Symetery

By K.G. Lawrence

Clark Unger comes to Hope, California to help stage the revival of the award winning play, Symetery, based on the murder of a local family. He brings with him secrets about the unsolved murders the cursed play is based on, a determination to solve the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the one survivor, and a promise that could be impossible to keep.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.G. Lawrence
• Release date: Feb 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463239605

K.G. Lawrence

With degrees in biology and psychology, I have always enjoyed writing both fiction and non-fiction. I spent several years at a research lab at Agriculture and Agri-food Canada, this has provided me with a background on food and strengthened my skills as a researcher. I have put my background in biology and my research experiences to good use in writing the Introduction to Ethnobotany, as well as my novels.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE:

I don’t feel comfortable about this, she said.

No one is going to find out. He made the left turn off Goldtrail Road into the Grayling Theater’s parking lot.

It’s been twenty years. By any police standards, that makes it a case from the Ice Age. What makes you think playing amateur detective is going to lead you to anything?

He parked in the reserved parking space to the right of the Metallic-blue Lincoln Navigator. There has to be something.

It’s hopeless, Clark. You won’t find. . . . She hung up.

Thanks. Had she meant to finish with answers or peace?

The owner of the Navigator, Kenneth Lasseter, stood at the front doors to the theater. Wearing a blue suit and fidgeting with the cuffs of his white shirt, his hint of a goatee not making him appear any older than his thirty-five years, he raised his head and then waved.

Very meaningful research on beards had concluded that goatees, in particular a wispy Van Dyke like the one around Lasseter’s mouth, generated the least trust in the person so afflicted. Police departments were known to specifically discourage such beards. Political advisors would ban them outright if they were given complete control over their masters.

Lasseter, a member of Hope, California’s city council, skipped down the three steps from the promenade at the front of the theater as he got out of his Honda Ridgeline.

Is it what you expected, Mr. Unger? Lasseter took hold of his hand and gave it one firm, yank.

Clark is good enough. The Grayling Theater started out as a church.

Lasseter, about one inch shorter and forty pounds lighter to go along with twenty less years of wear and tear than him, led the way back up the three concrete stairs to the concrete promenade leading to the center entrance doors of the theater.

It did start out as a church, Clark, but it was also briefly a cathouse during the second gold rush, so the rumors go.

That’s when the town changed its name from Grayling’s Ranch to Hope. Your vineyard’s name is taken from the town’s first name, Goldfield.

You have done your research. Lasseter unlocked the doors and opened both. He led the way through the lobby straight to another set of double doors that had a chain looped through their handles. The chain was secured with an electronic combination lock. I had these installed a month ago once we finally received approval for the play’s revival. He held the lock in his right hand, concealed it from Unger’s view and keyed in the combination. I supposed I will have to let you know what it is for each lock on every set of inside doors. You can reprogram them with your own numbers.

I probably won’t use them.

Lassiter set the chain and lock on the counter of the snack bar to their right. This is from its stint as a movie theater and then, for a very short time, an adult-movie theater. We thought we’d keep it for the run of the play. It’s still functional.

I like a theater with a lot of experience. It only adds to the ambience of the production.

Shannon Kent did say in her email that you are a master at theater renovations.

I told her to put that in. I very much wanted this job.

Lasseter smiled for only a second before scowling. Is it true?

It is true. All those theaters she listed have seen my handiwork.

She implied you were the director of every renovation on that list.

Sorry, Mr. Lasseter, I was trying not to brag.

Kenneth is good enough, Clark. He opened each door and secured them in place with a hinged, rubber-tipped foot. Why leave New York City for this gig? Why come to this little pond?

Shannon wants me to bring everything from this production back with me by way of ideas. If the revival goes well here, she’s thinking of trying the same in New York. It had a pretty good run twenty years ago.

Did you know she warned me about your temper?

I expected her to warn you.

Is that going to be a problem?

Did she explain how I got that reputation?

She mentioned something about not suffering fools or unprofessional nonsense.

That’s all you need know about my temper.

Lasseter stepped through the threshold to the auditorium section of the house. What would you like to do first?

The caretaker’s apartment is backstage. Let’s have a quick look. Then I’ll get my kit from the truck. Everyone should be here by three o’clock, correct?

The buses are supposed to be here by then, yes.

You and Vanessa Grayling will be officially welcoming everyone at the theater at four o’clock.

