The Pearlmakers: Gold is in the Air: The Pearlmakers, #3

By Duke Tate

Gold Is in the Air, the third book in The Pearlmakers saga, starts in the mountains of the High Sierras of California where Cosby, Joey, and their girlfriends divide up a hefty find and make the trek back to Camp Big Bear.

 

Along the way, dangerous foes still lurk behind every bush. Meanwhile, Teddy Dollarhide is overjoyed by his sons' finding of the legendary Dollarhide treasure, but the bounty isn't enough to settle his debts and his property tax deadline creeps closer and closer every day.

 

The Pearlmakers continue to hunt the legendary waters for the full treasure of La Gracia, but another brutal hurricane stirs off the coast of Latchawatchee. Alicia and Teddy's love grows wild like kudzu even though she finds his lack of interest in selling his land to be disturbing.

 

Will the crew find the ship's hidden treasure before the tax deadline, or will their plans be derailed by a pair of vindictive real estate giants who want to destroy the essence of the place the Dollarhides call home?

 

This third installment in The Pearlmakers saga contains an astounding finale just waiting to be discovered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pearl Press LLC
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781951465285

Book preview

1

In the high Sierras of California, the group divided the bounty of the chest up between the four internal frame backpacks, placing the bulk of the weight in the men’s packs, dividing the weight as well as the risk. Then, they exited the boxcar.

The map indicated a crossing half a mile north—the only place for the next fifteen miles to cross the river that led to the north trail back to camp.

When they arrived, there was a sign reading, BRIDGE CLOSED nailed to a short wooden pole. The crossing was a primitive wood log, cut in half and balanced on either bank. The current rushed fifteen feet below and led to the vicious waterfall east of their old campsite about one hundred feet downriver, following the descent in the terrain.

Bridge closed … damn. Joey put his foot down on it and pressed. It didn’t give.

"But we have to cross here. If we go downstream, they’ll be waiting," Belle said.

I say we go back the way we came. Besides with have a Glock! What difference does it make when you have a firearm? Joey said.

I am crossing, we are heavy handed with these weighted down packs, gun or no gun, Belle insisted.

No—wait, Belle. But before Joey could finish, she was already crossing.

In the middle, the wood plank gave a little, but the tree held. Joey shrugged and followed her, making it to the other side with only a little give in the board.

Leslie, you go first, Cos said, but she was scared and insisted he go. Reluctantly, he crossed. Leslie was trepid because of her one arm—treading water was difficult for her, and if she fell, grabbing ahold of a rock would be very hard. Therefore, she proceeded with caution.

While crossing, the middle of the wood cracked and she slipped and lost her foothold. She went to one knee and Cos started to run down the tree toward her, but his weight made it give a little, so he retreated. She shook with fear, looking down at the rapids.

Don’t look down, Leslie! Cos said.

She started crawling and a smile returned to her face. But after a few feet, the tree buckled hard in the middle—and she fell off the log. She managed to catch herself with her good arm on the stub of a limb, but the pack of gold went tumbling into the water below as she swung back and forth in the air. Belle, Cos, and Joey became hysterical. Cos started to cross the tree, but his weight sent an additional cracking through it that sounded like the earth opening, so he ran back.

"Help!" she yelled.

Joey sifted through his pack for something to throw, but there was nothing.

Leslie’s grip gave and she plopped into the fast current.

Leslie! Cos screamed.

Holy shit! What are we going to do? This is all your fault, Belle, for running out there, Joey said.

Who even cares about that now, Joey! We gotta get her outta there, fast! Hurry! Do something, quick! Belle yelled.

Leslie moved downstream, crashing hard into rocks like a pinball into bumpers. Dog tracked her along the ridge, barking. Cos grabbed a rope from his pack, looped it, and trailed her. She was thirty-five feet from the drop-off point. He tossed it in front of her, but she missed it. Calm and collected, he retrieved it, ran ahead a bit, and tossed it again. She managed to grab it. The strong current pulled him too. He jumped down to the lower embankment and, leaning back, managed to stop her from moving. Joey came up from behind and taking the rope one yank at a time, they slowly and forcefully got her to the river’s edge, where they fell back, exhausted.

Leslie sat on the bank, shaking from the cold. Through her coughing, she thanked them profusely; the waterfall rushed in the background. They waited in silence for a moment; a hawk called.

