Resonable Doubt

  "It was you. Otherwise you'd just say it wasn't." Even as the accusation trailed off her lips, she doubted the truth of it.

  He dabbed at a particularly painful scratch, making her wince. "Breanna, use your head. If I was sneaking around your place last night, I wouldn't bat an eye at lying. I guess the reason I'm not denying it is because I'd like you come to your own conclusion. Do you really think it was me?"

  She looked up, into his eyes. What he said was true. If it had been him, he wouldn't hesitate to lie about it. "No, I guess I don't, not really, or I wouldn't be sitting here with my back to you when you're armed with a pair of scis­sors."

  He chuckled at that, then began cleaning scratches again. "Imagination, I guess. Scissors in the back? You're right about one thing, though. It was probably treasure hunters. I've never heard of the ghost, but I've sure heard about the Van Patten gold. It's almost legend." He doused her with another measure of peroxide. "Or it might have been poachers. Did you think of that? There are a lot of deer down here."

  "I didn't hear any gunshots. And the man I tripped over had a radio unit of some kind. Sophisticated for poachers, don't you think?"

  "Not in this day and age. Anyone with a pickup in this country usually has a CB and hand units. As for shots, they could have used bows."

  "Poachers," she mused. "I don't know, Tyler. I sup­pose it could have been. They had lookouts. Maybe they were watching the road for cars. But why were they in my barn?"

  "They were in your barn?" He grew quiet for a moment. "Maybe they were looking for rope or some rags to wipe their hands. It's messy, skinning a deer."

  "That could be."

  He capped the peroxide, returning it to the kit. "It was foolish of you to go outside. You could have been seriously hurt. What would you have done if they chased you?"

  "I could have lost them in the woods."

  "In the dark? Someone would have gotten lost, all right, more likely you. This is no place for you to be living alone. There's too much that can happen that you can't handle on your own."

  She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "See that type­writer over there? I make my living on it, writing books about wildlife. I've spent a lot of time in the woods getting material for my books. I don't get lost in the woods, Tyler, at night or any other time."

  "You're angry."

  "Yes! If you had prowlers, you'd go out and check. No one would think that strange. But let a woman do the same thing and she's taking unnecessary risks. I don't under­stand the thinking behind that." She stood up, clutching her destroyed blouse to her chest. "It's a double standard. As for leaving here, I can't. It's out of the question. It's Van Patten land, and it's going to stay Van Patten land."

  He smiled slightly. "Listen. Your back should be okay now. Why don't I come back later? We'll deal with the rest of this then."

  "That's just it. I don't need your help to deal with it."

  He lifted a staying hand. "Get some rest. You'll feel bet­ter when you've had some sleep. After last night, those No Trespassing signs are more important than ever. You can't expect to finish those posts alone. Not the shape you're in. And if you're bent on staying here, fences are a must." He opened the door, pausing to look back at her. “Catch you later, say noonish?"

  With that, he was gone. She stood there for a moment, annoyed, confused, frustrated. Then she sighed and bolted the door behind him. A man didn't terrify you at night, then take care of you come morning. He didn't prowl on your property one moment, then post No Trespassing signs for you the next. Maybe he was right. She needed some sleep. Her body felt like a battlefield. Her head ached. Sand grit­ted under her eyelids. Heading for the bedroom, she sprawled across the bed, tugging the corner of the spread over herself. Just a short nap, she promised herself. Then she was going to check that barn to see what the big attrac­tion was.

  Smoke spiraled from Jack Jones's cigarette. He watched it thoughtfully. "And on that basis, you expect me to risk blowing this case?''

  Tyler slammed his fist on the table, jarring the radio equipment. "Dammit, Jack, why won't you trust my judg­ment? I remember a time when you risked your life on it."

  "You've been out of the business too long, You're rusty." Leaning forward, Jack smashed out his cigarette in the ash­tray. "You didn't get personally involved back then. And you knew a snow job when you saw one."

  "It isn't a snow job." Tyler stood up so suddenly that his straight-backed chair tipped. He reached out to catch it, then shoved it none too gently against the table. "Her will­ingness to tell me what happened supports my theory. I tell you, she's completely in the dark."

