Текст книги "Death In Dahlonega"

Автор книги: Deborah Malone

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Copyright

DEATH IN DAHLONEGABY DEBORAH MALONE

ISBN 10: 1-60039-190-7

ISBN 13: 978-1-60039-190-3

ebook ISBN: 978-1-60039-714-1

Copyright © 2011 Deborah Malone. All rights reserved.

Print and Electronic Format & Layout Copyright © 2011 by LAMP PoST Inc.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication – whether in printed or ebook format, or any other published derivation – may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Death in Dahlonega

a Trixie Montgomery cozy mystery

by

DEBORAH MALONE

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.

Proverbs 3:5

Contents

Copyright

Contents

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Questions For Discussion

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the Lumpkin County Sheriff’s Department, the Dahlonega Gold Museum, and the City of Rome Police Department for their help with police procedure.

I would like to thank Zack Waters for critiquing my manuscript and special thanks goes to Dawn Hampton who helped me breathe life into Trixie and Dee Dee.

Last, but certainly not least, I owe a debt of gratitude to Ashley Ludwig, Beverly Nault and Candice Prentice, my editors extraordinaire.

Dedication

”Death in Dahlonega” is dedicated to my family and friends who supported me during my writing journey.

Chapter One

Dahlonega, here we come!” I cheered, triumphant at the 10 miles to go sign. My knee ached from three hours in the car, my palms slick on the wheel from the harrowing twist of road.

“Here. Have some before I eat it all.” My passenger, and oldest friend, Dee Dee, shoved a bag of trail mix under my nose.

I dug through and, finding only nuts, pushed it back. “You ate all the chocolate pieces!”

She muffled an unapologetic sounding apology, then continued singing along as Alan shifted to Clint Black.

My Jeep Cherokee bumped over a rut in the road as a semi sped downhill a trifle too fast. With a tight grip on the vibrating steering wheel, I rounded another curve on the mountain road.

I single-handedly gripped the wheel and cooled a sweaty palm on the air vent, thinking how this trip would propel my career from probationary to full-fledged reporter. This was my big chance to prove to my editor that I, Trixie Montgomery, could write an article with substance and flair, despite the rather routine subject matter. Who says you can’t start a career after forty?

After all, “Gold Rush Days” in the North Georgia Mountains was hardly Pulitzer Prize material. Even the best had to start somewhere. Besides, what girl in her right mind could turn down an opportunity to take a little vacation while getting paid at the same time?

I reached over and squeezed my friend’s hand. “Thanks for coming, Dee Dee.” I couldn’t wait for a little antiquing, sightseeing, and plenty of good country cooking. What could possibly go wrong?

“Look!” Dee Dee pointed at something outside, misjudged, and slammed me hard in the nose. A spike of pain shot up through my eyes, to the top of my head.

“What?” I yelped, shooting a quick-glance to the rearview to see if it was bleeding. “You’ve broken my nose.”

Dee Dee slid toward me until I thought she was going to sit in my lap. She leaned over, pointing out the window. “Over there. Those beautiful yellow trees.”

“You almost broke my nose and scared the starch out of me to show me trees?”

“I’m sorry.” She handed me a wad of tissues. “But have you ever seen anything so beautiful as these mountains in the fall?”

“Wade and I vacationed all over the United States, and the North Georgia Mountains are on the top of my favorites list.” I longed to be in the passenger seat so I could study the view. But if you wanted to live while driving these roads you’d keep your eyes focused ahead, my ex-husband’s voice reminded me with gritting annoyance.

“It’s like God created a patchwork quilt with all the brightly colored leaves.” Dee Dee rolled down the window a bit. “Mm. Fresh mountain air. Nothing smells as good, either.” She stuck her head outside like a happy, oversized puppy.

“Careful there. I don’t want to lose you.”

She pulled her head back in. “I don’t think there’s any chance of me fitting through the window.” She laughed at her own joke. “Where are we staying again?”

“I made reservations at the Dahlonega Inn,” I said. “I got the last room, and only after I told the owner, Joyce, that I worked for Georgia By the Way. Turns out it’s her favorite magazine.”

Before we knew it, we arrived in Dahlonega. Hanging baskets full of geraniums hung from every light post. Second story porches adorned many of the clapboard structures. The shop-lined streets were filled with people milling about. A friendly driver waved us through the four-way stop.

The founding fathers had seen fit to arrange the buildings of Dahlonega in a square. The mountains served as a beautiful multi-colored backdrop. In the center stood the old Dahlonega Gold Museum, where most of my research would be carried out. I glanced at my camera, itching to get started.

We pulled into the Dahlonega Inn’s gravel parking lot across from the town square. Brown-leafed Magnolias dotted the area.

Researching on-line, I’d learned the two-story clapboard house was originally built in 1895, and later turned into an inn in the early 1920’s. I half expected a trio of flappers to saunter out the door.

