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The pieces to her puzzle were slowly coming together, connecting one into another to form a better overall picture. Some pieces were still missing, some irregular-shaped edges that just didn’t quite fit, but Jake was right. It was time to talk to Detective Chao.
Gera insisted on going alone, even though Jake wanted to be there with her for moral support. She knew he had a business to run, and even though he tried to hide it from her, she knew Jake was still worried about Leo and Lucy, and the untenable position they had inadvertently thrust him into. Though Gera found Grant Young to be a likable enough man, she had no doubt he could be a formidable opponent in business. What if he somehow discovered the old couple’s well-intended shenanigans and used it against Jake? She could imagine a scenario in which Grant pressed charges against Jake for a host of unethical business practices, all in hopes of ruining him and swooping in to claim the spoils of war.
No, it was best that Jake stay at the hotel and protect his empire, particularly if it meant erasing any last vestiges of the old couple’s deeds. It was bad enough that she had to borrow his pickup; when they pulled her car from the top of the Hermann Building, something underneath was damaged. With no rental facilities on the mountain, her only choice was to take advantage of Jake’s generosity.
Such a good guy, this Jake Cody.
With time to spare before her appointment with the detective, Gera couldn’t resist another visit to the scene of Abe’s murder. She had been here a half dozen times, but something about the old building spoke to her, pulling her back time after time. If only there was a way to get inside! Gera believed the key to Abe’s murder lay inside the railed arches of the skeletal structure.
Caught up in her musings, Gera didn’t realize she had attracted company.
“It really is a beautiful old building, isn’t it?” Grant spoke just behind her, frightening her enough that she gasped. When she jumped, her nose skidded against the cold metal rails.
“I’m sorry, Gera. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His voice was rich with concern.
“I suppose I’m a bit skittish.”
“And with good reason. I heard about what happened. Please, tell me that you’re all right?” He touched her arm, the one not sporting a bandage. Dark bruises splotched her arms, but the worst bruise was the one around her neck, not so much in appearance, but in implication. The source of that bruise had very nearly been the death of her.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
“Now do you understand?” Grant’s fingers pressed into her arm with urgency. “Mac, for whatever his reasons, has become dangerous. I beg you, Gera, please back away from this. Your life is in danger.”
“I appreciate your concern, Grant. I truly do. But I came here to write an article, and I can’t leave until I have the answers I’m looking for.”
“I’ve given you the answers, Gera. Mac is to blame. He attacked you, tried to strangle you. You have the proof on your neck!”
“No, I don’t know that it was Mac.” She spoke evenly, resisting the urge to point out that the man he spoke of had died some eighty years ago.
“There were a dozen witnesses!”
“What we saw was someone in a long coat and tall hat. It could’ve been anyone.”
He was more agitated than she had ever seen him. Grant Young was normally suave and composed, but her stubborn response left the banker disquieted. “Why must you do this? Why must you persist, when it puts your own life in danger?” he cried. He scrubbed his hand over his bald head and made a final plea. “Let it be, Gera.”
“I can’t,” she answered simply.
She turned back to face the gutted building. Its stark beauty called to her. Maybe it’s whispers from the ashes, she mused. Miners’ ashes, stirred into steel.
Seemingly resigned now to her tenacious dedication to her craft, Grant moved alongside her and joined in the quiet contemplation of the building.
“She must’ve been a beauty, back in the day,” he mused.
“Look at the brick arches, over the doorways.” Gera pointed out the details. “That was an interior wall, I suppose, with the grand entrance on the other side.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“I would love to go inside,” she murmured in a wistful tone. “See what is behind those inner doorways. The rooms aren’t deep. Were they storage, do you think? Offices?”
Grant looked around, making certain no one was near enough to hear his offer. “I could take you inside,” he said, voice low.
She turned to him in surprise. “You could?”
With a trench coat and hat, he could’ve passed for a spy, offering to exchange highly confidential information. He kept his eyes straight ahead, speaking out of the side of his mouth. “It’s against the rules. Insurance, you know. No unauthorized personnel allowed. But I have a key.”
Gera wondered what the secrecy was about. He was president of the Chamber. Surely he could grant her temporary authorization, without all this cloak-and-dagger effect. She saw a few heavy-duty extension cords scattered about, proof the building wasn’t entirely off limits. But she would play along. She kept her eyes straight ahead and whispered back, “I would love to go inside.”
“Meet me here this evening, before dark. Most people will be on their way home from work or school, and won’t pay us a lot of attention. The shops will be closing then, too, so there will be fewer tourists.”
“Shall I wear a disguise?” she asked in an exaggerated whisper.
Grant looked at her sharply, and laughter burst from her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You just sounded so serious, like we were plotting to rob that vault over there.”
His grin was a bit sheepish. “I guess I’m not accustomed to breaking and entering, simply to impress a beautiful woman.” He leaned in and added, less modestly, “I normally don’t have to work so hard at it.”
Maybe meeting him tonight wasn’t such a good idea, after all. But she really wanted inside these gates...
“It’s not breaking and entering if you have a key,” Gera pointed out, overlooking his personal innuendos.