  "Tyler..." Throwing his head back, Jack let out a tired sigh. "Look, give it a couple of days. If you can get some­thing solid, some real proof, I'll get her out of there so fast it'll make your head swim. I don't want the girl hurt, you know that. Bui my first responsibility is to this case. I can't jeopardize all our work on supposition. Do you realize how many false leads we followed before we finally pegged this location?"

  "Can you risk an innocent person's life on poor judg­ment?" Tyler placed both hands on his hips. "All right, if you want proof, I'll get it."

  "And you'll clear it through me before you make a move." Jack's tone made it clear it was an order, leaving no room for argument. "These people are sharp. That's how they've stayed in operation so long. It's not beyond the realm of possibility that Breanna Morgan is the slickest lit­tle con artist in the business. And just you keep that in mind."

  At eleven, Breanna locked Coaly inside the cabin while she went to check the barn. The dog whined when she shut the door on him, but because she had seen him digging holes under the foundation, she wasn't about to take him with her. With her luck he would scare up a skunk.

  She had the strangest feeling when she walked up the ramp into the old building. At first it seemed the same in­side, dark and gray-walled with age, but when she studied it closely, there seemed to be something different, some­thing not quite right. As she paced down the corridor that stretched by the feed room and stalls, an inexplicable chill ran over her.

  When she reached the end of the passage, the tack room seemed tiny. She remembered it as being a much larger room, almost airy. Now it seemed cramped, with barely enough floor space for a few bags of grain. She knew everyone remembered their childhood haunts as being larger then they really were, but she hadn't been that young when she left. The impression that the barn had shrunk made her feel claustrophobic. The slightest sound made her jump, and she found herself checking behind as she paused to peer into doorways.

  The floorboards creaked under her weight. Tyler was right; it wasn't safe in here. Old fruit jars. A box of dis­carded clothing. A pile of rusted tin cans. Breanna kicked one and sighed. It was just an old barn, smaller than she re­membered. She had gone through some nasty experiences in this place. Maybe that was what made her skin crawl. She strolled slowly through. Even the corridor seemed nar­rower. She remembered Gran's milk cows moseying through here with plenty of room to spare.

  The loft. It would be a perfect hiding place. She went to the ladder and gripped its sides. The rungs groaned in pro­test as she ascended them. Either they were much weaker than they had been ten years ago, or she was heavier. She reached the top and peeked over. Just hay. And not much of that. No sign that anyone had been in it either, not re­cently. She had played in here enough times as a child to know how hay looked if someone walked in it. She sighed and climbed back down. So much for being a sleuth.

  Something on the floor by the door caught her eye. She moved toward it, bending over to see in the dim light. Her eyes widened as she realized it was a crisp twenty-dollar bill. Brand-new. She folded it and slipped it into her jeans pocket. If her prowler had dropped it, it served him right. He owed her that much and more for the trouble he had caused.

  As she straightened, her sore back panged her. Why couldn't he have dropped a hundred? That might have made up for her fall in the manzanita. She stepped into the adja?
?cent stall, surveying the shelving, a pleased smile on her face. It was nice, the way money kept dropping into her hands around here. Of course, she mustn't forget to return Dane's.

  The gold pans. Another pang, this time one of sadness, ricocheted through her, but she quickly squelched it. She would miss Gran, but memories of her were enough to last a lifetime.

  "Well, I guess this was a shot in the dark," she mused aloud.

  No sooner had she spoken than Breanna heard footfalls right next to her. Or at least that was where they seemed to be located. She froze and cocked her head. In the wall? The hair on the nape of her neck stood up. Under the floor? It could be Coaly snooping outside. No, he was in the house. Some other animal, then?

  "Who's there?" she croaked.

  The moment she called out the sounds ceased. Then Ty­ler's voice rang out from the front of the barn, "Breanna?"

  She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. It gushed out of her. "In the back." She stepped into the cor­ridor, then flinched, batting at a curtain of cobwebs that stretched across the left corner of the doorway. It swept across her face and into her hair, clinging like sticky cotton candy. The musty smell was suffocating and she shud­dered. "Oh, yuck. It's all over me." Wiping her mouth with her arm, she added, "You're early."

