the place, and there’s nothing down there except old wine barrels.”
“Who’s the third ghost?”
“He was a fellow who got shot while drinking whiskey at the bar. Nearly all of our buildings have stories associated with them, and not only the courthouse with the gallows out back.”
“Did you search these structures for your missing workman?” Dalton asked.
“Hell, yes. He isn’t anywhere to be found.”
“I presume you’ll hold nightly ghost tours once things are operational?” Marla took a few steps toward the door, eager to see some of the other buildings. It was gloomy in there with a heavy miasma. Or maybe the ghostly tales were affecting her.
“Of course. Once you see what’s at stake, you’ll agree this project is worthwhile. The town is a historic treasure to be preserved. Our construction cannot possibly be responsible for the dry conditions affecting Hugh Donovan’s ranch.”
“Where is his place from here?” Dalton asked when they’d emerged outside.
Raymond pointed to the top of the hill. “If you go that way, the road curves around the mountain, and then you’re in his territory. He’s just looking for an excuse to shut me down.”
“You’ve been having your own problems on the project, I understand. What’s been happening?”
“We’ve had scaffolding collapse, graffiti sprayed across newly painted walls, equipment misplaced. The workers say we’ve disturbed the spirits, and they’re causing the incidents. Watch where you drive, because nails and broken glass have appeared on the road on more than one occasion.”
He led them a few doors down, while Marla wondered who could be the saboteur. And what was his purpose? To scare the laborers off the job? To cause delays? Or maybe Raymond was jinxing himself to raise credibility for his ghost stories.
“Here’s the Neville Hotel.” Raymond pointed out a four-story structure. “Originally built in 1898, it burnt down in a fire and was reconstructed in brick. Upstairs were rooms for up to forty guests. And that concrete building next door is a former bank. See the apothecary shop across the street? I’d like to have a soda fountain come in there when it’s finished.”
Marla gawked at the sights. It was an ambitious project but definitely worth the effort to save this wondrous history. Her imagination conjured tea parlors and quaint cafés among the proposed shops, hotels, and museums.
“What about brothels?” Dalton asked with a raised eyebrow. “Prostitution was as big in those days as gambling.”
“On the next street over are the pleasure palaces with their cribs,” Raymond replied. “A crib is the bedroom where women entertained their guests. One of them, Maddy Terrence, did so well she bought herself a saloon and hung naked pictures of herself on the walls. Here’s the old theatre. Do you want to come inside? It’s pretty well preserved and is said to be haunted.”
“Can I take pictures?” Marla remembered she’d brought her camera. At Raymond’s nod, she fetched it from her purse and began snapping shots of the various buildings and the mountain views beyond. A few steps away, she viewed the whole valley laid out below.
She followed the men inside the ancient theatre, which consisted of a hardwood floor, a stage at the far end, and box seats on either side at an upper level. The dingy chandelier didn’t make for good lighting, but maybe an apparition would show when she put her photos online. She snapped away, more interested in the area behind the stage.
“The theatre is two stories with a basement,” Raymond said, gingerly sidestepping a broken chair in their path. “It held a saloon and gambling hall as well as the stage and balcony seating. The place was popular and kept its doors open until the mine closed.”
The floor creaked as they proceeded behind the scenes. Relics and odd pieces of furniture littered the open space. Marla tilted her head. Was that whispering she
“Who’s the third ghost?”
“He was a fellow who got shot while drinking whiskey at the bar. Nearly all of our buildings have stories associated with them, and not only the courthouse with the gallows out back.”
“Did you search these structures for your missing workman?” Dalton asked.
“Hell, yes. He isn’t anywhere to be found.”
“I presume you’ll hold nightly ghost tours once things are operational?” Marla took a few steps toward the door, eager to see some of the other buildings. It was gloomy in there with a heavy miasma. Or maybe the ghostly tales were affecting her.
“Of course. Once you see what’s at stake, you’ll agree this project is worthwhile. The town is a historic treasure to be preserved. Our construction cannot possibly be responsible for the dry conditions affecting Hugh Donovan’s ranch.”
“Where is his place from here?” Dalton asked when they’d emerged outside.
Raymond pointed to the top of the hill. “If you go that way, the road curves around the mountain, and then you’re in his territory. He’s just looking for an excuse to shut me down.”
“You’ve been having your own problems on the project, I understand. What’s been happening?”
“We’ve had scaffolding collapse, graffiti sprayed across newly painted walls, equipment misplaced. The workers say we’ve disturbed the spirits, and they’re causing the incidents. Watch where you drive, because nails and broken glass have appeared on the road on more than one occasion.”
He led them a few doors down, while Marla wondered who could be the saboteur. And what was his purpose? To scare the laborers off the job? To cause delays? Or maybe Raymond was jinxing himself to raise credibility for his ghost stories.
“Here’s the Neville Hotel.” Raymond pointed out a four-story structure. “Originally built in 1898, it burnt down in a fire and was reconstructed in brick. Upstairs were rooms for up to forty guests. And that concrete building next door is a former bank. See the apothecary shop across the street? I’d like to have a soda fountain come in there when it’s finished.”
Marla gawked at the sights. It was an ambitious project but definitely worth the effort to save this wondrous history. Her imagination conjured tea parlors and quaint cafés among the proposed shops, hotels, and museums.
“What about brothels?” Dalton asked with a raised eyebrow. “Prostitution was as big in those days as gambling.”
“On the next street over are the pleasure palaces with their cribs,” Raymond replied. “A crib is the bedroom where women entertained their guests. One of them, Maddy Terrence, did so well she bought herself a saloon and hung naked pictures of herself on the walls. Here’s the old theatre. Do you want to come inside? It’s pretty well preserved and is said to be haunted.”
“Can I take pictures?” Marla remembered she’d brought her camera. At Raymond’s nod, she fetched it from her purse and began snapping shots of the various buildings and the mountain views beyond. A few steps away, she viewed the whole valley laid out below.
She followed the men inside the ancient theatre, which consisted of a hardwood floor, a stage at the far end, and box seats on either side at an upper level. The dingy chandelier didn’t make for good lighting, but maybe an apparition would show when she put her photos online. She snapped away, more interested in the area behind the stage.
“The theatre is two stories with a basement,” Raymond said, gingerly sidestepping a broken chair in their path. “It held a saloon and gambling hall as well as the stage and balcony seating. The place was popular and kept its doors open until the mine closed.”
The floor creaked as they proceeded behind the scenes. Relics and odd pieces of furniture littered the open space. Marla tilted her head. Was that whispering she
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