A Ton of Gold Page 5

  Josh was never one to waste much time. A long time employee of Schlumberger Wire Line, he understood efficiency. Josh managed one of the oil well service company's offices in East Texas.

  "I'm not looking for any proprietary information. But is there new interest in the Wooden Nickel area?”

  "You mean any drilling? Not that I know of.”

  "I really had in mind land acquisition, or leasing of mineral rights.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. Mark wondered if Josh was considering the ethical aspects of answering or just trying to remember anything. Finally, he said, "I'm not aware of any activity in that area. What's your interest?”

  Mark chuckled lightly. "It may be nothing at all. But one of my employees has a grandmother who lives alone out there. Has half a section. A couple of things have happened in the last week, and she, the grandmother, thinks somebody is trying to kill her. I doubt there's anything to it. The police don't think so. Anyway, I'm just looking for anything that might be a motive.”

  "Sorry. Don't know a thing. You think somebody really is trying to kill her?”

  "Probably not. On the other hand, she doesn't sound like the kind easily spooked. If you hear anything . . .”

  "I'll call you. And, Mark.” Josh paused just a second. "Don't dismiss it too quickly. Wouldn't be the first time someone got killed over an oil lease. Or timber.”

  Chapter 10

  Monday afternoon, Mark called a meeting with his project leaders. Crystal was the last to arrive in the conference room. “Sorry,” she said as she slipped into a seat, a half-finished donut in one hand.

  “We only beat you by thirty seconds,” Mark said. “Okay, guys, we’ve got the date for the Rooney visit. They’ll be here two weeks from today. It’s not clear yet what happens on that Monday. But Tuesday, they’re expecting demonstrations and status reports.” He hesitated a beat. “We need to shine. They’re putting a good bit of money into IRS and it’s up to us to convince them it was, and still is, a wise thing to do.” Mark looked at each of his three leaders. “I know you don’t like to think of outsiders controlling things, but let’s face reality. We’re almost there. Almost. But right now, we need them. At least for another year.”

  Crystal, Phil and Sally all nodded agreement.

  “How come they’re bringing a consultant?” asked Sally.

  “Actually, on a first deal like this was for me, it’s pro-forma to have a consultant. The unusual thing is that they didn’t do it at the beginning. That’s why I was surprised. And why I’m a little concerned. Not over them hiring one, but the timing. Right before the second round of funding is due.”

  “What about trade secrets?” Phil asked.

  “Oh, I’m certain Rooney has had him—”; Mark looked at Crystal and Sally. “—or her, sign a non-disclosure agreement. But I’ll confirm that with Rooney.”

  After a few more questions, Mark turned to the main business of the meeting. “Okay. Let’s start with you, Crystal. Where is the IPPI project and what will we be able to do—with certainty of success—in two weeks?”

  “We hope to start loading data tomorrow. If all goes well, we should finish that phase by Wednesday. We’ll test for the next week, then take two days to develop a ‘show and tell.’ I think we can give an impressive demonstration,” she concluded.

  Mark nodded. “Are you cutting it a little close? You’ve only allowed two days to develop and perfect the demo. That leaves little room for error. See if you can tighten things a bit and allow a little leeway on the demo. You don’t want it to crash.” He turned to Sally. “How about you?”

  Sally was leaning back in her chair. Crystal thought for an instant Sally might have been asleep. She leaned forward, suddenly animated. “We’re really rolling now. Barring any unforeseen problems, we’ll give y’all a demo next week. We won’t be completely finished for a while, but I think we can knock their socks off with what we have. We’re going to impress even you, Mark.”

  “I’m not the important one to impress. But that’s a good place to start. When should I schedule your demo?”

  “How about next Wednesday?”

  “Good. We’ll all be there.” Mark glanced at Phil, then looked at the other two. “You all know Phil’s group has just started on their help-desk project. So, they’re not going to have much to show. Mostly, it will be the plans and projections, and possibly a toy system to give them a feel for it. I believe that will be sufficient. They understand our timetable. They won’t expect a completed system.