  Tyler sauntered down the corridor, a silhouette against the bright sunlight behind him. He paused to glance around. "Must be I'm telepathic. I thought I told you the floor was rotten in here. You shouldn't take chances, you know. This thing is really old."

  "The floor isn't too bad. It's the cobwebs that are the pits." She sputtered, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. "And the acoustics. I thought I heard somebody in here."

  "Oh, yeah? Pretty popular place, this old barn." He stepped past her to give the stalls and tack room quick once-overs. "Not many places in here to hide."

  It was so good to see him after her footstep scare that she couldn't quite remember why she had been so annoyed with him earlier. It reassured her to realize that the footsteps she'd heard couldn't possibly have been his. He had called out from the front only seconds after she heard the noises in the back.

  "Probably a rat in the wall," Tyler commented dryly. "You ever seen a barn rat? They can sound like three- hundred pounders with fangs a foot long."

  "It did sound like someone walking." Remembering her own suspicion that it could be a rodent, she added, "But I suppose a small animal could sound pretty loud. It sort of echoes in here. And I've heard John Van Patten can be a noisy fellow."

  "I'm beginning to see you've got a writer's imagina­tion," he teased. "Apparitions in the barn, spooks in the bushes, and—" he curled his hands into claws and moaned, low and spooky "—ghosts who guard their treasures."

  He looked so silly that Breanna couldn't quite manage anger, though his making fun did rankle. Joking with him about the ghost didn't make her prowlers any less real. "Look, Mr. Ross. Can you explain this?" She dug into her jeans pocket, fishing out the newly found twenty to wave it under his nose. "Do you think a ghost dropped it? Or maybe a rat? Or maybe I'm imagining it." She gave the bill a sharp tug. "The real thing, see? Dropped by a flesh and blood prowler."

  His gaze was riveted on the greenback, and he started to reach for it.

  Breanna jerked it away. "Nope. Finders keepers, losers weepers. My barn, my twenty."

  With that, she strode past him down the corridor to the door. Tyler stood watching her, his mind clamoring. She wasn't involved in counterfeiting, or she would never have flashed that money at him. He had to get his hands on it, have it analyzed, and get it to Jack Jones. The question was, how?

  She walked down the ramp, turning to look back at him, her hair shimmering golden in the sunlight as she cocked her head. "Come on, or are you gonna stand there till you fall through my rotten floors?"

  He moved to the door, leaning a shoulder against the frame. Her eyes shone up at him like beacons, clear as stained glass. For the first time since meeting her, he could allow the feelings she stirred within him to surface. Jack was dead wrong. Tyler's gaze dropped to her lacerated fore­arms. Thinking of what could have happened last night made his knees weak. Then anger at Jack hit him, hot and liquid, pulsing through him until he felt his neck flushing. Rusty, was he?

  "Hey," she said softly, "I'm only giving you a hard time to get even."

  Too late, he realized his face had mirrored his thoughts. He made himself grin, which didn't prove too hard. Look­ing at Breanna Morgan was great incentive, mainly because of her infectious smile. "I guess it upsets me when you make light of something so dangerous. If you fell through in here, no telling how far you might drop. This is a tall founda­tion."

  "I concede the point. The old mine tunnels run under some of these buildings. Who knows? There might even be one under here."

  His nerves leaped. She had a clear, musical voice that carried too well. "So you'll follow my advice and stay out of here?"

  "Yessir. The floors are a tad creaky. I felt uneasy walk­ing in there a couple of times. Satisfied?" Breanna watched his dark face, waiting for him to lighten up. Then a thought hit her. "Tyler! You know what? When I heard that noise, it sounded like it was coming from under the floor. Do you realize what that...?" Excitement tightened her throat, and she had to pause. "The mine could run under there. And if it does, it could explain— Tyler, what if somebody is down in The Crescent Moon?''

