Chapter 6 - The Uncle Who Was Supposed to Be DeadEmily had seen photographs of Frank Carter.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Always smiling beside Silas.
He supposedly died in a truck accident in 1976.
Vehicle burned.
Body identified through belongings.
No DNA testing then.
Silas looked physically ill.
“You think Uncle Frank faked his death?” Emily asked.
“No.”
“You heard Dad.”
“Daniel could have been wrong.”
Emily snapped:
“You said that about the gold too.”
Silas flinched.
She regretted it immediately.
But did not apologize.
Not yet.
They searched old records.
The death certificate existed.
But something strange appeared.
The coroner who identified Frank had retired two weeks later and moved to Nevada.
The body was badly burned.
Identification relied on dental notes.
Those notes were missing from county archives.
Laura whispered:
“Could Daniel have found Frank?”
Emily rewound the cassette.
Near the end Daniel said:
If Frank is alive, Victor answers to him.
That changed everything.
Victor was frightening.
But perhaps he was not the man at the top.
Silas walked outside.
Emily followed.
“I knew Frank had problems.”
“What kind?”
“Gambling. Bad people.”
“Gold thieves?”
“I didn’t know.”
Silas sat on the fence.
“In ’75 he asked me to mortgage part of the ranch.”
“For what?”
“Wouldn’t say.”
“You refused.”
“Yes.”
“He got angry?”
Silas nodded.
“Six months later he was dead.”
Or everyone thought he was.
Emily realized her father had inherited more than a ranch mystery.
He had discovered a family secret.
That night someone entered the house.
Emily woke to breaking glass.
Silas came from the guest room with his revolver.
No shots.
A shadow escaped through the kitchen.
The intruder had searched Daniel’s workshop.
The cassette was gone.
Emily’s stomach dropped.
Then Laura held up her purse.
“I moved it.”
She had hidden the cassette before bed.
For the first time since Daniel vanished, they had been one step ahead.
The intruder left something.
A cigar.
Not Silas’s brand.
Victor smoked cigarettes.
Whoever entered was someone else.
Silas picked up the cigar.
His face drained.
“What?”
Emily asked.
Silas stared.
“Frank smoked these.”
Emily’s pulse jumped.
“Twelve years ago?”
“Yes.”
“That proves nothing.”
“No.”
Silas looked at the broken window.
“But someone wants me thinking about him.”
The following morning a telephone call came.
Emily answered.
No greeting.
Just breathing.
Then an older male voice.
“You sound like your father.”
Emily froze.
“Who is this?”
“You shouldn’t be looking underground.”
“Uncle Frank?”
Silence.
Emily gripped the phone.
“My father found you, didn’t he?”
The man laughed softly.
“Daniel found too much.”
“Where is he?”
Another silence.
Then:
“Ask your grandfather what happened at Dry Mesa in 1969.”
The line went dead.
Emily turned toward Silas.
“What happened at Dry Mesa?”
He stared at her.
And for the second time in two days, her grandfather looked genuinely afraid.
“Nothing I ever told your father.”
Emily stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Silas sat down.
“In 1969…”
May you like
He rubbed one hand across his face.
“Frank and I found the first gold bar.”
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