“Come on Dee Dee. Let’s head on in.” I opened my door and struggled to reach the cane I kept behind my seat.

“Trixie, does your knee hurt? Hold on.” Dee Dee reached behind the seat and shifted the cane where I could easily grab it, and I hobbled alongside her across the parking lot.

Anxious to get settled in, we entered the lobby of the Dahlonega Inn. The large room had been carefully decorated to resemble a homey replica of a Norman Rockwell parlor. A large stone fireplace adorned the wall across the room. Overhead, huge, hand-hewn beams supported a split cedar roof. Several comfy chairs perched in various corners of the room, and bright watercolor landscapes added a splash of color to the reception area. Visitors mingled while we maneuvered to the reception desk.

A smiling teenager stood behind the check-in counter, waiting to fill out the forms and hand us our keys. Dee Dee palmed them and was asking for the nearest facilities when the keys flew from her hand as a large man in an all-fired hurry plowed past, knocking her into me. Cane sailing from my hand, we smacked into the hardwood floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

“Get off me,” I moaned.

Dee Dee, a woman who had not seen the petite section of the dress store for several years, struggled to get up. I tried to help, pushing at her without much success.

“Can’t you see my friend uses a cane,” she yelled at the retreating giant. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going you feather-brained lummox!”

He kept walking.

“You could at least apologize,” Dee Dee shouted at his back. She helped me to my feet while several slacked-jawed onlookers stared. “Trix, are you all right? If I see him again…well I don’t know what I might do.”

A wide-eyed lady, with mouth agape, offered assistance. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are either of you hurt? Can I help you?” She stuck out a shaking hand. “I’m Joyce, by the way. I’m the owner of this inn.”

I realized she was the lady who had made our reservations. She was much older than her phone voice had led me to believe. A petite woman, she wore a bright red pantsuit. Her gray hair was cut in a stylish bob.

I took a quick physical assessment for any damage. “I think I’ll survive. How about you Dee Dee?”

She huffed and did a hasty check. Though her body parts remained intact, I sensed her dignity had taken quite a hit.

“Well, I guess I’ll live. That man was so rude. Maybe it was an accident, but he could have at least stopped to help.” She adjusted her elastic waistband back into position and turned to Joyce. “Did you see him? He kept right on going.” Dee Dee placed her hands on her ample hips.

I glanced at her bright orange pants and wondered how anyone could have missed her standing there. Her eyes still flashed with anger at the indignity that had been pressed upon us.

Joyce nodded. “Yes dear, I saw the whole thing. That’s John Tatum. His family owns most of the property in Dahlonega. He eats at the inn quite often.” Her words rushed out, then she paused, gazing after him. “He must have been upset about something, the way he kept going.”

She retrieved my cane and handed it to me. Ever since my fall from Grace, a palomino with a short fuse, I’d been struggling with a bum knee. Despite therapy, there had been little improvement during the past four years.

The girl behind the desk summoned Joyce. She offered her apologies and left to handle the situation.

“Come on, Trixie.” Dee Dee slung my purse on her shoulder while I steadied myself. “Let’s go find some lunch.”

“Sure, but don’t you want to eat at the inn’s buffet? I’ve heard it’s to die for.” Tasty smells filled the lobby. No wonder Mr. Tatum ate here often.

Dee Dee smoothed her clothes. “I need some fresh air.”

We walked over to the town square. Dahlonega had done an excellent job of preserving its downtown and leaving its natural beauty unspoiled. The storefronts remained untouched by what some people would call progress. Old wood-front buildings displayed images of horses being tethered to a hitching post in front of the stores. In the distance, the Appalachian foothills faded away in a purple haze.

We found the cutest restaurant located on the second story, offering dining on an outside porch overlooking the town.

“After we finish eating, I need to head on over to the gold museum,” I mentioned. “You know that ole’ saying, ‘work before fun.’ Want to come with me?”

“Why don’t you go ahead? I think I’ll browse for a while. I don’t plan on going home empty-handed. I promised Sarah I’d find some goodies for the store.” Dee Dee owned an antique store, “Antiques Galore,” in Vans Valley, and her octogenarian assistant, Sarah, would be thrilled.

I knew my friend; she’d keep her word. Eclectic boutiques, artisan stands, and even an old-fashioned candy shop lined the square, and they were calling her name. Cash registers rang as people bustled in and out of busy stores with full shopping bags. Before we parted ways, we agreed on a meeting place between four and five o’clock.

Dee Dee walked with me as far as the Dahlonega Gold Museum so she could carry my bag loaded with my laptop, camera and tape recorder. I ascended stairs to the grassy knoll where the museum stood like a sentinel watching over the town.

Inside the door, a middle-aged woman, dressed in crisp khaki pants and matching shirt, eyeballed visitors. She stood ramrod straight with her hands behind her back.

