Chapter Twenty-Three

BBefore nine the following morning, Kate drove to Pine Ridge and headed for the community college. The whole way there, she mulled over her theories. Gold had been found in Copper Mill at least once, it appeared. How was that relevant to what was happening today? Or was she imagining that her intuition was leading her this way because she was so desperate for any lead?

The campus of Pine Ridge Community College was a lovely rolling expanse of green lawn beneath large shade trees. It was tranquil now in the midst of the summer break. Kate knew there were summer classes, but the main parking lot held only a handful of cars.

She walked to a large campus map displayed on a corner and identified the sciences building. It was a handsome brick structure with shallow concrete steps. Pulling open one of the white double doors, she went to one wall that held a directory. Dr. Wilde’s office was number 227 on the second floor. A wide set of stairs mounted to a second-floor lounge. Off the lounge were several hallways with numbers prominently displayed. She saw 210–230 and moments later was standing in front of 227.

The door was slightly ajar. Kate rapped on the door frame and heard a deep bass voice say, “Come in.”

She pushed open the door to reveal a typical professor’s office, crammed with bookshelves, two visitors’ chairs, and an enormous wooden desk in front of a window. A tall man in a casual knit shirt and pants stood and extended a hand. He looked to be about the age of her son, Andrew.

“Hello. Devon Wilde. Are you a student?”

Kate shook her head. “I’m Kate Hanlon. I’m visiting from Copper Mill, and I was hoping you could answer some questions for me.”

“Shoot.” Dr. Wilde waited until Kate sat, and then he resumed his seat. He looked more like a golfer than a professor, she thought, although the mountains of paperwork around him certainly gave evidence of his occupation.

“I recently learned that there once was gold found in Copper Mill,” she said. “I understand you know a lot about the Appalachians, and I was hoping you might be able to tell me more about it.”

Dr. Wilde smiled. “You might be sorry you asked, but I’ll try to keep it brief. How much do you know about gold as it occurs in nature?”

Kate shook her head. “Other than the fact that miners panned for it, very little.”

“All right. Crash course. Gold is found, like other precious metals, in host rock. As that rock weathers, it frees the gold, which falls or is washed down among other rock, often in streambeds or alluvial formations.” He must have noted Kate’s lack of comprehension because he added, “An alluvial fan is an area where a fast-moving stream of water fans out across a wider, flatter area.”

Kate nodded. “Got it.”

“Gold is nineteen times heavier than water,” Wilde went on, “so much of the time, it doesn’t move far from the source rock, the host rock. Without going into detail, I’ll just say that as the water erodes the gold, smaller nuggets and flakes break off and move downstream. If you find gold flakes in a stream, you need to move upstream to find the bigger stuff. Gold has been found in the southern Appalachians for well over a hundred and fifty years now. In 1829, articles detailing the discovery of gold in northern Georgia caused thousands of miners to rush into the area. Ultimately, their presence hastened the removal of the Cherokee Indians. In the winter of 1837 and 1838, the Cherokee were forced on a march west to Oklahoma, during which more than a third of them died.”

“The Trail of Tears,” Kate murmured.

“Right.” Wilde pointed a finger at her as if he were shooting. “I digress. There are some major fault lines running through the Appalachians. Where there are faults, the upheaval of rock brings formations to the surface, and in our case, an old fault line practically right under Copper Mill left deposits of several minerals close to the surface. In the mid-1800s, copper was found, giving the town its name. But what most people don’t know is that for a short time during the 1860s, the discovery of gold in three key sites around the town caused a mini gold rush.”

“Where were the sites?” Kate asked.

“Two were along what is now Main Street,” Wilde said. “One where the library stands, and the other farther east near the creek. The third site is south of town, also near the creek.”

“But the library isn’t near water,” Kate said, “so how was gold found there?”

“At that time, there was a small tributary of Copper Mill Creek that ran west of the current creek. It dried up after a huge storm sent a flash flood down the creek and shifted a big boulder.”

“So the gold was found while there still was a stream there?” Kate asked.

Wilde shook his head. “No. It was private property owned by a prominent local man named Severn. Mr. Severn owned the land, and he refused to prospect for gold. The Severn family eventually sold it just before the turn of the century, and a house was built on the property in 1897. Several nuggets of gold were found when they dug the foundation for the house, presumably deposited there before the stream was diverted.”