  Tension shot through Tyler like a bolt of high voltage. "Like who? The ghost?" He strode swiftly down the ramp. She was talking so loudly that she was a regular broadcast­ing system. He put a finger to his lips to shut her up, did some quick thinking and whispered, "If someone's down there, let's not warn them we know."

  Her eyes widened with delight. "Then you agree it's pos­sible?" she whispered back.

  Feeling as if he were in one of those bad dreams where everything happens in slow motion, Tyler steered her to­ward the house. It was like herding a flock of ducks. "Sure it's possible."

  She braked. He walked into her. He felt like screaming. "Watch it, I'm sore," she complained. "What's your hurry? It is my mine. If somebody's in there, I don't care if they're scared out. Do you realize how dangerous it could be? Why, if there was a cave-in, I could be sued." She reared back to look at him. "I've got to find the entrance to that mine, Tyler. If it's accessible, I need to blast it closed, board it up and post warnings." She broke off, a strange look clouding her eyes. "Of course, it could be just an animal."

  "More likely," he agreed. "Possibly a bear using it. But it's more fun the other way."

  "It's been closed because of cave-ins since before I was born. If someone's found it, we're talking dangerous, really dangerous. Come on. I'd rather be safe than sorry. Let's go look at my maps."

  "Maps?" Tyler wanted to kick himself for being so transparent, but his interest zoomed in on the word like a telephoto lens. Jack wanted maps. Jack didn't have maps. Why Jack didn't, raised a question Tyler couldn't resist asking. "Where did you get them?"

  "Well, there weren't any on file that the clerk could find. So when the courthouse was a dead end, I went to the stor­age building where we have Gran's things and went through her papers. I don't know how accurate they are. I think Gramps drew them. But they show the tunnels in close proximity to where they probably are."

  "I wonder why it isn't filed. You'd think any under­ground mine would be on record, for safety if nothing else."

  "That's what the clerk said. But the file on The Crescent Moon was an exception. All the other documents were there, but no maps."

  "Sounds unorganized." Tyler slowed to let her precede him up the steps. Suspicious, that's how it sounds, but I can't say so. He had to see those maps and get them to Jack if he possibly could. To do that, he needed a darned good reason for seeming so interested. "Breanna, on second thought— Don't laugh...."

  She glanced back at him. "About what?"

  "Well, it just occurred to me that we could possibly find the treasure." He paused to let
that sink in, then added, "If your uninvited treasure hunters don't get to it first."

  "If there is a treasure."

  "Your grandfather said there was, didn't he? And he never fibbed, remember?"

  "Well, he believed there was. Me, I've never thought the story held water. I watched Dane going crazy after it too many years, finding nothing."

  "But the underground chambers have been closed since before you were born. Think, Bree. No one could have found it if it was in the shaft. I want to see those maps. That gold should be yours, not some treasure hunter's. If the maps aren't to scale, I've got a friend who's a licensed sur­veyor. He might be able to revise them."

  Leading the way into the house, Tyler stood back, watching as Breanna tucked the twenty from the barn into the side pocket of her purse. He almost whooped with re­lief when she headed for the bedroom.

  "I'll be right back. I've got the maps in the closet."

  Tyler waited for the curtain to drop behind her, then stepped softly to the counter. Quickly, quickly. His fingers were just reaching... almost there... and he heard her coming back. He began whistling and leaned his hips against the sink hoping he looked more casual than he felt.

  "Here we go," she said. "Come look. They're really fas­cinating."

  The maps. Riveting his gaze on them, he cautioned him­self not to appear overanxious. Talk about a lucky break! Those maps are it, he thought. They could be certain there were no undiscovered entrances to The Crescent Moon if they could get copies and study them.

  Casting one last glance at the purse, Tyler made a silent vow. No matter what, later he had to get one full minute alone with that handbag.

  Dane tried to still his hands, but they trembled as he strapped a bundle of money and set it on the pile. Too much pressure, not enough sleep. He narrowed his eyes and gazed at Chuck Morrow, who stood beside him. He was so ner­vous that he felt sick.

  "I thought I made myself clear," Chuck said in that soft, menacing way he had. "You were told to get rid of her. You haven't."