Chapter Thirty
My mystery-loving sister approaches the puzzle logically.
Presumably, Muriel needed to access the box, so it couldn’t be under delicate plants.
It could be under something easily pulled up and replaced.
Or something with a high turnover and low value, which she could dig in without Arturo noticing or caring.
While there are plenty of pots awaiting new plants, that was too risky—Arturo could easily grab the wrong one and plant something in it.
We start by narrowing our hunt to pots where the soil seems disturbed. The one where we find it appears to be the opposite—the soil is overly packed … which is what tips Dalton off.
The box we recover is small, maybe only three inches square. When Dalton hands it to me, it rattles enough to have Rory perking up in April’s arms, where she’d been drifting to sleep.
“Sounds like money,” Dalton says. “She’s hiding a box full of dollar coins.”
“Pffft. Two-dollar coins at least,” I say, hefting it.
“Jewelry,” April says.
“Coins,” Dalton says. “Maybe pennies, before they went out of circulation. What are they worth now, one and a quarter cents each?”
I shake my head and open the box to reveal …
Dalton puts out his hand to April. “Pay up.”
“I never laid a bet.”
I kiss his cheek. “There. Your prize.”
“What would I have gotten?” April asks.
“Acknowledgment that you were right, which is all you really need.”
I shake the box’s contents onto my hand. They are indeed coins. Not loonies or toonies. Not modern Canadian or American coins of any sort. I’m … not sure what they are. The dates make them very old, but the coins look new, and they’re loose in the box, like spare change.
“So Muriel’s secret treasure was a bunch of old coins?” Dalton says.
“Why do I feel like I’m in one of those escape rooms?” I mutter. “Here’s a random clue—now figure out how it applies to the mystery.”
“You need to decipher the language on the coins,” April says. “And then arrange the numbers in the right order to open a combination lock located in another planter.”
I snort. “Probably. And inside that will be a playing card that leads to the next clue.” I hold out the coins. “Are these valuable? Or just mementos? Do we have any residents who might know? I really hate to add more work to émilie’s list.”
“Kenny used to collect coins,” April says. “It was a hobby when he was young. He might have some idea what we are looking at.”
Kenny lifts one coin and stares at it. “This … this…” He looks at me. “You found these just tossed into a box? Where they could get scratched?” From his expression, you’d think we’d left Rory in the woods by herself.
We’re just outside town. Kenny had been on patrol, and Dalton and I had waited along the path until he appeared with Brian. We ended their patrol early, so Brian could go, leaving us alone to explain things to Kenny.
“I take it that’s a rare coin?” I say.
“It’s a buffalo nickel. I wouldn’t say it’s extremely rare, but it’s worth about five grand. The others are all foreign coins, and I don’t recognize most, but I’d guess you’re looking at anywhere from thirty to forty grand here.”
I whistle. “Wow. Okay. That’s … a lot. Thank you. Eric and I will finish up your patrol shift. My sister’s at the clinic with Rory, but we’ll come by right after and take her. Rory won’t be spending the night with April.”
“Uh … okay.”
I shrug. “Just in case you were heading over there.”
Kenny rocks back on his heels as Dalton shakes his head. “If that’s a very clumsy way of asking me something, Casey, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“It wasn’t. I just wanted to be clear that we are aware of a change in the situation and will accommodate it without saying anything to April.”
A slow exhale. “Okay. Just … give your sister time. She needs that.”
“I understand.”
He catches my gaze. “And please don’t take it personally, even if I know it stings.”
Now I’m the one exhaling. “I know. She needs to tell me in her own time. I won’t push, and I won’t hint. That’s why I was telling you that we’ll be picking up Rory, and if we need someone to watch her at night, Dana’s on call.”
“If you need April, she’s there. Just give her a minute to get to the door. And don’t be offended if she doesn’t invite you in.”
I laugh softly. “Got it.” I look at him. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”
“For what?” His eyes widen. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I squeeze his arm, and then we say our goodbyes.
I sleep well that night. I shouldn’t, with a case deadline looming and a headful of dangling threads. But a lack of sleep the night before must help, because I go to bed after Rory’s last feeding, and don’t wake until after seven, Dalton having risen for her first meal.
“I’m interviewing Muriel again this morning,” I say as we eat breakfast, Rory on my lap.
“I don’t have nearly enough ammunition but…
” I shrug. “I can only hope she’s freaked out enough about the solitary confinement to talk, and even then, it’ll just be wrapping up a thread almost certainly unrelated to my case. ”
“And the coins?” Dalton says as he gives Rory a piece of toast to gnaw on.
“From her story, we know she’s supposedly broke. If she didn’t have them insured, she could have hidden them when declaring bankruptcy.”
Dalton nods. “It’s her nest egg. She brought them and hid them, in case we searched her apartment. Helluva lot of money for coins, though.”
“Maybe? It depends on how well-off she was before her boyfriend fleeced her. They could also have been an inheritance. No offense to Kenny, but most coin collectors are older relatives.” I sip my tea. “I’ll get that done. Then—”
A buzz tells me we have a message on our sat phone. I check it and set down my mug. “And that’s émilie. She wants to talk to us as soon as we’re up.”
“Take it in the living room. I’ll top up your tea and look after Rory.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve found Mark the miner,” émilie says. “Mark wasn’t his real name, but the other data he provided was correct. Widowed, remarried a few years ago, mines in the Yukon during his summers. Do you want his real name?”
“Only if I need to take it to Gretchen. Am I going to need to do that?”