“Teresa Duncan,” I said out loud as I read her name tag, and scrunched a smirk at the term “Ranger,” lettered below her name.

“How may I help you?”

I explained I was researching an article for Georgia By the Way.

She displayed her first smile and told me Harv had called ahead, and that she’d be glad to help in any way she could.

Teresa spoke into a walkie-talkie, and within minutes a couple of young people appeared. They were dressed just like Teresa. “Trixie, let me introduce you to Tony Bowen and Rebecca Smith. They’re rangers, too.”

We shook hands, and I asked them a few questions.

“How about I take you on a tour?” Teresa asked.

“Do you mind if I take pictures while we talk?” I reached to get my all-important digital camera.

“Feel free to take as many as you want. This here’s our mining exhibit. It explains three of the earliest methods of mining.” She gestured in the direction of the room.

“Wow, look at all of these old tools on the wall.” I snapped pictures of pickaxes, rock hammers, and old lanterns in rapid succession. As we walked through the building, I photographed dozens of dioramas, all devoted to gold mining.

“This was originally the courthouse for Lumpkin County,” Teresa said. “It was built in 1836 and is the oldest courthouse in Georgia. It became a branch of the United States Mint in 1838. It remained so until 1861, after the Gold Rush.” She pointed to a glass showcase housing original memorandums of gold bullion deposits and original deeds to property won in the land lottery.

I wrote as fast as I could. I also recorded our conversation so I wouldn’t miss anything. Harv was a stickler when it came to details, and Teresa was a living, breathing, history book.

After the tour, Teresa excused herself to help other visitors while I walked outside and shot more photos of the building and surrounding area. The late afternoon sun arced as tourists mingled on the grassy lawn. A family of four posed for their picture under the Gold Rush Days sign, while a group of school children skipped toward a long yellow bus. These would make great shots to show the popularity of Gold Rush Days. One thing I’d learned about photography: a person usually had to take many shots to produce one good picture.

Back inside, Teresa offered to show me a film explaining the history of mining. Though I had researched a little online I didn’t have enough material for my article. This would be a great opportunity to learn more about the mining process.

I checked my watch and saw it was closing in on a quarter ‘til five. “My friend should be here any minute.” I scanned the room to see if I could spot Dee Dee. “Could we wait for her?”

“Sure. We close at five o’clock, but I planned to stay late anyway, so y’all can watch the movie while I finish up my work.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I placed my camera back in its case.

“If you need anything, ask Tony or Rebecca, and they’ll help you,” Teresa offered. After she escorted me to a bench where I could sit and wait, she left to find one of her assistants to run the projector.

I wiggled on the hard bench. We were upstairs where the film room was located. I hadn’t seen this part of the museum yet, so I took advantage of the time. Getting up, I walked over and studied some of the old mining claims incased in glass. Outside onto the balcony, I could see the General Store across the way. I couldn’t wait to explore the shops. But work came first, and I needed this article to shine.

I looked at my watch. It was five. Where could Dee Dee be? Shortly, I heard laughter floating up the staircase. Rebecca and Dee Dee entered the room.

“Trixie, you won’t believe the deals out there!” Dee Dee held up both hands festooned with shopping bags.

“You feel like watching a mining movie?”

“Of course. Let’s go!” Dee Dee said as if she’d been waiting for me instead of the other way around.

Rebecca directed us into a small auditorium behind a curtain on the other side of the display case. “I’ll let Tony know you’re ready for him to start the film.” She gave us a brief salute and left the room.

Dee Dee stashed her bags on the empty seats beside her, and then we sat and waited quietly. A blast of music, accompanied by images of bedraggled, work-worn men and women, appeared on the screen.

The appearance of poverty-stricken workers dispelled the myth that all gold miners struck it rich. Large companies made most of the money. Backed by investors, these companies could provide the heavy equipment needed to find buried gold in the mountainous terrain. Many of the mountain people worked for these gold companies and never hit pay dirt themselves.

I was typing on my laptop when Dee Dee leaned over. “I’ve got to go tinkle. Where’s the bathroom?”

“I saw one downstairs.”

“OK, save my place.” She nudged me with her elbow. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I watched her scoot down the aisle past empty chairs. I had no doubt her place would be safe.

The majority of the movie passed with no sign of Dee Dee. Just as I was deciding to go see if she had fallen in, a blood-curdling scream jarred me from my thoughts, and triggered a thousand volts of electricity though my body.

I knew that scream! I maneuvered through the darkness, graceful as an elephant in a ballet, and hurried downstairs. Teresa, Rebecca, and Tony stood side-by-side blocking my line of sight. All three were on their cell phones. I squeezed in between them.