The caterer should be here within the hour to prepare. As for Vanessa, she promised me she wouldn’t be late, but she’s always flitting about here and there. As small as Hope is, members of its royal family always seem to have very busy schedules. He adjusted the knot of his blue tie. It is a wonder they get any wine made at all. This way, Clark. Lasseter again led the way along the center aisle to the stage before veering right to go through the side doors to backstage. What do you think?

It’s a good box stage design. I’ll take a thorough look around once I’m settled.

We need to be careful back here. I had it tidied up some, but there is junk everywhere. It’s easy to bump into things.

The apartment is part of the original church.

That’s right. It was the priest’s living quarters. A modern bathroom and a proper kitchen were added when the church was converted to a theater and the backstage was built around the apartment. It’s cozy, but it is functional.

Despite Lasseter’s claim of the backstage being tidier, they walked through a gauntlet of debris and theater paraphernalia past two corridors that led first to the women’s dressing room and then to the men’s dressing room. A right turn at the lead actress’s dressing room across from the lead actor’s dressing room took them down a dog-leg hallway to the apartment.

Lasseter handed him the keys. I’ve had Magdalena coming in to clean it up.

Thank you.

You do know what happened in there? If you’ve researched the play and its historic first staging here, you must have come across the news reports.

A transient was murdered in the apartment two nights after the end of the play’s run.

I will leave you to get settled while I try to round up my partner in this revival. I don’t think you can see the stains anymore, but I hope you don’t spook easily, Clark.

CHAPTER TWO:

Lasseter was wrong. Though faded, a number of the stains from the splattered blood and viscera were easy to find.

If you know where to look, he muttered from just inside the doorway.

Excuse me, the woman said from the cozy sitting area to his right.

You must be Magdalena. He left the door open, walked to the u-shaped kitchen counter directly across from it and put his hand on the stain on the wall six inches above the end of the counter and right next to the door to the bedroom.

A piece of the man’s brain had been scraped off that spot.

Magdalena Mendoza is my mother. The woman continued wiping the fireplace mantle, then checked it with her finger before kneeling down and wiping the tile hearth.

What was left of the victim’s bludgeoned head had been tossed into that fireplace when it still burned wood and then set on fire. The gas insert would prevent any such perversity now.

I’m Clark Unger. I will be the set designer and stage manager for this revival. He remained at the counter.

I know, she said to the gas insert before standing back up and turning to face him. Mom’s just getting a bottle of bleach for the bathroom.

I appreciate your efforts, and your mother’s, too, of course.

We’re getting paid well enough. Do you know someone died in here?

The murder was never solved. There are two theories as to the motivation behind the killing.

One is he was killed during a break-in by another transient, but nothing was taken. And the murder was particularly brutal.

Which is why the other theory is a lover’s spat, but no evidence was ever found to support either theory.

Do you know your hand is touching where a piece of his brain stuck to the wall?

He pulled his hand away.

The woman smiled the slightest bit. Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Unger?

"Clark is good enough. Are you talking theater ghosts? I’ve worked in the Oriental in Chicago. Unfortunately, I never got to meet any of the over six hundred victims of the famous Mr. Blackbeard fire in the old Iroquois Theater on that site either inside the Oriental or outside in Death Alley. I also never developed an unnerving sense of creepiness."

Then why did you pull your hand away so quickly?

I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.

Her name is Milagros, the woman said as she entered the apartment.

Milagros means miracle, I believe.

Magdalena Mendoza, shorter than her daughter by a couple of inches but also with short, wavy black hair and large dark eyes, wore a pale-blue dress covered in stains over a smallish but curvaceous figure. Milagros had a larger frame than her mother and was just as curvaceous. Magdalena wore a floral-pattern apron over the front of the dress, and green rubber gloves on her hands. Her right hand held a bottle of bleach. Magdalena’s mouth projected a sterner edge to it compared to Milagros’s more playful grin.

It’s a miracle I can get her to do anything properly. I told you to open the window. It’s stale in here. She walked past him and slid open the window over the kitchen sink. She kept hold of the bottle of bleach. Milagros, open that one.

Her daughter opened the window in the sitting area. With the apartment being at the rear of the original church, both windows provided views of the flower garden at the side of the back parking lot.

It smells better already, he said.

If you say so, Milagros said and started wiping the two wingback chairs across from the fireplace.