Dr. Wilde paused to take a breath. “The house was sold two more times—in 1903 and 1916. In 1916, it was purchased by a fellow who lived there with his family until 1934, when he donated the home to the town of Copper Mill for the purpose of becoming a library. The family made the donation anonymously, but at that time, everyone knew the man who donated the house was named—”

“Foxfield,” Kate inserted.

Wilde looked surprised. “You’ve been doing your homework, I see.”

Kate smiled. “Only a tiny bit.”

“The Foxfields were already landowners in the area in 1934. They amassed a small fortune by establishing a toll road through the town. In 1928, Foxfield built a carriage house to the north of the home. When he did so, the workers uncovered several more gold nuggets.”

“And those were also in the path of the original streambed?” Kate asked, leaning forward.

“Right,” Wilde said. “As I said, the Foxfields were already wealthy, but they became significantly more so after the find. Once the initial excitement died down, little more was heard about gold in Copper Mill. Every once in a while, an enterprising person finds a flake of gold in the creek.” He paused. “Does that help, or shall I continue?”

Kate glanced at her watch. “I’m finding this quite fascinating, but I’m on a tight schedule.” She rose, extending her hand and shaking Wilde’s. “Thank you so much for your time and the geology lesson.”

Wilde laughed. “Oh, if only my students were half so enthusiastic.”

“One last question,” Kate said. “Do you think there’s still gold to be found?”

Wilde smiled. “It’s almost a certainty that there’s more gold beneath Copper Mill, especially if one were to follow the original mineral formation beneath the library.”

“That,” said Kate, “is exactly what I wanted to know.”

“Good luck prospecting.”

She laughed. “Prospecting is what I’m hoping to prevent.”

LIVVY HAD A SLIP OF PAPER in her hand, which she handed to Kate. “I’m a messenger now. Someone from the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency called. He tried you at home, and Paul gave him this number. I guess you didn’t have your cell phone with you?”

Kate shook her head.

“He wants to talk to you about the squirrels,” Livvy went on. “His home number is on there too, in case you aren’t able to get back to him during the day.”

Kate glanced at the note. His home number? The man must have wanted to talk to her pretty badly.

Livvy cleared her throat. “The demolition team was here today. Some of the volunteers recognized the head of the company and put two and two together, and now there are a lot of upset and anxious people running around here.”

“What did Mr. Crawford say?” Kate asked.

“He was horribly apologetic. I actually felt bad for the man.” Livvy swallowed. “They’re set up for a one o’clock start on Monday.”

“And does everyone know that?”

Livvy nodded. “There was no way to keep it a secret any longer.” Her eyes were dark with worry. “I hope no one thinks it’s my fault the word got out.”

“They couldn’t possibly blame you,” Kate reassured her. “Crawford Demolitions coming in here in broad daylight sort of blows the secrecy wide open.” She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “How are you doing?”

“We’re doing well with the packing. We should be able to have everything out by Sunday evening, and then I’ll do a walk-through on Monday to be sure nothing was missed.” Her voice caught.

Kate said, “Oh, Livvy,” but her friend held up a warning hand.

“Don’t,” she said. “Unless you can tell me you’ve found a way to stop the demolition, don’t offer me sympathy. I’m having enough trouble holding it together.”

What Livvy didn’t say was that there would be plenty of time for sadness and tears the following week when there was only a gaping hole on Main Street between Sweetwater and Smith.

AT HOME, KATE LISTLESSLY put together a turkey sandwich and sliced some peaches into a bowl. There wasn’t much more she could do today, she thought, frustrated. Offices were closed on Saturday and Sunday.

Then she remembered the note with the phone numbers of the wildlife guy on it that Livvy had given her. Going to her handbag, which she had tossed on the coat tree in the entry, she fished out the information. She went into the office and got the cordless phone, then dialed the office number. As she’d expected, she got an answering machine. By now it was Saturday afternoon, and she hadn’t thought the man would still be in his office. She dialed again, trying the home number, and was pleased when a masculine voice answered.

“This is Kate Hanlon,” she said, going on to explain who she was and listen as the wildlife expert introduced himself as well.

“Elspeth Getty forwarded your photographs and descriptive information to me,” he said. “I found them intriguing, so I took the liberty of sending them along to several other squirrel people.”

