“These buildings don’t look very old,” Margaret said, eyeing a general store where a woman in pioneer attire was selling cotton candy.
“They’re not old. None of them are. I don’t think any of these were built more than fifteen years ago.”
“So what’s the point?”
“The point? To make money, to draw tourists to hotels and restaurants nearby. The whole thing looks like a reconstruction. We may be wasting our time.”
Margaret was studying the map. “The bank is up ahead and on the left.”
A few minutes later, they were entering the one-story structure. There were two counters with balance scales. A chalkboard behind the counters listed the bank’s current assets—circa 1857—and the buying price for gold.
Kendra shook her head. “Pretty sparse. Even if they once did make coins here, the equipment hasn’t been here for a long time.”
They moved down to the end of Main Street, where the town ended in a picnic area, several food vendors, and a tiny souvenir shop.
A white-bearded man in his late sixties was working behind the counter of the souvenir shop. He looked up and smiled at Kendra and Margaret as they stepped inside. “Welcome. I’m Bill Johnson. Looking for T-shirts?”
Kendra shook her head.
“Shot glasses? Mugs? Bumper stickers? I just got some beer can cozies you might like.”
“Nice color.” Margaret took a yellow T-shirt from the table and slid it on over her own. She modeled the shirt, which read: STRIKE IT RICH AT DRAKEBURY SPRINGS. “I’ll take this one.”
The man smiled. “Looks good on you. That will be twenty dollars.”
“Fifteen.” Margaret smiled at him. “Or I’ll pay twenty, and you can throw in that mug on the shelf over there.”
He frowned. “That’s nerve, little lady.”
“You obviously have an overstock. I’m taking it off your hands.”
He suddenly chuckled. “I do have an overstock. Twenty.” He reached up and took down a mug and gave it to her. “No credit cards.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t use the credit card I have for this.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
Because it was Jane MacGuire’s credit card, Kendra thought. She remembered Margaret had told her she wouldn’t use it for anything that wasn’t important.
He turned to Kendra. “What about you, young lady? You look like you could use a Drakebury Springs sun visor.”
“Actually, we’ve just come here for information.”
He glanced at Margaret and made a face. “And to steal from a poor tradesman who’s only trying to earn a living.”
“And had a big overstock,” Margaret murmured.
He chuckled again.
It was clear Johnson liked Margaret and would have continued to banter with her. Kendra tried to get them back on track. “Information.”
Johnson nodded. “You’ve come to the right person. My daughter wrote the book on this town. Literally.” He motioned toward a paperback book displayed on the countertop. It was a thin book, obviously self-published, with the title DRAKEBURY SPRINGS: HISTORY AND LEGEND. The author’s name was Susan Johnson, with a young woman’s picture rather immodestly placed on the front cover. “She was always crazy about gold mines and ghost towns from the time she was a kid. Always writing and drawing pictures. She’s a great artist, but when she was in college, she wrote this book.” He held it up and smiled proudly. “You can send it to her and have her sign it for you if you’d like.”
“How much?”
“One for twenty, two for thirty.”
Margaret opened her mouth to protest, and Johnson glared at her.
She changed her mind and gave him a sunny smile. “That’s very inexpensive for a book that gives us a look at history. She must have worked very hard on it. By all means, let’s buy it, Kendra.”
“I was about to do that. I’ll take one.” Kendra paid him and picked up the book. “So are any of these buildings original?”
“Afraid not. The town is only a mock-up of a gold-rush town that went bust up in the mountains. Some of the stockholders of our company had ancestors who had businesses in that town and decided to capitalize on the Old West tourist craze. They built it as close to authentic to the family records as they could make it. But if you look at the photos in the book, you’ll see it’s a pretty good re-creation.”
She glanced casually at the photos, then stopped. “What’s this photo?”
“Oh, that’s the original town. It’s only a ghost town now. Pretty dismal, isn’t it? And sad. It was in a valley surrounded by mountains that were supposed to be full of gold. The town was thriving, and everyone thought it would go on forever. But that area was mined out pretty quickly, so the town was abandoned. Too bad it all went bust because those mountain mines were in a beautiful spot. My daughter and some of her artist friends painted a mural showing the view from up there. You can see it on the side of this building, facing the picnic tables.”
“Oh, we’ll have to take a look at it on the way out. Would you know anything about old coin factories around here?”
“Well, there was a coinery somewhere up in the mountains near the original town, but by the time the miners moved on, they were taking their gold to Jeffreysboro.”
“Jeffreysboro. Is the coin factory still there?”
He thought for a moment. “No, it was dismantled after the Civil War.”
“Then where might we go to find an original coin press?”
“Well, I know there’s one on display at the Denver Mint, but aside from that, I really can’t say. Kind of out of my area of expertise, you know?”
Kendra nodded. “Sure. Have a good day.”
“You come back now.” He was looking at Margaret. “I can always use a little challenge to spark my day.”
She grinned and waved her mug at him as she left the store with Kendra.
“Not much help there,” Kendra said. “Waste of time. We’d better either look up some antique dealers who specialize in coin presses or move on to the next town.”
“Yeah, kind of interesting though.” Margaret looked down at her mug. “And not quite a waste, I got a nice mug out of it. Pretty scenery with the trees and those—” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Holy smoke.”
Kendra’s gaze flew to her face. “What?”
“My very pretty mug.” She was staring at the mug with fascination. “It’s only a little slice of a picture … but what does this look like to you?”
“I could tell you if you’d give it to me.”
“Sorry. It just shocked me.” She handed Kendra the mug. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Kendra was staring at the picture on the mug—mountains, trees … “Oh, my God.”
“I’m not wrong?”
Kendra tried to tamp down the excitement and be objective about it. She didn’t want to be objective. “Similar. But the picture on the mug is so small it’s hard to…” Kendra was pulling her phone from her pocket. The next moment, she was accessing the sketch Jane had sent her. “It’s damn close.”
“I think we’re there,” Margaret said softly. “Bless Bill Johnson and his souvenir mugs.” She took back the mug and compared it to Jane’s sketch. “You’re right, it’s very small. We need bigger.” She smiled. “And I’d bet we’ve got bigger. This mug must have been taken from some artist’s rendering. What did Johnson say about that mural?” She was already half running toward the picnic area to get a better view of the mural on the side of the souvenir shop. She stopped short, gazing at the huge mural. “Oh, yes.”
Kendra had caught up with her. “Incredible. It’s the same, or so close it doesn’t matter. The stream, the boulders, the mountainside, the cliff.” She held up the phone to compare it to Jane’s drawing. “Unreal.”
“The angle is even the same.” Margaret shook her head. “Are we sure Jane’s never been there? Are we positive she didn’t just subconsciously remember this?”
“I don’t think so.” Kendra took several photos of the mural, then punched in Jane’s phone number and turned on the speaker. “How the hell do I know? But there’s a way we can try to find out.”