The apartment consisted of three sections. The door from backstage opened into the kitchen. A closet to the left was set immediately inside the door. To the right was the sitting-dining area where Milagros was working. The dining table was set at the backstage end wall. The sitting area was set near the back exterior wall across from the fireplace. A door to the left led from the kitchen to the bedroom and bathroom.

A half-wall rose up to just over counter height, leaving an opening along its length to permit a view of the eating area and the sitting area. A post-and-beam opening provided passage between the two sections.

Leave your door open. I’ll open the rear exit door and the window beside it. The breeze should take some of the stuffiness out of the place.

Magdalena Mendoza walked past him out the door.

I think mom is trying to get out more than just the stuffiness. She can only work in here for about fifteen minutes at a time before she has to get out and pluck up her nerve again or we would have finished yesterday. What play did you do in Chicago?

"Wicked. It had a long run. I was there for about two-thirds of that."

I’ve never seen it. I like the music, though. Milagros tucked some of her black hair behind her right ear. Why did you come here to do this play?

When it comes to being haunted, this play and this theater are almost as famous for the horrendous deaths involved before, during and after its production as they are for the play itself.

Are you naturally morbid, or is it just the deaths surrounding this particular play and this particular theater that drew you here?

This play should stay dead, Magdalena said as she came back into the apartment.

She went straight past him to the kitchen window and put up her bare hand to gauge the breeze before leaning over the sink and inhaling deeply through her nose. It’s a good breeze. That and our cleaning should make it liveable in here.

Thank you. Why should the play stay dead?

You said it yourself. It is a cursed play. Nothing good will come of its revival. She crossed herself.

Momma, Kenneth thinks a revival of the play is an important launch of the council’s long-term plans for Hope’s growth. She said directly to him, With nature’s help, we’ve made three lakes at the old site of the lower quarry. It is call Snowman Lakes because from the air they look like a three-layered snowman lying down. The biggest is stocked with three kinds of trout and three boat launches on the west shore. It opened last year. We get a lot of people coming to camp and fish. And we’ve been putting in trails for mountain biking, trail bikes and even groomed terrain for ATV use. It’s brought in a fair amount of tourism money.

I don’t care what their great ten-year plan is. The dead should be left to rest undisturbed. And the living should be left in peace. Magdalena put her rubber glove back on, picked a bucket up out of the sink and headed for the bathroom in the bedroom. She had never set the bottle of bleach down.

Sorry. She’s been upset since the revival was approved. Milagros came to the post-and-beam opening. She was here during the first run of the play. She knew some of the people involved.

Who did she know?

She won’t talk about it. Milagros sighed. I wish she would, but I’ve given up trying to persuade her. She smiled the tiniest bit. I guess this apartment is haunted. You haven’t been in it an hour yet and you’re already getting ghost stories.

I better fetch my stuff.

Upon his first return with his stuff, Milagros was finishing up in the kitchen. She said nothing to him, but her smile was a bit bigger and lasted longer.

His second return was delayed for ten minutes when he stopped to remove a half-dozen of the tarpaulins covering the auditorium’s main floor seats. He folded them up and deposited them on the front of the stage before retrieving his two duffle bags and continuing to the apartment. This time, Magdalena had rejoined her daughter to finish up in the eating-sitting section. Both women nodded to him before he turned left, entered the bedroom and set the duffle bags beside his suitcases on the double bed that was set up against the backstage wall. The guitar case rested on the floor at the end of the bed. On his way out, two brief, simultaneous smiles highlighted how nearly identical Magdalena and her daughter were.

Like mother, like daughter, he said.

What was that? Magdalena slapped at the back of a chair belonging to the dining table as if she were trying to rap his knuckles for being rude.

Sorry, but I’m sure you both have been told how much you resemble each other.

You should see pictures of mom when she was my age. She didn’t smile enough in them, though.

I am fifty-two years old. Milagros is twenty-three. There are obvious differences between us.

Milagros kissed her mother’s cheek. I couldn’t have said it better myself, momma.

He could hear Milagros laughing and Magdalena scolding her in Spanish as he made his way through backstage out to the auditorium. He removed six more tarpaulins from the seats, folded them up and set them on the front of the stage beside the others before going for his third load of stuff.

The caterer and two of her employees were coming through the front doors as he entered the lobby.

You must be Clark Unger. The caterer shook his hand. I’m Christine Watts.

