Quicksilver (The Forensic Geology Series, Prequel) Read Free Page B

have nothing more recent.”
    The subject in the photo had dark brown hair, same color that my little brother Henry had. My Henry was reed-thin, too. Thin-blooded. He’d worn a red cowboy hat just about every waking moment, at least during that last year. If my Henry had lived into his teens, he might have gone to a studio to have an Old West photo taken. He would have tried for a squint like that.
    “Something wrong?” Shelburne said.
    I looked up. Both Shelburne and Walter were watching me. Walter, with curbed concern. Shelburne, puzzled. I blinked. Eyes dry, no tears. What, then? Maybe I’m just that readable. I considered shrugging off Shelburne’s question but that would have made this too consequential, something that couldn’t be spoken. I said, “I’m just reminded of my own brother. Another Henry. He died very young. End of story.”
    “Another Henry,” Shelburne repeated, softly. “I’m sorry.”
    “Thank you.” I returned my attention to the photo, looking this time at the tooled leather belt holding up Henry Shelburne’s woolen pants. A big silver buckle anchored the belt.
    Robert Shelburne noticed me noticing. “Dad gave him the belt.”
    Something was written on the buckle, in thin curlicue lettering. I took up my hand lens.
    “It says quicksilver . Dad gave him the nickname, too.”
    I put down the lens.
    “Quicksilver is what miners called liquid mercury, back in the day. For the color and the volatility.” Shelburne gave a sad smile. “Henry liked to play with the stuff.”
    “Yeah, who doesn’t?” I glanced at the lunchbox containing the vial of mercury. “Not very smart, though.”
    “No, he wasn’t. He knows better now but it’s too late. Which is why he left his mercury kit along with the note.”
    Walter said, “Are you saying he intends to poison himself?”
    “He already has. But the coup de grace... I don’t know what he intends. His mind is at times chaotic.” Shelburne touched his temple with his forefinger. “Even as a kid, he was uncontainable. Quicksilver was the right name for him—mercurial as hell when he didn’t get his way. And he never did, with our father. Whatever he did to impress Dad turned into a flop. And then he’d regroup and try again.”
    I glanced again at the photo, at Henry’s cool-guy squint. I wondered if he practiced it in front of a mirror before posing for the camera. Quicksilver: bright and shiny, squint-worthy, but difficult to contain. I turned to Robert Shelburne. “And you?”
    “The opposite. In fact, I’d say Dad was always trying to impress me .”
    “I mean, did you have a nickname?”
    “Oh. Yes. Henry gave it to me.” Shelburne shrugged. “Golden Boy.”
    ~ ~ ~
    “I don’t yet understand,” I said, “why Henry is suicidal now .”
    “Deep depression,” Shelburne said. “One of the many symptoms of mercury poisoning. And that’s on top of Dad poisoning. Dad spoon-feeds him the family legacy, berates him, Dad dies, Henry finds the legacy rock. All of sudden Henry’s the man. The mission, which he chooses to accept, is to find the source of the rock.”
    “Might he not succeed?”
    “What if he doesn’t? The final flop. Can’t even impress a dead man.”
    My heart squeezed.
    “Either way, he sees himself as executor of the legacy.”
    “Meaning, find the gold?”
    “Not just that.”
    “Then what?”
    “Finding what our father was after, for most of his adult life.”
    “Not gold?”
    “Gold, sure. But in the context of something more fundamental.”
    Walter, at my side, stirred.
    “I’m going to have to go in-depth here. Another backgrounder. Our grandfather—known as the great bullshitter—claimed to have found a hidden ore deposit, from whence this rock presumably came. There’s a letter, flowery, vague as hell, teasing. Full of boasts. My father ended up in possession of the letter. And he signed on big-time. Keep in mind, this had become the family legend .”
    “There’s no need to warn me