  “But, Phil has come up with an idea that I will present to the VC guys to show that we’re looking ahead, even as we are handling today’s projects.”

  Crystal pushed the last of the donut into her mouth and glanced at Phil, who averted his eyes immediately. She guessed Phil’s age at about fifty-five. He was tall, with gray eyes and mostly gray hair, which constantly looked like he had just emerged from the barbershop. Phil regularly wore a coat and tie, the only person in the office who did. He always exuded confidence and spoke with authority.

  “Do you want to explain it, Phil?” Mark asked.

  Without looking up, Phil said, “Ah, why don’t, ah, maybe it ought to wait until after Rooney’s visit.”

  “I think it’s a terrific idea and we certainly want to put it before Rooney.” Mark looked at Crystal and Sally. “Phil has suggested that we could apply some of the new IR techniques to monitor medical costs.” For several minutes, Mark explained what might be done and how that could be commercially successful.

  Crystal’s mouth dropped open and she turned toward Phil with wide eyes. She had described exactly such a project to Phil only a few weeks ago. They had talked about it over lunch one day. He had been enthusiastic about its possibilities.

  But, it had been her idea. Not Phil’s.

  She didn’t understand what was going on. She stole another glance at Phil, who was looking at his hands, folded in his lap, and squirming slightly in his seat. Was he waiting for Mark to credit her?

  Mark finished. “Any questions?”

  No one spoke. Crystal started to, but didn’t. Am I being petty? No. That’s my idea. Still, she hated to make a big scene in front of everybody.

  “Okay. Let’s get after it. Make your people understand the importance of the next two weeks. Remind them that Rooney Associates is paying their salaries. And if I can help speed things along, don’t walk, run to my office and ask.”

  He looked at each of his leaders, and gave a thumbs-up. Sally got up and left immediately, but Phil didn’t move.

  Maybe he’s going to tell Mark it was my idea, Crystal thought. If I sit here, it will be more difficult for him. She got up and left without saying a word. But her mind was racing, bouncing between confusion, disbelief, and anger.

  #

  Twenty minutes later, Crystal burst into Mark's office, her face ashen. Her eyes looked as if they were holding back tears. Her steps were uncertain.

  “Mark. The sheriff just called. Nana’s house is on fire. Her car ... .” Her voice faltered. “Her car’s there, but ... they can’t find ... .” Her lower lip began to tremble, and she put her hand up to cover it. Her other hand grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself.

  Chapter 11

  “Have they … .” He stopped and for several moments, just looked at Crystal, sharp lines creasing his forehead. "Let's take my truck and go check it out ourselves. Meet me in the parking lot in three minutes."

  She took a deep breath, slowly regaining some control over her voice. "You don't have to go with me. I can drive myself.” And then quickly, "But if you can, I’d … .” Her voice trailed off.

  "Three minutes. In the parking lot."

  She turned and ran to her office.

  #

  Most of the trip was made in silence. For a while, they listened to a classical station. But when the reception began to flicker, Mark turned the radio off. Occasionally, he asked her about some landmark, or a community they passed t
hrough.

  They sped east on Interstate 20. The countryside slowly began to shed its parched look. Around Dallas, what didn't get watered by man was yellow and brown by this time of the year. Go seventy miles East and the fields were green and growing.

  To a Yankee this would present a real paradox. True to the image of Texas, there were large herds of cattle in the fields, although not many longhorns. But rather than the sagebrush and tumbleweed cliché, this part of Texas was downright lush. Perhaps all the movies about Texas were made in the western half of the state.

  When they turned off I-20, they were in the pine forests and rolling hills of East Texas. "It isn't much farther, now," Crystal said. She gave directions when necessary but otherwise said nothing.

  "The next road on the left is Nana’s drive."

  Mark slowed and turned between two pine trees that must have been over ninety feet tall. He rolled down his window to enjoy the crisp, fresh scent of the pine forest.