Watts was opposite to the Mendoza women in that she was leaner than their more curvaceous figures. Though it was tanned, her skin was close to being pale compared to their darker, Mexican heritage tone. At approximately 5’8" tall, she was about the same height as Milagros, two inches taller than Magdalena and five inches shorter than him. She had long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail rather than short, wavy black hair. Her eyes were bright ice-blue.

These two are Gail and Freddie.

The two women, a few years younger than Milagros, only smiled and nodded before continuing to the snack bar’s counter with the electric pots they were carrying. Both women wore white shirts and black pants shielded by long white aprons. Both of them were attractive brunettes. Gail’s shimmering chestnut-brown hair would be considered three or four shades lighter than Freddie’s.

Glad to meet all of you. Can I help you bring anything in?

You are just the man I’ve been looking. Come with me.

She took him to a large white cargo van with Christine’s Dining and Catering printed on the side of it in a mix of pink, emerald-green and what some would call baby-blue letters.

Those suckers are about forty pounds each, she said as she pointed into the van from the rear. But at least they aren’t hot yet.

Very considerate of you.

She laughed. Seriously, Clark, I can help you with them. You’re a solid, stocky guy, but I could. . . .

Don’t worry, Christine. I’m not that easily challenged, embarrassed or offended. Though, to be honest, later tonight I will make up a voodoo doll that will look exactly like you. Don’t be surprised if you suddenly feel needles and pins along your extremities as you get ready for bed.

Ooh, that sounds delightful. She laughed again and patted his shoulder. If you can do that, you definitely belong as part of the revival.

You are in the haunted-play-theater camp, then?

"Don’t be ridiculous. Symetery has had more than its fair share of misfortune during its productions, but bad luck was all that was."

Ah, the voice-of-reason camp, then.

Only until I start tingling along my extremities, Clark, then I make no promises. She slapped his shoulder this time and let her hand rest on it for a few seconds. I need to get these portable ovens inside and heated up or nothing will be ready on time.

He carried one of the portable cast-iron ovens into the lobby. It certainly felt like it weighed more than forty pounds. Christine followed him in carrying the other portable oven.

Put it on the counter, Clark. There are two-twenty outlets behind it that I can use.

He set his down first. Christine set the one she was carrying beside it.

I’ve seen that look before. How can a woman weighing less than one-twenty possibly lift something like that? I work out, aerobics, weights, running, cycling, climbing, Kung fu. But to be honest, the bugger was still heavy as hell to carry.

I still have to get my last suitcase and my laptop from the truck.

Need any help?

Very funny, Christine.

Gail was coming in carrying packages of noodles as he went out. Has she touched you yet?

Pardon?

Her voice getting quieter, she said, Has she patted or stroked your shoulder or your back yet?

Lowering his voice to be as quiet as Gail, he said, She’s patted it once, slapped it once and let it rest there for a moment.

Then she’s out to get you.

Huh? He glanced at Christine to see if she had heard him.

She was busy plugging in and turning on her two bloody heavy portable ovens.

It’s Clark, right?

Clark Unger, right.

Well, Clark, she’s gone through every man in town that’s interested her. It wasn’t very many. Kenneth Lasseter was her last victim. For a while I thought she might start prowling the campsites at the lakes when they opened, but she showed amazing self-control; however, that means she’s been coiled to strike at the first unsuspecting victim who might blunder into her embrace for, I would say, close to six months. Now this stupid play is being revived, and she’s decided you will do as an appetizer. Welcome to Hope.

All he said was, She’s very fit and strong and lean.

Yeah, so is a python. Gail continued on her way to deliver the noodles to the snack bar counter.

CHAPTER THREE:

The two buses arrived on time. Lasseter led them into the parking lot, but he was the only one to get out of his Navigator.

Vanessa is on her way, Lasseter said to him before greeting the people getting off the buses.

Lasseter shepherded the two groups through the lobby into the auditorium and up onto the stage. The tarpaulins had been removed. Christine, Gail and Freddie were busy preparing the buffet. Christine had just brought in metal trays with covers over the food that she had probably just removed from those bloody heavy cast-iron monsters.

Unger followed the cast and crew up onto the stage.

Christine gave him a quick smile and wave before helping Freddie place a white cloth over the last of three tables lined up end-to-end at the back of the stage.

Gail was busy with plates, glasses and cups, and dinnerware, though she found a second to flash him a glance that could easily be interpreted as a warning of a predator about to coil around him.

You’re imagining things.

