Tahoe Avalanche Read online

  “Are you with Claude?

  “Claude who?”

  “Claude Sisuug.”

  I heard April do a kind of disgusted snort. “I can’t imagine what you are suggesting.”

  “I told you. You’re in danger. You need to tell me where you are and if anyone is with you. If someone is listening, hang up and call me back when you’re alone.”

  “Mr. McKenna, you’ve been watching too many movies. I’m working for a charity. We build houses.”

  “April, please consider this. Wherever you are, look at everyone you know as a potential threat.”

  “Look McKenna, I’ve been through hell dealing with March’s death. And Lori. I want to be left alone.”

  “How did you know Lori?”

  “She was in... I met her at a party.”

  “You all took the avalanche class, together, didn’t you? Claude Sisuug had a list of the names in his cabin.”

  “That’s ridiculous. March and Lori died. But it was a horrible accident. Everyone else is fine.”

  “Astor’s dead. Paul Riceman’s dead. You’re next.”

  There was silence on the phone. “I don’t believe you,” she finally said. She sounded insecure, but I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or an act. “I just talked to Paul a couple days ago,” she said. “I know he’s alive.”

  “I found Paul myself. We dug his body out of a snowslide. It must have been right after you talked to him. It was on the local news.”

  More silence. “I haven’t seen the local news. I told you, I’m out of town. I knew Astor shouldn’t have told that woman. I need to think.”

  “What woman?”

  She hung up before I could say anything else.

  I dialed Sergeant Bains.

  “April just called me,” I said when he answered.

  “You have any idea where she is, yet?”

  “No. But she hasn’t been in touch with local events. She may not have known that Astor Domino and Paul Riceman had died. She could be traveling somewhere. Or hiding at a friend’s place. Someplace where she wouldn’t get that news. You might be able to get her location off her phone.”

  “I punched it in when you first said you talked to her. But it’s still coming up empty. She must have turned off the phone. Any idea what she’s doing?”

  “She started to mention a woman. Someone Astor talked to. I have an idea that the woman she’s referring to may be Astor’s landlord.”

  “You going out there in the morning?”

  “No. I’m heading up there now. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  Spot and I got in the Jeep and headed up the East Shore toward Incline Village. My cell rang as I was approaching Sand Harbor. I had to steer with my knee to answer it.

  “McKenna? Bill. Sorry it’s so late. Did I wake you? You said I should call if I thought of anything unusual.”

  “I’m awake.”

  “Well, it’s probably nothing, but remember how I said that April was into history and such?

  “Yeah, you said she turned every conversation around to the Civil War era.”

  “Right. Anyway, I keep thinking about my party when she talked about the key players. Lincoln and Davis, Grant, Lee and Armstrong. It was like she thought they were the most important guys in the Nineteenth Century.”

  “I remember,” I said.

  “So, I Googled it. You get acres of stuff on all of them except Armstrong.”

  “What are you getting at?” I asked.

  “There were a couple of different guys named Armstrong who show up in the Civil War histories. But none of them was significant. Nothing at all compared to Lincoln, Grant and Lee. It would be like a history about business trends today talking about Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Oprah and Bill Esteban. My name doesn’t belong with them. All the important stuff about the Civil War, it’s all about Grant and Lee and Lincoln. No Armstrong.”

  “You have an idea why April talked about him?”

  “I remember she was talking about after the war, when Armstrong was involved with the Carson City Mint, she turned and looked at March when she mentioned Armstrong’s name. Paul got upset. And March gave her a big grin and winked. It was like they had some kind of private joke.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know. But I thought I should tell you.”

  I was driving, thinking. The twisty road had a thin layer of glitter on it. Tiny crystals sparkled in the headlights. Not big enough to be snow crystals. Air crystals. Water vapor coming out of the air. Like the ink-wash fog in the Chinese landscapes. I wondered if I was wrong in thinking that those paintings were about idyllic settings, with themes of peace, serenity and sacred beauty. Maybe those painters from a thousand years ago were instead painting scenes of intrigue, the elaborate landscapes merely a complex backdrop against which dark events could hide, concealed in shrouds of mist.

  “McKenna? You still there?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Bill. I’ll be in touch.” I hung up as I pulled into Josie King’s drive.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  I cruised up the drive, swooped around the curve fast enough to almost skid out of control, and parked under the portico. Several motion lights came on. I got out and let Spot out of the back. He ran around, excited. I worked the bear-and-fish doorbell and pounded on the door with my hand.

  There was no sound from within. Probably everyone was asleep. Imagine that at one in the morning.

  I pounded again and worked the doorbell device over and over. Eventually, they would be up, staring at the video screens, wondering if I were somebody crazy. My hope was that they’d see Spot and realize who I was and decide that it wouldn’t be too dangerous to open the door.

  I kept pounding and then I heard a voice and the door opened up ten inches.

  Jamesie stood squinting at me, awake but confused. He wore a mauve silk robe below which protruded skinny white ankles marbled with blue veins. His feet were mercifully covered in mauve slippers.