  The driveway, a mixture of iron ore and sand, curved around to a bridge built out of railroad ties. The cutout of a roadrunner, his feet churning in the breeze, marked one edge of the bridge. On the other side, chasing in full stride, was Wile E. Coyote.

  “Somebody out here has a delightful sense of humor,” he said.

  The road turned and began to climb. Mark glanced over at Crystal. "This place is absolutely beautiful."

  “You can see why Nana won't move," she said, but today’s circumstances stripped all enthusiasm from her voice.

  They started a long, winding climb and now the acrid smell of burned wood began to invade the car and a gray haze permeated the woods in front of them. A low moan seeped from Crystal’s rigid form.

  Up ahead, pickups were scattered among the trees, hastily parked anywhere that would not be in the way. A little closer in, a sheriff's cruiser guarded the scene.

  Two fire trucks stood a safe distance from the smoldering house, gently vibrating as the pumps worked to fill their tanks. A long hose from each truck snaked several hundred feet down the hill, disappearing into the lake. With no fire hydrants within miles, firemen would draw water from any available stream or lake. This time they were fortunate to have an ample supply within reach of their hoses.

  The fire appeared to be out, but the closer they got, the worse the house looked. The trees seemed to be untouched by the fire, except for two which were singed around their bases.

  Small spirals of smoke drifted up from holes in the roof. While the house had not burned to the ground, what remained was a structure, no longer a home. From this distance it appeared that the center of the building had been destroyed, while the two ends escaped the worst of the fire.

  Mark stopped the truck a short distance from the police cruiser. Crystal had both hands on her face, covering her mouth. Her eyes were wet. Her entire body appeared as tight as a banjo string. A faint gasp escaped her drawn lips. Several seconds passed before she could move a hand to open the door.

  The sheriff walked over to meet them.

  "I'm so sorry, Crystal.” He put an arm around her shoulders and held her.

  The officer appeared to be in his mid-sixties, a short, stocky man with a weather-beaten face and a nose that had obviously been broken a few times. His hair was a bit longer than generally found on a law officer, but not long enough to hide large ears. A wide belt with a huge silver buckle cinched in most of an ample stomach, the rest bulging out like a squeezed balloon. His brown, western-cut shirt and brown jeans looked much newer and cleaner than his boots, which clearly had ridden many a dusty trail. He wore an old, but clean, buckskin Stetson.

  After a minute, Crystal stepped back. She blinked excessively and the light in her eyes had faded to darkness. Stress lines formed across her brow. She swallowed and in a voice edged with fear said, "Sheriff Glothe, this is Mark O'Malley. I work for him.”

  The sheriff stuck out a hand that seemed a size too large for his height. "Howdy. Pleased to meet you.” He had a slow Texan drawl that seemed so contrived in movies, yet was absolutely natural from him.

  "Hello," Mark replied. "Was anybody in the house?”

  The question had been lodged in Crystal’s mind, but she could not ask it.

  The sheriff looked a little surprised, perhaps that the question came from Mark. He stared at Mark for a moment, then turned his attention to Crystal. "They had a hard time getting the house under control, and then it was too hot to enter for a while. So, we don't know too much yet.” He paused. “But there is a body in there."

  Crystal gasped. She turned toward the house but her feet didn’t move. Instead, she sank to her knees and began to sob quietly. “Not Nana. Not Nana, too.”

  It was barely a whisper, but it screamed in Crystal’s head. Her parents, her grandfather, and now her only remaining family.

  Mark knelt beside her and put his arm around her, pulling her to him. She folded in like a rag doll, limp against his shoulder, the soft sobs continuing.

  Mark looked up at the sheriff and said quietly, "I saw a car near the house."

  The sheriff’s look was sufficient to answer Mark’s implied question. After a minute, Gloths said almost in a whisper "It's Eula's.” He stood there, thumbs hooked in his belt, watching Crystal, unable to offer any comfort to the young woman he had known all her life.

  Finally, he spoke to Mark. "I'm going on back to see how the picture taking’s coming along. If I can do anything, holler.” He turned and plodded toward the house.