After some time, Cos helped her change into dry clothes. Dog barked up the path a bit near the drop to the waterfall. When Joey went over, the gold heavy backpack was gone.

After some time, the four walked up a ridge to the forested north trail that headed back to camp. Leslie was free of injury, but still shaken.

The light air, birds, and blue sky played together like a symphony, carrying them through the day like a feather in the wind—a balm on the trauma. The day was unusually cold for that time of year in the Sierras, making it feel almost like late October. Joey’s ears pointed up and he stopped them a few times, thinking he heard Skeet, but it turned out to be a rabbit hopping through the brush or a bobcat breaking a twig.

After some time, they stopped by a small stream and ate the rest of the jerky and trail mix. By dusk, they had passed through a clearing, and the path headed up a sharp incline toward a forest of tall trees, which led to camp about a mile away. They were exhausted, but they pressed forward.

The sun was gone and the temperature had dropped even further. They were all chilled and stopped to put on sweaters and fleeces. While changing, they heard an odd noise. Everyone kneeled; Joey raised the pistol forward, thinking it was Skeet again, or maybe Chuck even. Coming from a dense brush, the sound rose and fell like a teakettle simmering on and off.

Joey instructed everyone to stay back, but Belle insisted on going with him. As he moved toward the thicket, the sound intensified and his heart beat faster. When they reached it, Belle ducked behind his shoulder, peeking over. He moved the leaves away with his hand to reveal an old abandoned refrigerator with the whole top rusted out. He opened the door and the noise seeped out.

Oh my, Joey said.

Is that what I think it is? Belle asked.

What else could it be? Joey said.

Is he alive? Leslie asked.

I don’t know, Joey said.

How in the hell did he get all the way out here? Cos wondered.

This fridge must be his home base.

Against the shelfless wall of the old icebox, a grey ball of fat leaned back, head hung down, feet splayed out like a wino, locomotive snores vibrating a bulging belly and the black around his eyes gripping his head like a tight sleep mask. A sea of empty plastic wrappers and white rectangular boxes trashed the floor, evidence of an inevitable loss to the sugar and grease so foreign to a raccoon’s wild diet.

Bear Thirteen! Joey called, but nothing happened.

Let’s bag him and take him back to camp, Belle suggested.

Good idea, Joey said.

Joey retrieved the bear box from his pack and cut air holes in the black plastic bear box with his knife and dropped the top on the coon, whose eyes didn’t even open. Scooping him up, he screwed on the box lid. They took him back and showed Cos and Leslie, who laughed.

They headed out again along the path that met a four-foot-tall dirt wall cut into a gigantic hill that rose up from the top of the wall to their left and dropped off to their right, falling down a sharp incline. They walked and chattered, high off the capture of Moon Pie, forgetting all about Skeet and Jethro.

After half a mile, a tree limb in front of Joey snapped; the leaves flickered once, and then again like it was raining. The startling realization of what was happening struck Joey and he cried out, "Gunfire! Get down!"

Everyone fell to the path, taking cover behind the dirt wall; bullets showered around them, the shots coming from on top of the hill and up ahead.

Dammit! That’s sniper fire! Joey said.

So, what do we do? Cos said.

I don’t know. Let’s wait here for now. You think it’s Skeet?

I don’t know, Cos said and threw a rock up in the air toward the fire and the bullets returned immediately.

Up the hill was Jimmy Clock, who had tracked the boys’ cellphones through a hacker friend of his, so he knew their location. And he had finally snapped—the headaches increasing to a point that he was in terrible pain throughout the day, especially when he was in Latch, but they had stayed with him this time after leaving, and his noggin was full of traumatic painful tension.

Cos stood up and right as he did, gunshots from the hill whistled through the air, hammering the edge of the embankment in front of him, throwing dirt in his face. Cos startled and fell back down the sharp incline behind him where he landed on the ground ten feet down the hill—he held his arm up in pain. The ravine was too steep for Joey to climb down, so he tossed a rope to Cos, who grabbed it with his good arm while Joey hoisted him up. Reaching the top, he leaned against the dirt wall to rest—Dog ran over to his side, placing his paw on his arm. Leslie was more upset about Cos’s fall than she was about falling in the water. Joey looked at Cos’s arm, which was red and sore to the touch.

I don’t think it’s broken, Joey said.

"Good, because I need