The Lost Mine Murders Read online

  Laura’s eyes widened slightly, then she smiled at Emily. “I enjoyed the music and the seeing some of the gowns. And the fireworks at midnight were a treat.”

  “The supper was delicious, too. Were you able to sample some of it?”

  Laura gave her a conspiratorial look. “Don’t tell Mrs. Howe, but my favorite were the lobster patties.”

  She reached into Emily’s typewriting machine and tweaked several keys. The clumped mass separated.

  “Thank you. However did you do that?”

  “It’s a simple principal—the first keys you struck need to be separated last,” Laura said.

  She glanced around them, leaned a little closer to Emily and lowered her voice. “I saw you with Mr. Granville at the ball. You are engaged to him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am,” Emily said.

  She expected Laura to ask why she was taking a typewriting course when she was engaged. Most businesses would not hire married women, after all. But the other girl surprised her.

  “I think your fiancé might be in danger,” Laura said.

  “What?”

  “Not here.” Laura cast a nervous glance behind her, and Emily realized that several pairs of eyes were fixed on them.

  “We’re due for a tea-break soon. Can you meet me at the foot of the stairwell? We can talk there.”

  Laura gave her a quick nod and resumed her seat. The steady rhythm of keystrokes told Emily she was hard at work. And she had no difficulty keeping her keys unstuck.

  Emily spent the next twenty minutes tangling and untangling her keys while she wondered about Laura and what she had to say.

  Emily had been waiting impatiently for what felt like ten minutes when she saw her classmate cautiously descending the stairs.

  Laura’s step quickened when she saw Emily waiting for her.

  “I’m glad you’re willing to listen to me,” Laura said in a voice just above a whisper as she reached the last stair. “I overheard several of the other students talking about your fiancé, and it sounded serious. I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t just ignore what I heard.”

  “What did you hear?” asked Emily, moving towards her and taking Laura’s arm. Together they moved to stand looking out the narrow window onto Broadway.

  “Several of the men were trying to impress Louise Markham. You know how they do.”

  Emily nodded. Louise was the class flirt, as blond as Laura, but with a shapely figure and an effervescent personality that mostly disguised a sharp eye and a sharper tongue. “Go on.”

  “Andy Riggs was saying how his father’s about to become very rich as part owner in a gold mine, and someone else would do all the work.”

  And Granville was looking for a gold mine, but that was hardly evidence of anything, Emily thought impatiently. She made the kind of encouraging sound she’d heard her mother make when her sister Jane was babbling on.

  “He was quoting his father, and he said,” and here Laura’s voice fell and deepened. “This time, it’s the toffs’ll do all the work, and us plain folk get the rewards.”

  She gave Emily a sidelong glance. “A lot of people still dislike Englishmen who live off their monthly remittance.”

  Laura was enjoying this, Emily thought. Was she just looking for a little drama in what might be a drab life, or did she really have information about Granville? “And you think this ‘toff’ is my fiancé?”

  Laura leaned a little closer. “I know it is. Louise made some remark about you and your ‘lordling’—they don’t much like you, you know.”

  Emily did know. Several of her classmates clearly resented what they perceived to be her privileged position. If only they knew.

  “So Andy Riggs gave her a little smile and told her not to worry. ‘See how uppity she is when that fancy fiancé of hers doesn’t come back from his little trip,’ he said.” Laura touched Emily’s arm lightly. “I’m sorry. But I thought you needed to know.”

  Emily’s mind was darting here and there, trying to judge how seriously she should take this purported threat, and what she could do about it. “Were there any details?”

  Laura shook her head. “No. They stopped talking because we had to get back to class.”

  “And how did you happen to overhear all this?”

  Laura flushed and looked down, brushing a tiny speck off of her navy skirt. “I was part of the group.”

  Emily admired her honesty, especially when it meant Laura was probably one of those who didn’t much like Emily. It also made it more likely she was telling the truth. “Thank you for telling me. Was there anything else about my fiancé?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. But if I do find out anything else, I’ll tell you right away.”