“But it is breaking the rules, so perhaps we should keep our little date to ourselves, eh?”
Gera bit her lip. “Date?”
“Poor choice of words,” he assured her. “Appointment.”
She nodded and glanced down at her watch. “Oops, I’ve gotta go. Can’t keep the detective waiting.”
He seemed surprised. “You’re meeting with Detective Chao a second time?” In response to her unspoken question, he offered, “The other day in the café, remember? Mike Cooper mentioned your appointment with Chao.”
“Oh yes, that’s right,” she remembered.
He hinted for her to elaborate. “Didn’t get in all your questions the first time, I suppose?”
“Something like that.”
The moment turned awkward. Gera clearly didn’t intend to discuss the matter with him.
“So, we’ll meet back here this evening?” he finally asked.
“Definitely.”
As Gera departed from the railings, she realized what today was. One week ago tonight, Grant had discovered Abe’s body. Oddly enough, they were meeting here, at the scene, around the same time of day he made the discovery. Would it bother the banker, she wondered, being there again so soon? Would it bring back unwanted memories of the traumatic event? There had to have been blood there that night, and he had already mentioned the unnatural pose of his body. Perhaps she should offer to reschedule their tour.
Gera turned around to call to him, but Grant was already halfway down the sidewalk. He really was a striking man, she acknowledged, tall and athletic, and in excellent physical condition. He had a nice walk, too.
Not that it did anything for her, not sexually, but she did appreciate the graceful carriage in his stride, much as she might appreciate the grace of a tiger.
Tigers, however, were dangerous.
And Grant? Well, Grant believed in a ghost named Mac, and in convoluted theories about a whole town sliding off a mountain.
No offense to her friend, but Grant wasn’t dangerous; he was simply nuts.
***
THE PROBLEM WITH ARRANGING a meeting with an overworked police detective, Gera discovered, was that he could be called away on emergency at any moment. Turns out, a murder-suicide trumped scheduled appointments, every time.
Gera had no more taken a seat at the man’s desk when the call came in. A domestic dispute turned deadly in one of the city’s better neighborhoods. Obsession knew no economic boundaries, it would appear.
With time to kill before her dusk meeting with Grant, and with the internet and cell service still iffy up on the mountain, Gera went to the library. She could do some research the old-fashioned way, thumbing through volumes of out-of-print books and out-of-date history. Sometimes, the very best sources hid in plain sight, right on the shelf of the local library.
On a whim, she decided to look up the legend of the hidden gold in Sycamore Canyon. All of Minnie’s tales about gold were entertaining, if not interesting, but she still questioned their validity. However, after only an hour of digging through old records and musty tomes, she found information on all three.
Spanish expeditions into the canyon were well documented, with names, dates, and details of each foray into the wilderness. And disturbingly enough, the story about the government confiscating all the gold was absolutely correct. With the swipe of a pen, the president had robbed citizens of their privately owned stash of gold. It was no wonder the newer legend of hidden gold had sprung to life. There were hints in several publications about a new hoard of precious metal concealed from the prying eyes of government, but Gera found only a single book that explored the conspiracy in detail.
According to the author, people all over the country found creative ways to sidestep the law. A man in California stuffed his golden nuggets—most of them mined right there on the property and passed down from his grandfather—inside the mount of a grizzly bear, also harvested from the property. A footnote documented how that very bear had taken the old miner’s life and how his vindictive grandson tolled out justice.
A bachelor in Virginia had buried his stash in a shallow grave and marked it with an engraved tombstone, claiming it was the remains of his dear wife. A woman in Kentucky reportedly had caps of pure gold on all her teeth. A jeweler in Utah cast excess gold into seemingly everyday objects. It was rumored even his dog had a collar inlaid with the precious metals. The story continued in the final paragraph of the page. It was noted that in Jerome, Arizona, a—
Gera quickly moved to the top of the next page, but the passage made no sense. She went back and reread, but still it skipped to a new topic. That was when she noticed the fine ragged edge of a missing page, ripped from the spine of the book. A glance at page numbers confirmed it. The book went from page 132 to page 135.
She snapped a photo of the opened book, documenting the missing page and the name of the book. The Great Gold Conspiracy of Executive Order 6102.
The name jogged a memory. She dug into her notebook, until she found the small slip of paper that had fallen free of Miles Anderson’s files. It had only one scribbled, ambiguous notation upon it—TGGCOEO6102, p. 133.
Until now, she had no idea what it meant.
Gera pushed from the table and hurried up to the librarian’s desk. Sometimes libraries kept logs of visitors to the library, particularly to reference sections such as this, and of those patrons who asked for copy services. Gera bet that Anderson, like his deputy, still did things old school. It would never occur to either man to snap a digital photo with their cell phone, not when they could fire up the old copy machine and kill another tree.
Sure enough, Miles Anderson visited the library on several occasions, and had, in fact, requested copies made. The last visits were recorded almost a year ago. Long before Abe’s death and the investigation into its motive. Long before the rash of petty crimes that seemed to point to only one suspect.
But far enough in advance to plot such a scheme.
