A bad penny, p.1
A Bad Penny, page 1
A Bad Penny
The Penny Chronicles- Volume 1
Olivia Gaines
Front Matter
Davonshire House Publishing
PO Box 5027
Augusta, GA 30916
THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.
© 2024 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin
Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell
Cover: Corbin Media
Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Charles Corbin
ASIN
ISBN:
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 5027, Augusta, GA 30916.
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8
First Davonshire House Publishing June 2024
Also by Olivia Gaines
The Blakemore Files
The Delgado Series
Killers
Yunior
Becoming the Czar
The Technicians Series
Blind Date
Blind Hope
Blind Luck
Blind Fate
Blind Copy
Blind Turn
Blind Seed
Blind Side
Blind Spot
Night Blind
Love Thy Neighbor Series
Walking the Dawg: A Novella
Through the Woods: A Novella
Life of the Party: A Novella
A Blue Christmas: A Novella
Kisses in the Snow
A Whyte New Year (2024)
Modern Mail-Order Brides
North to Alaska
Montana
Oregon Trails
Wyoming Nights
On a Rainy Night in Georgia
Bleu, Grass, Bourbon
Buckeye and the Babe
The Tennessee Mountain Man
Stranded in Arizona
Maple Sundaes and Cider Donuts
Moonlight in Vermont
Sunflowers and Honey
Katherine Moves to Kansas
Down Home Cooking
Husking For Nebraska
Show Me
Hawkeye, Goldfinches, & The Farm
Penny Chronicles
A Bad Penny
A Penny Saved
A Penny Earned
The Zelda Diaries
It Happened Last Wednesday
A Frickin’ Fantastic Friday
A Tantalizing Tuesday
A Marvelous Monday
A Saucy Sunday
A Sensual Saturday
My Thursday Throwback
Slivers of Love Series
The Deal Breaker
Naima’s Melody
Santa’s Big Helper
The Christmas Quilts
Friends with Benefits
The Cost to Play
A Menu for Loving
Thursdays in Savannah
DEDICATION
For you...thanks for trusting me with your time and imagination.
“The world doesn’t make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do?”
-Picasso
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To all the fans, friends, and supporters of the dream, as well as the Facebook community of writers and journaling junkies who keep me focused, inspired,
and moving forward.
Write On!
Contents
Front Matter
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prelude
Prologue
Chapter One- Disagreeable
Chapter 2 - Nasty
Chapter 3 - Distressing
Chapter 4 - Unsatisfactory
Chapter 5- Adverse
Chapter 6- Unfavorable
Chapter 7 - Unwelcome
Chapter 8 - Dreadful
Chapter 9 - Regrettable
Chapter 10
Download the Clue Pack
Book Club Questions
About the Author
Upcoming Releases
Follow the Series
The Society of the Golden Orb
Welcomes you on this newest adventure.
Please, turn the page and we shall begin.
Prelude
Throughout history, men have sought treasure. Explorers, adventurers, academicians and professors, have slid into the crevices of the Earth in search of gems, stones, and gushes of liquid wealth. However, it never matters how deep one digs because usually, what they find is simply a reflection of themselves.
Films, books and more have been written on the escapades of these voyagers into the uncharted. Books from childhood cases by Stevenson as Jim Hawkins fiddled his way around Treasure Island. Movies riddled with greedy men seeking gold in the Sierra Madre with Bogart in the role of Fred C. Dobbs was only the beginning of swashbuckling adventure stories. Long before Michael Douglas dove into the water after the croc to retrieve the gem in Colombia, Allan Quartermain was on the job in 1885 in Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines.
We have seen the adventure retold over and over. The hero always comes out the victor, but not every treasure found is good for the soul. On the same note, not every damsel is a good girl waiting to be rescued. There are stories where the damsel is the one who causes the distress, because she is simply a bad penny always turning up at an inopportune moment.
