buckets from the tailings pile, the way to handle the washing, screening and sifting process, and what to look for. He held up different gems to show their colors and noted that some minerals of the same kind can be black, green, pink or white.
“When they’re washed off, you’ll be surprised by their colors,” Tom said.
He finished his talk by telling everyone to bring their buckets and trowels to the tailings pile and take only half a load, because a full one would be very heavy. Tosca gingerly approached the mound and walked all around it.
“No gems here,” she muttered to Thatch at her side, “just a pile of small grey stones. Looks like a rubbish heap.”
“Wrong. There’s a piece of black quartz, see it?” He picked out a tiny dark pebble.
“It’s microscopic, grey and full of dust.”
“Wait till you’ve washed it, you’ll be surprised. Want me to fill the bucket for you?”
“Of course not. Thanks, but I can handle it myself.”
She moved away, dug into the pile and shoveled the haul into the bucket. Thatch did the same, grinning all the way back to their table.
Tosca emptied the contents of her bucket onto the screening tray, which was sitting above a pan of water, lowered it and moved the screen as instructed from left to right, washing the sand and silt off. Thatch helped her pick out the likeliest pieces to be of interest, naming each one.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “Is this an emerald?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Sorry, honey, that’s green mica. There’s no chromium in this soil, which is what emeralds need, but look at this quartz crystal, it’s beautiful. It’d make a nice pendant.”
Thatch handed her a one-inch stone covered in clay.
“Wash it, and you’ll see how pretty it is. It’s white under all the dirt.”
“Thank you.” She placed the gemstone in her screen that contained some of the tailings she hadn’t yet cleaned, lowered it into the pan of water and again moved the screen from side to side before raising it. She picked up the crystal, exclaiming, “You’re right, it is a beautiful little piece. What luck!”
Her enthusiasm for going over to the pile and filling her bucket again increased. Thatch advised her to search for pieces with vertical striations and any that looked like small sticks of candy or pencils.
After they had filled their buckets twice more and repeated the process of washing and sifting, Bill announced a break for lunch, and everyone went over to the patio area and their coolers.
“What did you bring to eat?” said Tosca.
“Cornish pasties.”
“No! Where did you find them?”
“At an Indian grocery store in Irvine. They were frozen, but they’re made and imported from jolly old England. I heated them up before we left, so they should still be warm.”
“Probably been frozen for years, but I appreciate the thought. Let’s give them a try.”
She unwrapped one and bit into the pie crust, which was shaped in a half-circle and fluted at the edges. Gravy, peas and small pieces of meat and potatoes spurted out onto the picnic table, missing Tosca’s T-shirt by inches.
“Wonderful!” She pronounced the pasties as close to perfect as she’d ever tasted and asked Thatch for the grocery store’s address, adding, “Of course, not quite as good as Mr. Kernow’s shop in St. Ives, but very, very close.”
As they finished lunch Stanger, waving a slim envelope, called out to Thatch and Tosca to join him in the motor home.
“Hey, I’m glad I was able to find this,” he said when they were inside. “It was in an old file folder I hadn’t opened in years. Guy by the name of Norman Sanderson bought the Chandelier from this mine three decades ago, according to the receipt, and had it hand delivered to a Sunida Sittikul in Laguna Beach. Is that any help?”
Tosca whooped with delight. “Our mystery woman who’s connected to our case! This gets better and better.”
Thatch was more reserved. “Calm
“When they’re washed off, you’ll be surprised by their colors,” Tom said.
He finished his talk by telling everyone to bring their buckets and trowels to the tailings pile and take only half a load, because a full one would be very heavy. Tosca gingerly approached the mound and walked all around it.
“No gems here,” she muttered to Thatch at her side, “just a pile of small grey stones. Looks like a rubbish heap.”
“Wrong. There’s a piece of black quartz, see it?” He picked out a tiny dark pebble.
“It’s microscopic, grey and full of dust.”
“Wait till you’ve washed it, you’ll be surprised. Want me to fill the bucket for you?”
“Of course not. Thanks, but I can handle it myself.”
She moved away, dug into the pile and shoveled the haul into the bucket. Thatch did the same, grinning all the way back to their table.
Tosca emptied the contents of her bucket onto the screening tray, which was sitting above a pan of water, lowered it and moved the screen as instructed from left to right, washing the sand and silt off. Thatch helped her pick out the likeliest pieces to be of interest, naming each one.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “Is this an emerald?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Sorry, honey, that’s green mica. There’s no chromium in this soil, which is what emeralds need, but look at this quartz crystal, it’s beautiful. It’d make a nice pendant.”
Thatch handed her a one-inch stone covered in clay.
“Wash it, and you’ll see how pretty it is. It’s white under all the dirt.”
“Thank you.” She placed the gemstone in her screen that contained some of the tailings she hadn’t yet cleaned, lowered it into the pan of water and again moved the screen from side to side before raising it. She picked up the crystal, exclaiming, “You’re right, it is a beautiful little piece. What luck!”
Her enthusiasm for going over to the pile and filling her bucket again increased. Thatch advised her to search for pieces with vertical striations and any that looked like small sticks of candy or pencils.
After they had filled their buckets twice more and repeated the process of washing and sifting, Bill announced a break for lunch, and everyone went over to the patio area and their coolers.
“What did you bring to eat?” said Tosca.
“Cornish pasties.”
“No! Where did you find them?”
“At an Indian grocery store in Irvine. They were frozen, but they’re made and imported from jolly old England. I heated them up before we left, so they should still be warm.”
“Probably been frozen for years, but I appreciate the thought. Let’s give them a try.”
She unwrapped one and bit into the pie crust, which was shaped in a half-circle and fluted at the edges. Gravy, peas and small pieces of meat and potatoes spurted out onto the picnic table, missing Tosca’s T-shirt by inches.
“Wonderful!” She pronounced the pasties as close to perfect as she’d ever tasted and asked Thatch for the grocery store’s address, adding, “Of course, not quite as good as Mr. Kernow’s shop in St. Ives, but very, very close.”
As they finished lunch Stanger, waving a slim envelope, called out to Thatch and Tosca to join him in the motor home.
“Hey, I’m glad I was able to find this,” he said when they were inside. “It was in an old file folder I hadn’t opened in years. Guy by the name of Norman Sanderson bought the Chandelier from this mine three decades ago, according to the receipt, and had it hand delivered to a Sunida Sittikul in Laguna Beach. Is that any help?”
Tosca whooped with delight. “Our mystery woman who’s connected to our case! This gets better and better.”
Thatch was more reserved. “Calm
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