Dee and Jeff dropped their hands. “Memories?” Dee echoed, beset with a sinking feeling.
“Jasper Gormley used to give these to his favorite guests as a token of appreciation. They were his ‘solid-gold guests.’ He’d give them to us kids too, sometimes.” A warm smile crossed Owen’s face as he reminisced. “He was a good guy. Ornery on the outside, but his heart . . .” Owen, emotional, tapped his chest. “That was ‘solid gold.’ ”
“Uh-huh,” Jeff said. “What are the nuggets worth in money terms?”
“Oh. Nothing. Financially, they’re worthless. They’re not gold, they’re brass.” He held one up to the magnifying glass and motioned for Dee and Jeff to check it out. “See that dark spot? Tarnish. It’s on a couple of them.” Owen picked up another, smaller nugget. “These are what we panned for in his sluice.”
Dee and Jeff reacted with blank stares, and Owen explained. “Pretend panning for gold is a big thing in these parts.” He rolled his eyes. “ ‘These parts.’ Listen to me! I’ve been back way too long, and it’s only been six months.”
“You were saying,” Dee prompted.
“Yes, sluices. I guess you haven’t noticed, because you don’t have kids, but a lot of the tourist spots in Gold County have fake sluices so families can ‘pan for gold.’ They love it.”
“Do you remember where Jasper’s was?” Dee asked, hoping to salvage something useful from the epic fail of a day.
“Of course. You know how there’s a long overgrowth of vines between all the bushes on the far side of the pool? The sluice is under the vines. I’m sure you can resurrect it.” Owen placed the nuggets back in the bag and handed it to Dee. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news. Visitors show up all the time with a nugget or a flake of real gold, thinking they’re going to be zillionaires, and I have to deliver the bad news that they won’t be able to buy a candy bar with what their ‘haul’ is worth. I’m constantly disappointing people. It’s the hardest part of my job.”
He stood up and Dee and Jeff glumly followed suit. Owen lifted the curtain and they exited the office for the store. “Thank you for being so patient with us,” Dee said. “Verity nailed it when she labeled us citiots.”
“Ugh, Verity.” Owen mimed gagging. “You are not citiots. But she is a beeyotch.”
He unlocked the door and removed the clock sign. Dee and Jeff left the shop with promises to let Owen know when they’d be free for dinner.
“At least we made a friend,” Dee said once they were outside.
Jeff responded with a dissatisfied grunt. He squinted in the harsh midmorning sun as he gazed across the street at the Golden Grub Café. “You up for some day drinking?”
“Sure.” Dee held up the bag of worthless nuggets. “You think they’d let us pay with these?”
They crossed the street to the hostess stand. Since no one was manning it, and the café was almost empty, Dee and Jeff seated themselves at an outdoor table. A teenage waiter took their order of two lagers from a local brewery, along with an order of the café’s homemade potato chips.
“That was a whole lotta nothing,” Jeff grumbled after the waiter left to place their order. “Although”—he lightened up a bit—“I think bringing the sluice back to life is a stellar idea.”
“Agreed. We can make our own nuggets. Or,” Dee added, warming to the idea, “we can give out those cute little sacks of gum that look like gold nuggets.”
“Nice,” Jeff said, offering a thumbs-up of approval. “And less expensive too.”
To Dee’s surprise, Liza appeared at the table with their order. “Dee, I’m glad you’re here.” She handed beers to each of them and placed the chips on the table. “I was worried. How are you?”
“Better.” Dee helped herself to a chip, which was extra thick and delicious. “Approaching a hundred percent, but not completely there yet.”
Liza shook her head. “I cannot believe someone would do something like that. In Goldsgone. It can’t be a local. It has to be some sketchy visitor.”
Dee, who was about to take a plug of beer, put down the bottle and eyed her. When she spoke, her response brimmed with sarcasm. “Really? You don’t think it was one of the wonderful Goldsgonedians who’ve welcomed us with such open arms and haven’t remotely given us all kinds of attitude for trying to figure out which one of you killed our first guest? And please don’t tell me you think that was the act of some ‘sketchy visitor.’ ”
Liza had the decency to look ashamed. “No matter how I personally felt about Michael—how any of us did—his death—”
“His murder,” Dee interrupted, not in the mood for excuses or to let Liza off the hook.
“His murder . . . was a tragedy. I don’t think any of us have reacted well to it.” Liza stood up. “Eat and drink as much as you want. It’s on the house.”
Liza left and went inside the café. Dee watched her go. She pursed her lips. “I didn’t hear an apology, did you? And you know what else? She never asked if the police had any idea who drugged me. Everyone else who checked in to see how I was doing asked that. But she didn’t. Interesting.”
Jeff didn’t respond.
“Jeff?” She turned to see Jeff staring after Liza with puppy dog eyes. Dee groaned. “Come on! Seriously?”
“She’s beautiful. And sensitive. And smart. Has to be, to make a success out of a restaurant, especially out here in the country. Restaurants have a high degree of failure. Something like thirty percent.” Jeff released a lovestruck sigh.
“She also might be a murderer.”
“Don’t care,” a moony Jeff said.
“Raul’s into her too. Raul Aguilar. The sheriff. Who’s on our side.”
“Oh.” Jeff instantly snapped out of it. “He may be all that stands between me and San Quentin, so moving on.” He drained his beer. “It’s just nice to take a break and think of something else besides murder. Like sex. Or a relationship.”
Dee chortled. “I love how that’s an ‘or’ for you. Like they’re mutually exclusive.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t you want more than work and a dog, awesome as Nugget is?”
Dee toyed with her beer, beset with conflicting emotions. “Truthfully, I’m not sure. If I want something besides work or Nugget, I think I’ll look for a hobby, not a relationship. I’m o-for-two with marriage. And watching the toll Mom’s death has taken on Dad, I can’t imagine loving someone so much and then losing them. Dad hides behind his character voices and his causes, but . . .” She noticed Jeff wasn’t listening. His attention was focused across the street. Annoyed, she waved her hands in front of his face. “Hello . . . I’m baring my heart here.”
“Sorry,” Jeff said, his gaze still fixed elsewhere. “But there’s a convo going on among three of our murder suspects and there’s a fourth person, who’s not saying anything, but doesn’t look happy about whatever’s going on. Don’t stare! You’ll send out energy that makes them look over at us.”
Dee picked up a menu the waiter had left on the table in case they wanted to order more than chips. She held the menu up so it covered her face, then lowered it slightly so she could peek out over the top.
Jonas, Brian, and Shawn stood outside Goldsgone Realty, which, she assumed, was real estate agent Jonas’s place of business. He appeared to be explaining something to the others. All looked dour as they took in whatever he was telling them. Brian’s mother, Millie, stood slightly to the side of the group, fidgeting with the handle of a basket full of flowers she carried.