“I believe so. Blake knew him. So did Gretchen. They’re online friends. Or they were when Mark’s first wife was alive. You mentioned that she’d join him on his mining expeditions.”
“Yes. His first wife always came along. That’s what he told us.”
“It seems the women both attended UBC. Sorority sisters, in fact. When Mark and his wife would come up north, they’d spend a day or two in Whitehorse with their dear friends, Gretchen and Blake Landry.”
“Damn. That is some fine detective work. Hats off to your investigator.”
“The only hard part was identifying Mark. Once we had that, the rest was a simple matter of finding his Facebook profile. He’s friends with both Blake and Gretchen.
That could just mean online friends, but a bit of digging brought up pictures with the four of them, all tagged, and posts from both Gretchen and Mark’s wife about their get-togethers. ”
“So it was the first wife they were friendly with. And the second?”
“Not so friendly, if I read between the lines. Neither Blake nor Gretchen was Facebook friends with the second wife, and there’s only one post from a couple of years ago, where Mark evidently went out for dinner with Blake and Gretchen on his way north.”
“So the bond was mostly between the women. Mark’s first wife dies, and his second doesn’t take her place in the friendship. But Blake and Gretchen still knew Mark.”
“They did.”
“Not much of a chance they coincidentally ran into trouble near his old mining spot, is there?”
Another low laugh. “There is not.”
“Thank you.” I relax into my chair. “That is the solid connection I needed. Whatever happened with Blake, it must be linked to the mining camp, considering it was originally owned by his old friend. And Blake himself works in a field related to mining. Is there anything more? Please tell me Blake and Gretchen worked on former claims alongside Mark and his first wife.”
“They did.”
I bolt upright. “What?”
“Sorry, I should qualify that. Before Mark’s first wife died, Blake and Gretchen went hiking up around where Mark and his wife were mining. They joked about not being able to reveal their whereabouts.”
“Because Mark wouldn’t appreciate that when he had a nearby claim.”
“Correct. They did, however, try their hand at panning. They mentioned that later, after Mark and his wife would have returned home. It wasn’t the same claim site, so it’s not the solid connection you might hope for, but it’s something.”
I move onto the floor, where Dalton listens, lying on his back as Rory crawls over him. “So they knew Mark, and now they’re in the area where he and his second wife both vanished. Mining might not be our answer. They could be searching for clues about their friend’s disappearance.”
Silence.
“Or not?” I say. “How did that play out? Obviously no one came searching here, and you never saw anything about a missing prospector and his wife.”
“Mark and his wife died in a single-vehicle accident. Back at home, they crashed along a country road.”
“I … What?”
“That’s the story, according to the obituary I dug up.”
“I…” I move back onto the chair, so I can better concentrate on the call. “Well, you obviously didn’t do that, since you just identified Mark.”
“Correct. I’d have told you if I quietly handled it.
At the time, we decided it was best if I didn’t dig into Mark’s true identity, for fear of opening a suspicious trail.
Instead, I monitored for any sign of a missing woman or a prospector who didn’t reappear after the season ended.
When that didn’t come, I presumed those in charge of the mining operation handled it.
They knew he was dead, and they essentially took over his claim—presumably without completing their transaction and paying his estate. ”
“Do you still think the mining company did this? Covered up his death?”
“Yes, but…”
When she trails off, I wait. Then I say, “émilie?”
“That’s the only logical explanation. The extent of the cover-up, though, is more elaborate than I would have expected.
As you know, from being on the board in Rockton, I saw firsthand how such things were handled.
I was prepared to make sure Mark and his wife’s disappearance wasn’t connected to your region.
I had ideas and the contacts to pull it off. ”
“And this was more elaborate?”
“Faking an accident means buying off a lot of people, especially when you don’t have bodies.
That makes me wonder what sort of mining operation we’re dealing with.
How deep are their pockets? How much gold—or other valuable resources—are they expecting to be worth that level of cover-up?
Granted, Mark’s death meant they didn’t need to pay him, but still… ”
“We’ve always suspected the new camp isn’t a simple mining operation.”
“Yes, and then my investigator located your dead miner.”
I pause, and it takes a moment for my brain to segue.
“The man we found buried,” I say.
“Your description of the runelike tattoo helped immensely. It’s specific to one maximum-security American prison. It signifies membership in an internal gang. Once we had that, we easily identified him.”
“Good. I’m not sure how it ties into all this, but any added information on the mining operation helps. Did you track down the other guy? The one who kidnapped Max last year?”
“I did.”
“Former prisoner?”
Again, she goes quiet.
“Not an ex-con?”
“That … would depend on your definition. If you mean someone who served his time and was released, then no. If you mean someone who was incarcerated before his death, then yes.”
I frown at Dalton, who has sat up, leaving Rory chomping on a teething ring.
“émilie?” he says. “I’m going to ask you to be a lot less enigmatic. It sounds as if you’re saying the guy who took Max was still a convict at the time of his death.”
“Yes.”
I say, “An escaped convict? A paroled one?”
“No.”
Dalton growls. “émilie. This really isn’t the time for puzzles.”
“I’m not trying to give you one. I’m still wrapping my head around what my investigator has told me, because apparently, it applies to both your dead miners—Max’s captor and this man you found buried.”
“They were both convicts?” I say. “Not on parole. Not escaped.”
“Yes. At the time of their deaths, both men were incarcerated.”
I rub my temples. “So the men who died here are not who they seemed to be? They somehow match the identities of men currently in prison? Or…” My head slowly rises. “Are you telling me that the mining operation is a prison camp?”
“Apparently, yes.”