Gail’s second quick glance his way could have come with a slight head nod—twitch—in Watts’ direction. Her eyebrows definitely arched.

Maybe not.

Christine and Freddie lifted the case of Goldfield’s Sparkling Wine and placed it on the table they’d just covered. The noise made everyone look their way.

"That’s our silver medal méthode champenoise sparkling wine, Lassiter said. We’ll get to that. But first—"

They’re here, Watts said and pointed to the auditorium’s center doors.

A woman a bit taller than Watts but not quite as lean, also a blond, came in ahead of a man just below six feet tall. He carried a case of wine from Grayling’s Vineyards. The woman wore medium-gray slacks, a turquoise silk blouse, a thick gold necklace easily seen from the stage, grey, Jimmy Choo low-heel leather pumps, and walked with an elegant, measured pace one might expect to see during a formal royal procession.

If Gail were describing Watts’ actions, she would have said, She slithered up next to Unger unnoticed.

Don’t let that refined affectation fool you, Clark. She’s every bit as good as I am at martial arts. She can race any man up any cliff face anywhere in the world. And I wouldn’t get into a shootout with her. She has a cabinet full of trophies for that.

She hunts?

Just target shooting, but she’s equally good with a rifle or a handgun.

Vanessa, Lasseter said, wonderful, you’re finally here. We can get started.

Just give Teddy a moment to deposit his load, Kenny.

Watts said, She’s the only one who gets away with calling him Kenny.

Were they ever . . . ?

She pressed her hand against his upper back. He’s a silver medalist. I’m the one who’s been settling for second best in these parts.

Teddy, mid-fifties, same as Unger, about two inches shorter, also thick and powerfully built, with big hands and large forearms extending past rolled-up sleeves, placed the case of Grayling’s gold medal Pinot noir next to the case of Goldfield’s Sparkling Wine.

"Vanessa developed that Vitis vinifera vintage at UC Davis when she was a graduate student there. The university gets a portion of the sales revenue from it. That’s her foreman, Teddy McColl. Kenneth has tried to hire him away from her three times."

McColl had very short curly, sandy-brown hair parted on the left side to go with neat sideburns that extended down almost to his jaw line.

Welcome to Hope, everyone, Lasseter said as he backed up to the tables. "I am Kenneth Lasseter. This lovely lady with me is Vanessa Grayling. We are the two crazy people who came up with the idea to revive Symetery on the twentieth anniversary of its original production right here in the Grayling Theater. Now, I do not want to keep you away from this wonderful spread that Christine, Gail and Freddie have set out for us, so I will be brief."

Vanessa Grayling stepped forward, "Thank you, Kenny.

A brief spattering of chuckles cascaded through the crowd gathered around the tables.

As Kenny and I are neophyte impresarios and a round of introductions with a group this large would break Kenny’s promise, I suggest we get on with eating and pursue a laissez-faire policy of getting to know each other for this occasion. There will be plenty of opportunity starting tomorrow for a more formal and directed process. After all, we are all going to be very close by the end of this revival’s run.

Here, here, Lasseter said. Everybody, help yourself.

Watts chuckled, What else could he say in front of this crowd?

A laissez-faire process at the buffet tables got everyone’s plate suitably loaded up with delicious food. After that, as expected, everyone mostly then congregated with the other members of their group to eat. Also as expected, the students from UC Davis were the quickest back to the tables for seconds and thirds.

Unger stood just offstage to eat, but he wasn’t alone for very long. Both Christine Watts and the graduate course instructor, Marley Downs, came toward him at the same time. Watts was the first to veer off.

Hello, Marley.

I see you still don’t eat that first meal with cast and crew.

It’s proven to be lucky so far.

What was Shannon thinking getting me into something like this?

It was my idea, Marley.

Why am I not surprised? At least I know who to blame. Downs popped a piece of sweet and sour pork into her mouth. This is quite good. See those two women over there? Keiko Nakamura is getting her MFA in set design and arts management. Antonina Martinez, she goes by Toni, is getting her MFA in stage management, and arts marketing and promotion.

Which one do you want me to take as an assistant?

Downs popped in another piece of pork and parked it in her left cheek. Toni is more experienced and confident, but they are both very intelligent.

I’ll talk to them tomorrow.

I was hoping. . . .

Fine, Marley, fetch them over.

Thanks, Clark. She began chewing on the pork as she waved for Nakamura and Martinez to join them.