  Emily wondered if Laura’s emphasis came from guilt or a liking for being part of an unfolding drama. She’d have to find out, but she rather hoped it was the latter.

  It made it less likely that Granville was truly in danger.

  SIX

  Friday, January 5, 1900

  “There!”

  Granville squinted into the driving snow, trying to see where their client was pointing. They’d woken that morning to find a thick layer of snow covering their small tents, all but obliterating the landscape.

  Seven hours of hard slogging, made somewhat easier by their snowshoes, had brought them to the top of this sharp ridge. He estimated they were some twenty miles northeast of the lake, looking down into yet another snowbound, v-shaped valley.

  With a muttered curse, he adjusted the heavy pack on his shoulders. “How do you expect to find the cache in this weather?” he hollered against the wind.

  Cole shrugged. “Don’t see that’s your business.”

  “It is if the rest of us freeze in the process,” Granville said under his breath, feeling a warning twinge in the toes he’d once nearly frostbitten.

  Scott’s meaty hand came down on his shoulder. “Think the old geezer’s still sane?” his partner muttered in his ear. “This is pretty bad.”

  “I was wondering that myself. He seems to be recognizing something.”

  “Damned if I know how.”

  Scanning the steep peaks rising on every side of him, Granville had to agree. “At least we’ve lost whoever was tracking us.”

  “You still think there’s someone following us?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  Granville nodded. “And I think this storm’s about to get worse. We’ll need to find shelter.”

  “Looks like we’re about to get out of the wind at least.” Scott waved towards Cole, who had started descending into the valley far below them.

  “Nope. Wind’s worse down there. Whistles off the glacier and straight up the valley.” Trent had come up behind them, obviously in time to hear Scott’s last words.

  “Wonderful.”

  The light was already fading by the time they made their way to the floor of the valley, but the mist had lifted. There might be a stream under the snow, but then again there might not.

  Was this the destination they had been pushing towards?

  Picturing the map in his mind’s eye, Granville traced the steep sides of the valley, the stand of three pines to the right. He looked for the rough triangle the mapmaker had drawn beside the stream… And his eyes found a huge, roughly triangular boulder, covered in snow.

  Maybe the old man wasn’t so crazy after all.

  Nudging Scott, he pointed out the snow-covered shape, and raised snow-crusted eyebrows.

  Scott’s eyes swept the landscape. He looked back at Granville. “Pay dirt.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Trent came up behind them again. “What d’you see?”

  Granville pointed out the mound.

  Trent’s eyes followed the pointing finger, and a grin split his face. “That’s the mark on the map. We found gold.”

  “If the map is real,” Granville said. His time in the Klondike had beaten the assumptions out of him.

&n
bsp; As they watched, Cole reached the triangular boulder and crouched on the near side of it, brushing away snow. He bent closer, examining something. Standing again, he waved them on.

  They set up the tents against the cliff, then rigged a spare piece of canvas in a rough lean-to against the near side of the rock. Lighting a small fire in its shelter, they picked up their shovels.

  The ground they were digging into had been dug before but was still frozen hard. After nearly an hour of digging with only the flickering fire to cut the darkness, Granville’s shovel hit something with a dull thunk.

  His eyes met Scott’s, and he knew without asking what his partner was thinking. Months of digging into frozen creeks and they’d found just enough dust to buy flour and lard. How ironic if they finally struck gold here.

  Even if it was someone else’s buried cache.

  “Give it to me.” Their client was at his elbow, almost dancing from foot to foot in his impatience.

  “Trent, keep watch,” Granville said, with a jerk of his head towards the front of the lean-to.

  “Awww,” said Trent, but did as he was bid.

  Granville and Scott cleared enough dirt to see the edge of a grime-crusted flour sack. Each taking an edge, they gave a mighty heave and pulled it out. More lay stacked underneath.

