Chapter 5 - Silver Hollow Starts Talking
The button should have solved everything.
It didn’t.
“That proves one of his buttons was here,” Sheriff Daniel Pike said.
Eleanor stared across his desk.
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t prove Rutherford was wearing it.”
“It has his initials.”
“He owns employees.”
“It was beside a cut barn latch.”
Pike sighed.
“Mrs. Morgan—”
“Eleanor.”
He removed his spectacles.
“I believe you.”
“Then act like it.”
Caleb stood near the door, silent.
Sheriff Pike lowered his voice.
“Believing something and proving it are different.”
Eleanor knew that.
She simply disliked hearing it.
“Keep the button,” Pike said. “I’ll ask questions.”
Caleb stepped forward.
“No.”
Eleanor glanced at him.
Pike frowned.
“No?”
“We keep the evidence. You record it.”
The sheriff studied him.
“Don’t trust me?”
“I trust paper more.”
Eleanor almost smiled.
Caleb had been learning.
Pike wrote a receipt describing the button, its location, and the date.
They returned to Ridgeline Tavern.
Silver Hollow was louder than usual.
Eleanor understood why almost immediately.
A newspaper from Denver lay on the counter.
The headline concerned Consolidated Mining’s planned expansion.
North Slope was mentioned.
Caleb read the article.
His face hardened.
“They’re announcing a project on land they don’t own.”
Margaret crossed her arms.
“People are saying the spring review is a formality.”
“People say many stupid things,” Eleanor replied.
Margaret lowered her voice.
“Rutherford says Caleb’s father promised him the ridge before he died.”
Caleb’s head came up.
“What?”
“That’s what he told the bank manager.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Caleb folded the newspaper carefully.
Too carefully.
Eleanor recognized anger by now.
“What promise?” she asked.
“My father never mentioned one.”
Margaret gave him a sympathetic look.
“Maybe Rutherford is lying.”
“He is.”
“How do you know?”
Caleb’s answer was immediate.
“Because Isaac Morgan would have sold his own teeth before giving Fletcher Rutherford land.”
Eleanor stared.
That sounded like history.
Real history.
Later, while Caleb purchased nails, Eleanor visited the county records office.
The clerk was a woman named Mabel Dunn who appeared delighted that anyone had entered her building voluntarily.
“I need property records for North Slope.”
“All of them?”
“All.”
Mabel smiled.
“You may regret saying that.”
Two hours later, Eleanor was surrounded by deeds.
Isaac Morgan had purchased North Slope thirty-one years earlier.
No liens.
No transfer agreement.
No sale.
Then Eleanor found something interesting.
A mineral survey.
Commissioned twelve years earlier.
Confidential.
Copper, yes.
But not only copper.
There were indications of silver.
Enough to change the value of the property dramatically.
Eleanor copied the report reference number.
“Can I see the original survey?”
Mabel frowned.
“Should be here.”
It wasn’t.
“Where is it?”
“Maybe archived.”
“Where?”
“Basement.”
The basement records were worse.
Dust.
Boxes.
Old mice nests.
Finally Mabel found the folder.
Empty.
“That’s strange.”
“When was it removed?”
Mabel checked the register.
“No entry.”
Eleanor felt cold.
Documents did not vanish by accident when mining companies were involved.
She returned upstairs.
Caleb waited outside.
“You were gone.”
“I was reading.”
“For two hours?”
“There were many words.”
He saw her expression.
“What?”
She handed him the copied reference.
“Your land may contain silver.”
He stared.
“What?”
“An old survey suggests it.”
“My father never said anything.”
“Perhaps he didn’t know.”
“He commissioned the survey.”
That stopped her.
Caleb looked at the number.
“I remember this.”
“You do?”
“I was twenty-two. He brought men up for a week. Told me they were checking water.”
“Caleb.”
“Yes.”
“Somebody removed the report.”
His face went still.
“Rutherford?”
“Maybe.”
They walked toward the tavern.
Halfway there, a man stepped out from the hotel.
Fletcher Rutherford.
“Caleb.”
“Fletcher.”
Rutherford’s gaze moved to Eleanor.
“Enjoying county records?”
Eleanor stopped.
Caleb did too.
“How did you know where I was?” she asked.
Rutherford smiled.
“Small town.”
“No. Small town is knowing I entered the building. You knew what I was reading.”
His smile changed.
Barely.
Enough.
Eleanor saw it.
So did Caleb.
Rutherford adjusted his glove.
“North Slope has a complicated history.”
“Not according to the deed,” Eleanor said.
“Deeds never tell the whole story.”
“Neither do men who pay witnesses.”
For the first time, Rutherford’s pleasant expression disappeared.
Then it returned.
“Be careful, Mrs. Morgan.”
“With what?”
“With believing Caleb is different from every other man who needs something.”
Caleb stepped forward.
Eleanor touched his arm.
He stopped.
Rutherford noticed.
“Interesting,” he said.
“What?” Eleanor asked.
“You control him better than most.”
“I don’t control him.”
“No?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“He listens because he has sense.”
Rutherford laughed.
Then leaned closer.
“Ask him about September.”
Caleb went rigid.
Eleanor looked at him.
Rutherford walked away.
She waited.
Caleb stared after him.
“What happened in September?”
“Nothing.”
“That answer usually means something.”
“My father died.”
“I know.”
Caleb started walking.
Eleanor followed.
“How?”
“Heart stopped.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Who was?”
Silence.
“Caleb.”
He turned.
“Rutherford.”
Eleanor stopped.
“What?”
“He found my father.”
A wagon rolled past.
Somewhere behind them, a door slammed.
Eleanor stared at Caleb.
“And you never thought that mattered?”
“I did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because the doctor said natural causes.”
“Did your father trust Rutherford?”
“No.”
“Then why was Rutherford at North Slope?”
Caleb looked away.
“He claimed my father invited him.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No.”
Eleanor’s mind moved quickly.
Missing survey.
Valuable minerals.
A will that transferred land to Consolidated Mining if Caleb failed a peculiar condition.
Rutherford present when Isaac Morgan died.
It did not prove murder.
It did prove questions.
“Where are your father’s papers?”
“At the cabin.”
“All of them?”
“I thought so.”
“Tonight we check.”
They returned before dark.
Caleb opened a locked chest beneath the bed.
Letters.
Receipts.
Tax records.
Old maps.
Eleanor began sorting.
Hours passed.
Nothing.
At midnight Caleb rubbed his eyes.
“This is pointless.”
“No.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“Yes.”
Another hour.
Then Eleanor found a folded page tucked inside an old account book.
Not a legal document.
A letter.
Unfinished.
Written by Isaac Morgan.
Caleb recognized the handwriting instantly.
Eleanor read the first sentence.
Caleb,
If anything happens before I can speak to you, do not let Rutherford obtain the ridge.
They looked at each other.
The rest of the page had been torn away.
Caleb’s face lost color.
Eleanor turned the fragment over.
Nothing.
“Your father knew.”
“Yes.”
“Knew what?”
Caleb stared toward the floor.
Then he noticed something.
One floorboard beside the chest sat slightly higher than the others.
He knelt.
Eleanor held the lamp.
Caleb pried it loose.
Beneath it lay a narrow metal box.
Locked.
Dust-covered.
Hidden.
Caleb looked at Eleanor.
She looked at the box.
May you like
Whatever Isaac Morgan had feared, he had hidden the answer beneath his own floor.
And somebody besides them seemed to know it existed.