  For a long time, Crystal wept for her grandmother. Mark simply held her. After a while, she pulled back a little and without looking at Mark, said, "I think I'll go sit by the lake for a bit."

  "Would you like me to come with you, or would you rather be alone?"

  "Alone, I think.” And she started down the hill toward the lake.

  #

  It tore at Mark’s heart to watch the energetic Crystal he knew, transformed by sorrow, shoulders slumped, head drooping, feet dragging. Grief had devoured her spirit. He hadn't known Eula Moore, but Crystal's sorrow was so consuming he felt depressed that he would never have that opportunity.

  Mark's grandparents had all died before he was old enough to know them. But he vividly remembered his father’s death. Mark had finished his Ph.D. and was working in Minnesota. He could still hear the words: your father has suffered a heart attack; he’s in intensive care—the doctor doesn’t think he’ll survive.

  Mark had been lucky enough to get a plane to Dallas in less than three hours and a fast taxi got him to the hospital in record time. One look at his mother told him he was too late. Too late to say good-bye. Too late to say I love you. Too late to hold his father’s hand one last time.

  First, grief had overwhelmed Mark. Then guilt. He hadn’t talked to his father in three weeks. He hadn’t visited him in seven months. He loved his father and they shared a good relationship. But Mark let his emerging career get in the way.

  He didn’t have time . . . and then, there was no time.

  At that moment, he had decided to move back near his mother. Whatever the situation, Mark hated to make the same mistake twice.

  So he understood some of the feelings flooding Crystal's mind and overwhelming her heart right now: grief, guilt, despair, so many things she would like to have said, an empty spot that wouldn’t be filled; and already, loneliness.

  He started toward the house, watching one of the firemen take something from a fire truck and head back to the charred house.

  Mark walked over to talk with Glothe. "How did the fire department get notified?"

  "We got a lucky break. Well, not so lucky, seeing as how Eula's dead. But Jimmy over there," he nodded at one of the firemen, "he was driving down the oil road and saw the smoke. Said he knew right away it was a house. 'Course all the volunteers have radios with them. So, he radioed in the call and came right on up. Said he tried to get in to see if there was anybody in there. But it was too hot and smoky, and he didn't have his bunker gear till the first truck got h
ere."

  "Did I see one of them taking a body bag in?"

  "Yeah.” Bill Glothe turned to spit into the dirt. "Body's burned pretty bad. Don't want Crystal to see it."

  “The medical examiner’s already been here?”

  “No ME’s in the county. Willa Waltherson, she’s the Justice of the Peace, she handles it. She’s come and gone. Accidental death in a fire. Slim’s finished taking his pictures.”

  "Have they determined how the fire started?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Off hand, they think it started in the kitchen. Makes sense. Either that or an electrical short.”

  For a few minutes, neither man said anything. Glothe watched the men working. Mark looked down toward the lake. A lonely figure huddled on the small dock, arms around knees, looking out over the water. She was too far away for Mark to hear any sounds of grief, but from time to time, a shudder ran through the slender back.

  Mark considered going down to the lake, then decided it would intrude on Crystal’s grief. This was a good-bye better said in private.

  He turned back to the sheriff. "Is it all right if I go in and look around?"

  "Real mess in there—water and everything burned. And some of it's still smoldering. But if you want to, go ahead. Don't touch anything, though. We'd like to find out exactly how it started."

  "Thanks. I'll keep my hands in my pockets."

  "Suppose I ought to go in myself and check on the bagging of the body. Guess I've been avoiding it. I've known Eula for . . .” Glothe cocked his head to one side. ". . . I guess forty years. Thirty-five years ago, the wife and I started going camping with Eula and Dan, that was her husband, Crystal's grandfather. Did ‘til he died five or six years ago. Eula was quite a gal. Kind as could be, but tough. Nobody ever whipped their shoes on her. Dan used to say nobody ever broke her, never even got a bridle on her. 'Course, he managed her pretty well.” He let out a long breath. “Anyway, we had a lot of good times together. I'm going to miss her. Everybody in Nickel will.”