  “What is it you want?” No ‘how can I help you, sir.’

  I put my arm out, pushed open the door and walked in. Jamesie flinched and jumped to the side as if worried for his physical safety. “Spot,” I called. “Spot, come.”

  He came running through the snow in the side yard, ran under the portico, and leaped up and over the three steps and skidded into the entry, his claws scratching the slate floor.

  I turned and shut the door. Jamesie flinched again.

  “What I want is for the madam to get her butt out of bed and provide me with a quick concise explanation of your involvement with Astor and his fellow avalanche classmates.”

  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t possibly interrupt her sleep. She’s taken a pill and she won’t see anyone until ten in the morning.”

  “If the explanation is not thorough I will call in the posse and show them evidence linking her to the murders of three young men and one young woman. I know from experience that they will care little for what kind, or how many, pills she’s taken.”

  Jamesie’s eyes got real intense.

  “Go wake her and get her down here in five minutes or I will find her in her bed.”

  Jamesie did a kind of physical stutter as he tried to decide what his body was to do next. Eventually, flight won out over fright and he disappeared into the back of the main hall, bypassing the main staircase, presumably to take the more discreet back staircase up from the kitchen.

  Spot and I wandered the main hall, poking our heads into the living room with its King George finery, the sitting room with its Queen Anne chairs, the billiards room with the wet bar and the leather furniture, the great room with its grand rustic timber frame excess, and the den where the coin collection lay inside the glass cases, lit by a warm glow from recessed light strips.

  I didn’t have a clue what the coins were or how much they were worth, but I could tell they were important baubles for people who never worried about paying a mortgage or day care or college tuition. I understo
od that coins were an important window into the history of most cultures, and they provided a record of how people lived from King Tut to modern times.

  But I suspected that Josie King’s interest in numismatics was more about lust for gold than it was an anthropologist’s inquiry.

  I’d made two circuits of the display cases when Josie appeared, wearing a red robe not unlike Jamesie’s mauve robe. She held a green bottle of Rolling Rock. She didn’t appear steady on her feet and she leaned on one of the bookshelves for support.

  “Am I allowed to sit down for my interrogation?” she said.

  “You may.”

  She fell back into a chair. She held her robe so it wouldn’t fall open as she crossed her rubbery legs and swigged some beer. Her slippers were big floppy leather affairs with open heels.

  Spot saw her, walked over and sniffed her bare heel. Then he shook and the last of the melted snow flew off of him onto the rug and the display cases and Josie. She jerked and wiped her face with the back of her hand, but didn’t say anything, impressive control for someone just roused from barbiturate-aided slumber. Spot lay down at her feet.

  “What happened to your arm?”

  “The person who murdered Astor has made two attempts on my life.

  Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. Jamesie said you suspected me.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t me.” She looked at Spot. “I assume your hound will be instrumental in your questioning.” She slurred the word instrumental but otherwise sounded fairly lucid.

  “You’ve heard about animals and their sixth sense. He can distinguish truth from falsehood,” I said.

  “And how does he respond?”

  “Tell a lie, he bites.”

  Josie King tried to smile but she looked concerned.

  “Tell me about the murders,” she said.

  I walked up and stood over her. “Nearly everyone in Astor’s avalanche class has been murdered. I have testimony,” I lied, “that Astor told you what happened up on the mountain and you have tried to intervene.”

  “You think I killed those kids?”

  “I believe that I can make the DA seriously consider bringing charges against you.”

  “Unless I do what?”

  “Unless you start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

  “I’ll need more beer.”

  “I’m sure Jamesie knows where to find it.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  “In eighteen-seventy,” Josie said, “the Carson City Mint began its first year of operation. Among other coins, it began issuing Double Eagle twenty dollar gold coins.” Josie was still drinking her first beer, alternately holding it in her lap or setting it on the floor next to her chair. On the other side of her chair lay Spot, and her other hand dangled down to rest on his neck.

  At Josie’s request, Jamesie had brought her a second Rolling Rock. After taking a long look at Spot, he chose the chair farthest away and sat primly, hands on both chair arms.

  Josie continued, “That first year they only struck three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-nine Double Eagle coins. Most of that very tiny run was lost or eventually melted down. The best guesses are that today no more than fifty of these spectacular coins remain in the world and perhaps as few as half that. Of those, fewer still are in good condition.”

  Josie pulled a reference book off the table next to her, flipped through it, found a page and stood up. She brought it over to me and pointed at two pictures showing the front and back of a beautiful gold coin. “This is an example of one in very fine condition. You’ll see the date on the obverse and the tiny CC mark on the reverse, indicating it came from the Carson City Mint.”

  I understood that by the word obverse she meant the front of the coin, which showed the familiar Liberty Head image of a woman wearing a type of crown. Underneath was the date 1870. The reverse, or back side, had the familiar-looking eagle emblem that we know as the U.S. symbol. At the bottom was the tiny CC imprint she referred to.

  “Why is it called a Double Eagle?” I asked. “There is only one eagle.”