  Gold, Granville thought as he watched their client untie the first sack.

  The fire flickered richly off the large lumps that partly filled it.

  He swallowed hard, and Scott’s hand clenched on his shoulder. A claim yielding nuggets that size was as rich as any he’d ever heard of.

  And he and Scott held a five percent share of it.

  He watched as Cole clutched the nuggets in gnarled fingers, his eyes gleaming avariciously.

  At least they did if they made it out alive.

  It was five minutes past twelve when Emily and her friend Clara Miles joined Tim O’Hearn at a small table in the back of Stroh’s Tea Shop. Emily leaned her dripping umbrella beside the window and tucked her wet feet under the chair.

  The restaurant was warm and bright after the damp grayness outside. She didn’t recognize anyone at the nearby tables. In any case, the cheerful din of news and gossip shared meant their conversation would stay private. Good.

  Despite her deep unease about Granville’s safety, Emily smiled to see O’Hearn’s eyes light up when they rested on Clara. Though Clara showed no outward sign of attraction to the young reporter, she’d gone to a great deal of effort to ensure that her new hat perfectly matched her outfit.

  Emily looked from one to the other. They suited each other, and Clara was practically glowing. She hated to have to damp that glow with her news.

  As soon as their tea, scones and sandwiches has been served, Emily took a deep breath and began. “Thank you for meeting me. I’m very worried about Mr. Granville and I need your help.”

  “What? Why?” O’Hearn asked, leaning forward.

  Clara put her gloved hand over Emily’s, squeezed gently in support and comfort.

  “Before I tell you, you’ll have to swear you’ll not mention a word to anyone. Or write it,” she said, looking directly at O’Hearn.

  The reporter grimaced, then nodded. “What is it?” he asked.

  “My fiancé is out searching for a mine. And I’ve been told someone is planning to ambush and kill him and his party,” Emily said.

  It was hard to put into words the fear that had kept her awake all night.

  Laura hadn’t come back with more information, so Emily had only her word that someone wanted Granville dead. “I don’t know whether to believe it or not,” she finished.

  Clara’s blue eyes widened and Tim’s hazel ones narrowed.

  “Searching for a mine?” he said. “Where? Not out beyond Pitt Meadow?”

  “How did you know?” Emily asked.

  “There’ve been rumors about that mine for years. Folk ‘round the area call it the Lost Mine, and a few prospectors have already lost their lives looking for it. Supposedly an old Katzie Indian named Slumach had a fabulously rich mine back in those mountains, but he was hanged for murder a few years back without disclosing his secret. And you say Granville’s gone looking for it?”

  Emily nodded.

  “This time of year? They’ll freeze to death,” O’Hearn said.

  “He and Mr. Scott both spent time in the Yukon,” Emily told him. “I think they’re used to worse cold.”

  O’Hearn didn’t look any happier. “Those mountains have a bad reputation amongst the old-timers. They call them killers.”

  Emily felt the cold knot in her stomach get bigger at his words. “The mountains may not get the chance.”

  “Who is planning the ambush?” Clara asked.

  “I don’t know all the details, but the father of one of my classmates is supposed to be part of it,” she said. “Laura, another of my classmates told me about it.”

  “Oh, yes. Your typewriting classes,” said Clara. “But how could she know?”

  Emily flashed her friend a look. Did Clara resent her new studies? She’d never said what she thought of Emily’s desire to be a typewriter, which was unlike her.

  “She heard the son boasting about it,” Emily said. “He didn’t give details; mostly he was showing off.”

  “But you think it might be a serious threat to Granville?” O’Hearn had his notebook out.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m afraid I do.” And the more Emily talked about it, the more certain she was, and the more worried she became.

  “If you tell me the name, I’ll look through our archives, see if I can learn anything about the father and his associates,” O’Hearn said.

  “Andy Riggs was the one talking about it.”

  “But I know him,” said Clara. “Or at least I know his father.”

