“I still am. I’m just not going to be a poor one.”
“What an idiot I was,” she admitted. “You and Charles were playin’ good cop, bad cop. You, the kind, considerate reporter who doesn’t like to air people’s dirty laundry, writes beautiful obituaries, and aspires to be a novelist, pitted against the autocratic father who bullies others and wants to prove to everyone thathe’sthe boss.”
“Heis,” Peter agreed. “And a very effective one. Under him, the town’s tourism business has grown substantially.”
“Not to mention, his pocketbook,” she said, still walking. “Skimming from vendors, taking a little from historical society dues, maybe even taking a cut from the community dance, huh? But it all paled in comparison once that old geology report showed up, didn’t it?”
“Got it all figured out, don’t you?” Peter concluded.
“Yeah, pretty much,” she agreed. “Except for a few details.”
They fell silent until they met up with Charles, Tully, and Crosby standing near the entrance to tunnel “12” that turned left and went off into the darkness. Running across its entrance was the continuous string of clear lightbulbs. About ten feet beyond the entrance, continuing down tunnel “22,” was the area where the tunnel floor had collapsed, leaving only that small ledge. Goldie knew from her previous visit that there was a several-hundred-foot drop from where the floor had given way. Tully and Crosby were wearing their usual blue-collar clothes, and uncharacteristically, so was Charles.
“Hey, boys,” she greeted, mustering her courage. From her time with Markie, she knew tough guys were only incentivized by fear. So, she was determined not to show it. She took a stick of gum out of her winter jacket pocket, unwrapped it, then stuck it into her mouth. Charles looked her over with her black rubber-clip boots, blue jacket, and burnt orange stocking cap.
“Good morning, Goldie,” he greeted. “I imagine, right now, you’re pretty frightened.”
“Not really,” she said, cracking her gum. “I’m disappointed in junior over here, but glad to finally get some answers.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Tully observed.
“You’ve already met Tully,” the mayor said. “His red-headed companion is Crosby.”
“How ya doin’?” Goldie nodded with her distinct Bronx accent. She cracked her gum again and looked around. “Where’s your other pal, Eli?”
“The Boy Scout? He’s not a part of our little group,” Tully huffed.
“Ah…” she said, thinking. “You just answered one of those details for me.”
“Really? What was that?” Peter said, still pointing the gun at her while slipping off his backpack.
She looked at Tully and Crosby. “Well, I’ve seen the sheriff with you two gentlemen, so I was never sure if he was part of the gang.” She turned to Charles. “But now I get it. You hired him because he didn’t have any experience and was physically challenged. When he returned to Sparkledove, he was still usin’ his cane. You could take advantage of his inexperience, mobility, and still get complimented by the community because he was a decorated war vet.”
“You’re smart, Goldie,” Charles smiled. “Smarter than the average woman.”
“She can’t be allthatsmart,” Crosby scoffed in his Scottish tongue. “Look where she is.”
“Iamsorry, Goldie,” Peter admitted, “that I used you.”
“Fuhgettaboutit,” she shrugged. She looked at Charles. “So, when did you buy this old mine?”
“Right after I commissioned ore samples from not one, but two different out-of-state mining geologists,” Charles answered.
She looked behind her. “And when did the floor give way?”
“According to the final geology report of 1882, some of it had fallen away even then,” Peter said. “No doubt it was a reason to abandon the tunnel. But it’s nothing a bridge can’t fix with today’s modern engineering.”
Goldie recalled what Harriette Noise had told her. “The geology report came to the historical society in late 1939. It’s nearly Christmas of 1942. So, you’ve been workin’ on this scheme for a long time.”
“Years,” Charles admitted. “I’ve invested everything I have. There’s no turning back.”
“How much silver do you figure is down here?” she asked.
“Could be as much as a hundred tons,” Peter replied.
She paused, calculating. “Wow, that’s over $4,000,000.00 in 1942… $55,000,000.00 in current mon…” her voice trailed off. “If you hit gold, even more. And, of course, since you own a realty company and are the mayor, you knew how to keep the purchase quiet.”
“We’ve answered your questions, Goldie, now answer one of mine,” Charles said. “Who originally put you on the trail that something was going on?”