  “The more common eagle was a ten dollar gold piece and it contained about a half ounce of gold. The twenty dollar coin had almost an ounce of gold. Because it contained twice as much gold as the Eagle coin, it was called a Double Eagle.”

  Josie left me with the book and returned to her chair. “Several U.S. mints produced Double Eagles, and they were much more productive than the Carson City Mint. In all the years that the Carson City Mint was in operation, it struck fewer than half of one percent of all the Double Eagles ever made.”

  I closed the book and set it down. “You’re saying that any Double Eagle from the Carson City Mint was rare.”

  “Yes and those from eighteen-seventy were the rarest of all.”

  “Valuable?” I said.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t believe. One in bad condition would fetch tens of thousands of dollars. One in uncirculated condition has recently gone at auction for over three hundred thousand dollars. One in perfect condition, what we call Mint State, would be more valuable, still. Estimates range from three-quarters of a million to a million dollars.”

  “For a single coin,” I said.

  “Yes. Of course, no one knows if such a perfect eighteen-seventy Double Eagle exists.”

  “What does this have to do with the avalanches and the people who’ve died?”

  Josie leaned her head back on her chair, shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “When I talked to Astor about moving here, he came over to discuss the situation and saw this room with my coin collection.

  “He began asking me about coins, gradually getting more specific with his questions. He was wary and didn’t do anything other than ask about coins until he’d agreed to move into the caretaker’s house. We’d probably met six or seven times by that point.

  “One day he said he had a coin he’d like me to look at and he pulled an eighteen-seventy CC Double Eagle gold piece out of his pocket as if it were a quarter.

  “I gasped and asked him where he got it, but he wouldn’t say. He just wanted to know what it was worth. I explained that I wasn’t an expert, but I thought it looked like it was in very fine condition, which meant it would be worth perhaps a hundred thousand dollars.

  “He immediately put it back in his pocket with his other change. I scolded him for such abuse and explained proper treatment for such a coin and asked him again where he got it, but he wouldn’t tell me.

  “He never showed it to me again, and I have no idea where he kept it. But one day several weeks later, I asked him about the coin again, and he told me the story.

  “Astor and several other young people, who I now believe included March and April Carrera, Lori Simon and Paul Riceman took an avalanche class from a French-Canadian-Inuit man named Claude. I forget his last name.

  “Among other things, they studied avalanche control, which, in my limited understanding, is a process where one throws dynamite into unstable snow to start a controlled slide on any slope where you don’t want to be surprised by an uncontrolled slide.

  “I’m not clear on the details of what happened, but in essence the charge they threw to start a controlled avalanche cracked loose not just ice and snow, but some rocks that had been piled up for who knows how long. As Astor explained it, the slope was very steep and had lots of loose rocks. It was prone to slide both snow and rocks. All it needed was a little push in just the right place. The resulting slide of earth and snow cleared an area right down to the ground. Above the newly bare area were more rocks and snow, and they could see that the situation was precarious and in danger of sliding farther.

  “But in this bare area were some large bones like from a horse and some human bones and chunks of dried leather that looked something like the remains of a saddle.”

  “A horse and rider who’d been buried for a hundred years or more and then suddenly became unburied by the slide of earth and snow?” I said.

  “Yes. Astor darted down onto the bare area and
poked around in the remains. He picked up what appeared to be a small, decomposed leather bag. It disintegrated in his hands and a dozen or more gold coins spilled out across the earth.

  “As Astor reached to begin picking them up, the others shouted that the snow and rock above were giving way. Astor had picked up one coin when he realized what they were saying. So he scrambled to the side just as the whole works came down from above and reburied the bones and the coins.”

  “And the coin he grabbed,” I said, “was the eighteen-seventy Double Eagle he showed you.”

  “Yes.” Josie stared at me.

  “How many coins did Astor think were in the leather bag?”

  “He said that his best guess was more than twelve and fewer than twenty. He didn’t get to count them or even get to really look at them on the ground, it all happened so fast.”

  “But he thought they were similar? All gold and such?”

  “Actually, he said he got the clear sense that they were all the same Liberty Heads and Eagles, same brilliant golden hue.”

  “Did Astor tell you what the reaction of the group was?”

  “He said that they had no idea just how valuable the coins might be, but they assumed the value would be significant. He said that Claude was convinced that the coins would make them all rich and that it was hard for any of them to stay calm with Claude being so agitated. Nevertheless, they discussed the situation at length and decided that they should all share equally.”

  “How did they plan to get at the coins?”

  “Astor said that they realized that if they set to digging they might not be successful. There was the question of where exactly to dig. Also, when the snow and rock came down from above it probably scattered the coins as it reburied them. In addition, they thought that digging with snow shovels would be just as likely to scatter the coins as to uncover them.

  “So they came to an agreement that they would wait until summer when the snow was melting. Slowly melting snow would be less likely to move the coins than shoveling it away. The location of the coins faced northeast, which meant it would be one of the last areas to melt. Claude said that in most years the area was not clear of snow until late June. But in a very wet year like this winter, he thought that the snow will be so deep that it probably won’t melt until August.