Dee Dee, pale as a ghost, gaped at me, eyes wide, squealing in horror. John Tatum, the man we’d literally run into in the Inn earlier, lay prostrate on the floor in a lake of coppery blood and scattered bills. And Dee Dee held a dripping pickaxe.

Chapter Two

Dee Dee, what happened? Are you all right?” I looked inside the mining room I had been in earlier.

I stepped forward and felt a tug. I turned around.

Teresa shook her head no. When she spoke, her voice sounded far away. “Ma’am you can’t go in there.”

“She needs me!” I said. Teresa didn’t budge her hand from my elbow. A short time earlier, her authoritative character seemed like such an asset. Now it was just a pain in the asset.

“I’ve called 911. They’re sending a deputy and an ambulance. They should arrive any minute. Why don’t you go sit down? There are some chairs in the front area.”

“I can’t leave Dee Dee. But, I don’t think I can stand up much longer.” My lungs felt as heavy as that old safe in the lobby, and my legs wobbled like Jell-O.

Tony brought two chairs. I assumed one was for me and the other for Dee Dee. She wasn’t going to need it. Dee Dee slid to the floor in a dead faint, dropping the axe.

As she hit the floor, two paramedics, dressed in blue uniforms and hauling red tackle boxes, rushed in.

One yelled, “I’ll get the pass-out.”

The other one replied, “I’ve got the trauma.”

The minutes ticked by slower than the last drop of ketchup escaping from a bottle before Dee Dee opened her eyes and tried to sit up. The most inappropriate thought popped into my mind—That’s the quietest I’ve ever seen her.

“Whoa there, take it easy.” The young, blond paramedic gently steadied Dee Dee. Once she regained consciousness, he hurried over to where his partner worked on the lifeless body of John Tatum.

“Where is he?” barked a voice from behind. Two uniformed deputies barreled down the hallway.

“Jack, what’ve we got here?” The older of the two deputies addressed the paramedic.

“Well, sir, I suggest you call in the coroner. There are no vital signs.”

The deputy walked over to where the paramedics attended the body and turned to his partner. “Secure the area, Ray, and don’t let anyone in without my permission.” He knelt down, and glanced at the lead ranger. “Teresa, don’t leave them alone. I’ll be there shortly to get everyone’s statements.”

I looked around to see who “everyone” was, and the only people I saw without the benefit of a uniform were me and Dee Dee.

Teresa helped Dee Dee up, and I took her other arm. “We’ll go into my office. She can rest there until the sheriff gets through.” She led us down the hall and into a sparsely furnished, wood paneled workspace. “Are you ladies okay?”

“Uh, yeah, we’ll be fine.” I didn’t feel fine. And Dee Dee sure didn’t look fine.

“Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!” Dee Dee rocked back and forth in her chair as her vacant eyes stared straight ahead.

“Dee Dee, look at me! What’s going on?” I placed my hands on her shoulders and leaned in towards her face. “What happened?”

A faint light of recognition appeared in her eyes. “Oh, Trixie, what are we going to do?” The rocking motion started again, and the light in her eyes dimmed.

“Dee Dee! Focus! And tell me what happened.” My firm voice reverberated off the office walls. Her eyes filled with tears and spilled down her cheeks. I felt like a heel, and tried again. “It’s all right. I’ll stick by you no matter what happens.” I reached over, grabbed a wad of Kleenex and handed them to her. I took deep breaths as I desperately tried to remain calm. My insides churned, and bile rose in my throat.

I was acutely aware that Teresa was in the room and could hear everything we said. I didn’t care. Dee Dee might have been angry with him, and had called him a lummox and a brute, but murder him? Absolutely not.

“After I went to the bathroom I decided to check out the different rooms.” Dee Dee’s voice quavered. “I was going from room to room looking inside.” Her chin quivered. “When I came to the mining room, I entered to get a closer look at the assortment of strange tools on the wall. I was half-way in the room when I saw that atrocious man lying in the corner with the pickaxe in his chest.” She wiped a fresh stream of tears, then blew her drippy nose. “Oh, Trixie, it was horrible. What was I supposed to do? Let him lay there with an axe sticking out of him?”

I wanted to say, Maybe call 911 and let them take it out? But I bit my tongue instead, and shrugged.

“How did I know he was dead? I thought I was helping.” She looked so sad. Her brown eyes under hooded eyelids reminded me of a Basset Hound. “Out of all the people who could have found that horrible man dead, why did I find him?” She foghorned into her tissue. “This doesn’t look good does it, Trix?” Dee Dee voiced my thoughts.

“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t.”

The door squeaked, and our heads turned in unison as it opened, revealing the larger of the two deputies. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and that dusting of gray hair gave him a distinguished look. I exhaled, long and slow, and for a moment forgot why we waited to speak with him.

“Ladies,” he addressed us in a deep voice, rich with authority. “I’m Sheriff Jake Wheeler, and we have a murder on our hands.”