  “You do? How?” Emily asked.

  “Mr. Riggs and his eldest sons own the livery where we stable our horses,” Clara said.

  O’Hearn looked at her, his forehead creased. “Riggs? I’ve heard something about him recently. I’ll look into it right away.” He drained the last of his tea and put the cup down with a snap.

  “Please hurry,” Emily said as he put a few coins on the table and with an oddly formal half bow took his leave.

  “And you’ll go back to class and wait to hear from him?” Clara asked after he’d gone, raising her brows in mock surprise.

  “Of course not. Since Mr. Riggs already knows you as a customer, you and I are going to rent horses.”

  “But I don’t like to ride,” Clara said.

  Emily stared at Mr. Riggs. All around her were the stompings and janglings of a busy livery stable. Men were saddling horses, harnessing buggies and negotiating rates. The mingled smells of hay and horse manure reminded her of trips to the country.

  Emily, Clara and the proprietor stood in what seemed a small oasis of calm as he refused to rent them the horses she had requested.

  “Sorry, Miss,” he said, his eyes darting to her bare ring finger as he spoke, as if confirming her unmarried status. Her spinster status in his mind, she thought in annoyance.

  “If your father’ll sign for you, we’d be happy to provide our finest mounts. But legally, I can’t rent to you.” As you should know, his look seemed to say.

  Behind the obsequious tone was an arrogance that reminded her of his son.

  “I see. Would my fiancé be able to rent horses for me?”

  “Of course. As long as he accompanied you ladies on your ride.”

  “Naturally. I’ll speak with him on his return, then.” Emily considered the man before her for a moment, then took a risk she knew Granville would be upset with her for.

  But she couldn’t picture this man being a threat to her, and she needed to know. “Perhaps you know him? Mr. John Granville?”

  His face didn’t change, but one hand jerked slightly, then tightened on the bridle he was holding.

  “I’m not perfectly certain if it is this stable he usually deals with?” Em
ily said, smiling a blithely as she knew how.

  “No, don’t believe I’ve ever met the man. He new to town?”

  Emily nodded, fascinated by the contrast between the empty face and the clenching and unclenching hand. “Yes, he is.”

  Riggs’s eyes went past her. “Have him come see me then, we can arrange something. Now, if that’s all…?” he said and began to edge them towards the door.

  With a quick glance at the man who had just entered, Emily inclined her head in a passable imitation of Mama’s most regal nod.

  “Good day,” she said and swept out, gesturing Clara to follow her. Unfortunately she tripped on the lintel, entirely spoiling the effect of her exit.

  “I don’t trust that man,” Clara said as they reached the board sidewalk outside the livery stable. “He has mean eyes.”

  Emily paused in the act of sweeping her skirts out of the mud and looked at her friend in surprise. Clara seldom took a dislike to anyone, but she was right about the man’s eyes.

  “He knows something,” Emily said. “He obviously recognized Mr. Granville’s name, but he wouldn’t admit it.”

  Clara glanced at her. “I have an idea, but I’ll need to talk to Mr. O’Hearn first.”

  Despite her growing concern about Granville, Emily couldn’t resist teasing her friend. “Again?”

  Clara smiled at her. “Indeed. I think we need a man’s opinion before we do anything else.”

  “Mr. Riggs would certainly agree with you. And of course, this would have nothing to do with your desire to see Mr. O’Hearn again?”

  “Naturally not. But since it was Mr. Gipson who came in, I think we need to share the information.”

  “That was Mr. Gipson?”

  “Indeed it was.”

  Emily was considering the implication of this. “My father still thinks Mr. Gipson was wrongly accused, you know.”

  “My father thinks him guilty, but rather admires his smoothness.”

  “Hmmph. I’d call him slimy, not smooth,” Emily said, but picturing the elegant suit and manicured hands of the man she’d just seen, she reluctantly admitted to herself that she could see why Clara’s papa held the opinion he did.