You are going to be doing this to me all night, aren’t you?

I need to make up for blaming the wrong person. I was very cranky to my class on the bus ride.

Nakamura left her empty plate on a table. Martinez brought her thrice-filled plate with her.

All of this is delicious, Martinez said. I cannot believe she actually made cabbage taste good.

It isn’t the cabbage, Nakamura said. It is the spices in the filling.

Martinez shrugged. Whatever.

Nakamura, the shorter of the two by four inches, had short black hair sprinkled mostly on the ends with orange and blue highlights. Martinez let her hair just hang about her shoulders. Both women wore jeans, sneakers and blue UC Davis sweatshirts with a gold horse head on the front. Go Aggies, was printed in gold below the head.

Marley made the introductions.

Nakamura asked, "Is Symetery haunted or cursed, Mr. Unger?"

Marley said, "We will be exploring all that surrounds the play during this revival. We will look for answers to all the outstanding questions about Symetery, the murders and disappearance that it is based on and what it meant to Bradley Armstead."

Martinez asked, Will we solve the mystery?

That would be an automatic A-plus.

"You’re right, Marley, they are both very intelligent. As for being haunted or cursed; I would not say Symetery was cursed. But I would accept it being described as haunted. Everything that goes into the production of a play infuses it, imbuing it with atmosphere and character. I’m sure you both have been involved with that experience. You’ve taken away something different from each production, and that affects your memory of it."

You think every play haunts you?

"It terms of affecting you and staying with you, I would say the good ones do, yes. Enough happened around Symetery to, in my opinion, leave it haunted. I would go so far as to challenge you not to be so haunted by the time you are finished here."

Martinez elbowed Nakamura. And you said he was just a creepy old dude.

I said no such thing.

It doesn’t sound very scary, Clark, when you put it like that; kind of boring, actually.

My challenge stands, Toni.

You’re on, man.

Nakamura and Martinez returned to their ravenous cohorts. A lively discussion soon erupted.

They are an eager bunch, and quick.

And omniscient and opinionated.

No, Clark, these ones are thoughtful. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s me. Downs looked over at her students. I need to get back to Broadway where the only one I need be concerned about is me. Who do you want to meet next?

Can I just surrender now, or are you only going to be happy with my total annihilation?

I’ll let up on you for tonight if you give my eager little demons a talk on stagecraft tomorrow morning.

Total annihilation it is, then.

You’re on, man. Or should I say, creepy old dude? Downs left to insinuate herself into the lively discussion.

You’re not creepy or old, Milagros said from behind him.

Jesus, you could have stomped your foot or sniffed or coughed.

Do not let mother hear you take His name in vain, Clark. You will get an earful and maybe even a swat or two. And that would be a shame because I think she likes you.

Forewarned is forearmed.

I just came to tell you we’re finished in your apartment. We will be dropping around to help clean up the rest of the place, but if you need anything specific done, I’ve left our numbers on the kitchen counter.

Thanks again. Pass that on to your mom. He took hold of her arm when she turned to leave. Sorry. Would you like to be part of my team?

She shook her head. Once that stupid play with that stupid name opens, you won’t find either one of us anywhere near this theater. I promised mom that. Good night, Clark.

When he checked to see how the lively discussion was going, he spotted Watts, Lasseter and Grayling coming toward him. Again, Watts was the one to veer off.

Grayling shook his hand. Can we borrow your expertise for a few minutes, Clark?

CHAPTER FOUR:

Lasseter asked, Have you had a chance to look around?

I did a preliminary inspection.

What do you think?

If we’re going to do this, I’d like Keiko Nakamura and Toni Martinez to join us.

Grayling said, By all means, Mr. Unger.

Clark will do. He caught Marley’s attention and pointed to who he wanted.

Nakamura and Martinez quickly joined them.

When was this church built? Unger led them down the three steps to backstage.

The first gold was discovered at Sutter’s Mill in Coloma about twenty miles due west of here. Goldfield popped into existence along a travel route for the forty-niners in eighteen fifty-two after a small claim was staked here by Jacob Grayling.

There wasn’t much gold to be found, Vanessa said. Jacob wisely converted his wealth of it into a store that sold equipment and supplies to prospectors. He used the profits from his store to start the Grayling ranch. The ranch provided beef, horses for riding and carrying packs, as well as mules and donkeys to both locals setting down roots and to prospectors coming through.

"When the first strike of