.”

  “James gave them to you?” Granville asked, extending his hand.

  The old man closed his own hand protectively for a moment, then dropped the nugget into his palm, nodding as he did so. “Yeah. He’d—no kin.”

  Cole’s words didn’t match his tone. Granville studied his expressionless face for a moment, then looked at the nugget, hefting it in his palm. There was no doubt it was genuine; soft, nearly pure gold.

  If there truly were a mine this rich, even five percent of it would be worth a fortune. For a moment, a vista of all the things he could do with that much money unrolled before him, and he felt gold madness grip him once again.

  Then sanity prevailed.

  Cole was too eager to give away a fortune. How deep did his lies go? Whatever he was keeping from them, Granville suspected it would be a problem before they were done. They’d do better to stay in town and wait for a lead from the police in Denver.

  Beside him, Scott reached to take the nugget, and he reluctantly let it go.

  “So you’ll you hire on?” Cole demanded.

  About to say no, Granville glanced at his friend’s tense expression and changed his mind. For Scott’s sake, it was worth the risk.

  “Yes, we’ll do it,” he said. “When do we start?”

  “If you have your own gear, then we just need to buy grub,” Cole said. “We c’n leave tomorrow.”

  “I’m afraid not. I have a prior engagement,” said Granville, with a flash of inner amusement as he thought about the New Year’s ball, and about Emily. “I’ll be ready to leave Tuesday morning.”

  TWO

  Monday, January 1, 1900

  “The Honorable John Granville and Miss Emily Turner,” intoned the butler hired for the occasion. As they entered the crowded, high-ceilinged ballroom, Emily hid a delighted grin. Less than two weeks ago, she’d been locked in her room in disgrace, yet here she was at the Howe’s “Turn of the Century” ball, on the arm of her intriguing pretend-fiancé.

  Unlike her older sisters, she hadn’t even planned a new dress for tonight, but after Granville announced their engagement, Mama had given her the dress for Christmas.

  In keeping with the occasion, her gown was pale green silk, with sheer lace sleeves and an elegant train that shimmered as she moved. She’d checked, pirouetting in front of the old cheval mirror in the parlor when no one was looking.

  The silk was from China, and came in on one of the Empress ships.

  It hadn’t been made up, of course. Mama had to pay Madame Christina an outrageous amount for the three r
ushed fittings it had taken to finish it in time. Emily had always hated dress fittings; standing so still, being poked and prodded at, but this time it might have been worth it.

  “What is she doing with him?” Emily could imagine the whispers behind the ladies’ fans. Thank goodness their engagement wasn’t real; she’d have felt like a sideshow act.

  Mama kept giving her little looks to make sure she hadn’t tripped over her train or something equally dire. Papa looked so proud, yet two weeks ago he’d forbidden her even to speak to Granville. Until he’d found out about his noble birth, that is.

  She shot a glance at Granville.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

  “Immensely,” she said, surveying the room.

  It was packed with the cream of Vancouver society, dressed in their finest, while maids in crisp black and white circulated with trays of champagne. Her eyes followed the whirl of colors on the dance floor.

  “Usually I hate balls, but tonight feels different. Maybe it is because we are bidding goodbye to the 1890’s. And the music is superb, don’t you think?” Emily said.

  I’m babbling, she thought, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I’ve heard there will be an amazing buffet. I’m particularly looking forward to trying the lobster patties and the cranberry fool.”

  “In the meantime, would you care to dance?” Granville asked. His tone was smooth but there was laughter glimmering in his eyes.

  She flushed, and smiled back at him. “I’d love to. But you don’t have to stay with me,” she said in an undertone. “There are so many people here you haven’t yet met. And we’re only pretending to be engaged, after all. Until I finish my typewriting course and can earn my own living.”

  “Or until your father forgets you’re in disgrace for helping me free Scott from a charge of murder,” he said, whirling her into a waltz.

  He bent his head down, lowered his voice. “But I’m enjoying your company.”

  “Thank you,” she said, then was silent while he swirled her through a graceful turn. “We haven’t had the chance to talk since you got back from Denver. Is there news of little Sarah?”