tech in the county handled the damned thing. Now, of course, he
has
to stick with this suicide thing or his job will go up in flames."
Jane considered this for a minute or two while Mel tried to calm down enough to read the menu. When he looked up, she said, "I think we ought to make damned sure that's exactly what happens."
"But I'm on vacation!" Mel said brokenly.
"And I hope you're enjoying it."
They all looked up guiltily. Tenny Garner had approached the table without any of them noticing.
"I—ah, yes. It's a great place you've got here," Mel said. "Will you join us?"
Tenny glanced around the room and said, "Maybe for a minute. I'm looking for Uncle Bill. You haven't seen him around, have you? He's disappeared."
Chapter 10
Tenny took the chair next to Shelley's.
"When did somebody see him last?" Mel asked.
"Last night. After that poor woman died. I went to tell him and found him cleaning up the lost-and-found room."
"But what about your aunt?" Jane asked. "Didn't she see him after that?"
"No, he never came back to their place."
"Oh, dear—" Shelley said.
Tenny smiled. "No, no, don't worry. I didn't mean to alarm you. I'm certain he's just gone off to do a little hunting. He'll turn up in his own good time."
"Does he do that? Just go away without telling anyone?" Mel asked.
Tenny nodded. "Every once in a while. He's an old mountain man with only a thin veneer of civilization. Something nicks the veneer deep enough and he takes off. He'll turn up by lunchtime, muddy and bloody and as cheerful as a chipmunk. Well, maybe that's going too far. As cheerful as he's capable of being, I should say."
"Tenny, what did he really think about Mrs. Schmidtheiser's claim that he was the rightful Tsar?" Shelley asked.
Tenny thought for a minute. "That's really two questions and I know the answer to only one of them. The first question is: is he the person she claims he is? And the second question is: does he want to act on it in any way? On the first, I have no idea. On the second, no way! He's not interested in politics. I don't believe he's ever even voted once in his life. Joanna is always telling him it's his patriotic duty, and he says anybody who wanted to try to run a country or even a county was crazy to begin with, so there was no difference between them."
"He could have a point," Jane said. "But hasn't he ever talked about who he is? Or rather, who his father was? Father or grandfather? I've forgotten already."
"His father," Tenny confirmed. "Oh, he talked about him some, but only to Aunt Joanna and me. And then not often. Mainly just things old Gregory had told him about hunting or mountain lore or nature."
"So you don't know anything about Gregory?" Mel asked.
"Oh, I know some. But most of it's from a local history book somebody here in the county did about twenty years ago. The author of the book was taken with the legend of old Gregory Smith and interviewed a lot of the old-timers about him. How accurate any of it was is anybody's guess."
She thought for a moment. "Old Gregory turned up in Colorado sometime in the 1920s, I believe. Nobody knew where he lived or what he did. He'd just show up from time to time and trade gold for supplies. Apparently he had a small mine someplace in the mountains. Or maybe a stream he was panning. Then, in about 1925 or so, he came out of the mountains with a substantial amount of gold, bought this land, married a local girl, and settled in. People figured his mine had played out, and he didn't exactly deny it, but he told folks he thought a man didn't have the right to take more from the earth than he needed."
"Interesting attitude," Mel said. "Sort of suggests there might be a mine still worth mining."
The waiter came with Jane's and Shelley's breakfasts, and Tenny's recital was halted while Mel ordered.
"One of the things Doris found out," Tenny went on when the waiter had gone, "was that the gold he used to buy the land was melted down into little ingots—I
has
to stick with this suicide thing or his job will go up in flames."
Jane considered this for a minute or two while Mel tried to calm down enough to read the menu. When he looked up, she said, "I think we ought to make damned sure that's exactly what happens."
"But I'm on vacation!" Mel said brokenly.
"And I hope you're enjoying it."
They all looked up guiltily. Tenny Garner had approached the table without any of them noticing.
"I—ah, yes. It's a great place you've got here," Mel said. "Will you join us?"
Tenny glanced around the room and said, "Maybe for a minute. I'm looking for Uncle Bill. You haven't seen him around, have you? He's disappeared."
Chapter 10
Tenny took the chair next to Shelley's.
"When did somebody see him last?" Mel asked.
"Last night. After that poor woman died. I went to tell him and found him cleaning up the lost-and-found room."
"But what about your aunt?" Jane asked. "Didn't she see him after that?"
"No, he never came back to their place."
"Oh, dear—" Shelley said.
Tenny smiled. "No, no, don't worry. I didn't mean to alarm you. I'm certain he's just gone off to do a little hunting. He'll turn up in his own good time."
"Does he do that? Just go away without telling anyone?" Mel asked.
Tenny nodded. "Every once in a while. He's an old mountain man with only a thin veneer of civilization. Something nicks the veneer deep enough and he takes off. He'll turn up by lunchtime, muddy and bloody and as cheerful as a chipmunk. Well, maybe that's going too far. As cheerful as he's capable of being, I should say."
"Tenny, what did he really think about Mrs. Schmidtheiser's claim that he was the rightful Tsar?" Shelley asked.
Tenny thought for a minute. "That's really two questions and I know the answer to only one of them. The first question is: is he the person she claims he is? And the second question is: does he want to act on it in any way? On the first, I have no idea. On the second, no way! He's not interested in politics. I don't believe he's ever even voted once in his life. Joanna is always telling him it's his patriotic duty, and he says anybody who wanted to try to run a country or even a county was crazy to begin with, so there was no difference between them."
"He could have a point," Jane said. "But hasn't he ever talked about who he is? Or rather, who his father was? Father or grandfather? I've forgotten already."
"His father," Tenny confirmed. "Oh, he talked about him some, but only to Aunt Joanna and me. And then not often. Mainly just things old Gregory had told him about hunting or mountain lore or nature."
"So you don't know anything about Gregory?" Mel asked.
"Oh, I know some. But most of it's from a local history book somebody here in the county did about twenty years ago. The author of the book was taken with the legend of old Gregory Smith and interviewed a lot of the old-timers about him. How accurate any of it was is anybody's guess."
She thought for a moment. "Old Gregory turned up in Colorado sometime in the 1920s, I believe. Nobody knew where he lived or what he did. He'd just show up from time to time and trade gold for supplies. Apparently he had a small mine someplace in the mountains. Or maybe a stream he was panning. Then, in about 1925 or so, he came out of the mountains with a substantial amount of gold, bought this land, married a local girl, and settled in. People figured his mine had played out, and he didn't exactly deny it, but he told folks he thought a man didn't have the right to take more from the earth than he needed."
"Interesting attitude," Mel said. "Sort of suggests there might be a mine still worth mining."
The waiter came with Jane's and Shelley's breakfasts, and Tenny's recital was halted while Mel ordered.
"One of the things Doris found out," Tenny went on when the waiter had gone, "was that the gold he used to buy the land was melted down into little ingots—I
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