“Squirrel people.” Maybe it was because she was so tired that she found it so amusing.

The wildlife expert laughed as well. “As opposed to bobcat people or hawk people. I guess we’re a weird bunch. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that the general consensus is that these are a new subspecies that is significantly different from other flying-squirrel populations.”

“The Northern and Southern flying squirrels,” Kate said, recalling her research.

“Exactly. If you looked them up, you’re probably aware that these little guys look different from those.”

“We thought maybe they were babies at first,” Kate told him. “But the more we saw of them, the more we thought they might be something unusual.”

“Very unusual,” he told her. “No one has documented this particular squirrel anywhere else but in that one location. It seems likely that there are additional populations, but finding them may take time. And the chances that there are very, very few of them are high.”

Kate perked up. A small sliver of hope worked its way through her. “You mean they might be endangered?”

“They might be,” he agreed. “I’ll leave that to someone farther up the food chain to decide, although I registered all of your documentation—excellent job, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Kate swallowed. “Are you aware that the building in which they appear to be living is scheduled for demolition on Monday?”

“What? This Monday?” The man sounded shocked. “That’s terrible.”

“I know. For more reasons than one.” She sighed. “Is there any chance of having them designated endangered immediately?”

“Not one,” the fellow said, his tone somber. “The whole process takes a lot of time and money and ultimately has to be decided by the US Fish and Wildlife Service. It may help if I send this information on to the Center for Biological Diversity, but not by Monday. The best we could hope for is a temporary injunction to give researchers time to study them and make a recommendation to the USFW. And I have to warn you that it’s extremely difficult to get a judge to issue an injunction.”

“So whom do I contact at the Center for...what?” Kate felt a surge of renewed energy. Maybe today was Saturday, but that didn’t mean she had to sit back and do nothing all weekend.

“The Center for Biological Diversity. You don’t have to do anything. I already sent this to them as well.” He chuckled. “I guess I got a little excited.” He went on. “The only thing I need to do is confirm your contact information, because they’ll want to talk to you when they see this. I’ll be sure they understand the need for speed.”

Kate gave him her full name, her address, her home and cell numbers, the library’s number, and Paul’s e-mail address as well as hers. Just in case.

She thought again about the next problem looming. Should she ask Louisa about Foxfield? She wanted to, but she was afraid that Louisa would immediately contact Gerald. And she didn’t want him alerted that she planned to look at the deeds for herself. Her suspicions about exactly what those deeds said grew.

Kate marched to the kitchen, where a pad and a pen lay on the counter near the telephone. In great big letters, she wrote COURTHOUSE across a sheet. That had to be her priority Monday morning.

SHE SPENT THE AFTERNOON in her studio working on Jeremy’s sun catcher. It wouldn’t be done by his birthday, but it wouldn’t be too far past it either, if she worked steadily. The photos she had taken for the wildlife people turned out to be a blessing for her, allowing her to closely copy the little creatures’ appearance. It wasn’t highly complicated. The biggest issue was choosing the right pieces of glass.

Fortunately, she’d recently purchased an assortment of colored glass that had a dark opal gray kokomo in it that would be perfect for the animal’s coat, and once she had the pattern worked out to her satisfaction, she began the process of cutting her glass.

At suppertime, she assembled the fixings for tacos and turned on the oven to bake the shells, which Paul preferred crispy. There was melon left over from the previous night, and she set that out as well.

Checking her watch, she saw that Paul would be home any minute. He’d been working harder on that roofing project than he’d worked on anything in years. The sheer physical strength and endurance required was staggering.

The phone rang. Absently she picked up the one in the kitchen and greeted the caller.

“This is Gerald Foxfield. Lady,” began the rough male voice, “I’m only going to say this one time. You need to stay out of my business.”

“You mean the business of the town of Copper Mill?”

“It’s my property,” he said, “and I can do what I want with it. Stop digging into my property records. I’ve already called my lawyer—”

“Ellis Hayer,” Kate recalled. “A very pleasant young man.”

Her lack of agitation seemed to inflame him more. “My lawyer will be contacting you!” he told her just before he hung up on her.

Kate replaced the receiver. How odd. She had assumed the creepy caller before was Gerald. But if that was Gerald, who had the scary voice been just now? She rubbed her arms, more unnerved than she liked by the unknown voice.