Keywords: [ bad, penny, treasure hunter, adventurer, academician]
Prologue
The Victorian home of Philoneus Mason sat in the far corner of Kearney, Missouri on a patch of land once rumored to be owned by Frank James. The rumors floated around the stolen gold of the Red Legs from the Confederacy taken by Frank’s brother Jesse and hidden away in the soil in Kearney. Frank, believing the gold to be on the land, purchased the dirt-rich property, each day sectioning a new area, digging, looking, and searching for the gold. Frank James died penniless. Over the years, new fortune hunters came looking, and one of Jesse’s former gang members shot and killed the man for the ten-thousand-dollar bounty. Jesse was survived by his wife, who was also his cousin, Zerelda, named after Jesse’s mother. Jesse, also buried in Kearney, was survived by four children: Mary, Gould, Montgomery, and Jesse E. Mary went on to marry Lafayette Barr and had four children. One of the four, who passed in 1977, had children, but it was his cousin who made the story truly interesting when he purchased Frank’s property and began to build around the original small home.
Jason Barr was rumored to have found a map—the location of the treasure of Jesse James. He shared the concept of the gold with a lifelong friend, Roger Sellers, who invested in fortifying the old homestead. The untimely and unusual death of Barr left many questions for those closest to the man, but no one questioned the validity of the claim implemented by Sellers on the property, as he was the primary investor in refurbishing the home.
It began to be an oddity as Sellers started to build the Victorian home in the middle of nowhere, around the original house. Contractors wanted to know why the man was not interested in tearing out the old rooms of the house but insisted on sheet rocking over the old walls and then building around the older structure. Sellers claimed the move ensured the historical integrity of the original property for which, at a later time, he would apply for a historical marker for the home.
Sellers never followed through. In the nineties, he began treasure hunting as if he too were in search of the lost treasure of Jesse James, as well as a few other fortunes. In the early part of the twenty-first century, Sellers earned enough credibility to become a member of the Secret Society of the Golden Orb, an organization built around treasure hunters, seekers, and historical detectives. One such detective, Philoneus Mason, who reached the rank of High Explorer, took Sellers under his wing.
Fate being a fickle lover—one day the air blossoms with the pheromones of love, the next day, everything stinks to high heaven, it took less than a year for Philoneus to move into the Victorian home with Sellers after a trip through the Yucatán Peninsula, discovering a small trove of artifacts along with a few gold coins. The newfound camaraderie and the valuable insights gained during the trip prompted Sellers to fund an expedition, Fred Dobbs style, through the Sierra Madre Occidental, seeking silver. A small wellspring yielded a year’s salary for both men, and the partnership began. Five years later, in Potosi, Bolivia, while searching for gold, Sellers was bitten by a Cochabamba lance head viper, dying a painful death in his tent during the night. Ironically, additions were made to the Victorian home through funds supplied by Philoneus; therefore, no one questioned his rights to the house, which, oddly enough, had his name as a co-owner on the deed.
Still a High Explorer in the Secret Society of the Golden Orb, Philoneus lessened his adventures into jungles and places without running water. He spent more time in auction houses, searching for old books. He took a vested interest in acrylic painting and soon rarely left the home. Upon his death, the Secret Society of the Golden Orb sent a Magister to assess the collection of antiquities in his home.
This is where our story begins.
Chapter One- Disagreeable
Dr. Fredrick Quartermaine, a Magister of the Secret Society of the Golden Orb, was also, by profession, an archivist and an antiquarian. His love of art and maps made him the perfect person to validate much of the collection of Philoneus Mason, who had recently died with no living heirs. The will, once read by the attorneys, bequeathed all of his earthly possessions to the Society to be used as they ‘saw fit.’ It would be at the discretion of Fred Quartermaine, who held advanced degrees in history, library science, and archival sciences, to validate the materials in Philoneus’ home. He’d only met the man once and immediately disliked the beady-eyed bastard. He felt put out by the society to come to Missouri to go over the materials in the man’s home.
Philoneus was a hoarder. Worse than that, he was a bad collector who had rooms and rooms of books of no value that collected dust and a dozen of crates of black ink, which thus far, Fred could not see where the man had used any of it.
“This sucks ass,” he said under his breath.
“I would rather be in a cantina in Mexico with some young thing wishing to suck mine,” his assistant, Lana Hawkins, said.
She was a fine right hand who fancied herself to be a bit of a Lara Croft wannabe but leaned more towards an Eva Rojas. The primary issue he took with his assistant was her roaming eye, a non-discerning roaming eye that fluttered anytime a pretty face entered the space. Normally, it didn’t faze Fred; however, this was a big job.
“Lana, there are six rooms on this floor alone with items shoved in every nook and cranny,” he said, exhaling. “I hate having to stay in the creepy-ass house for three months, but we have to catalog everything in here, plus the IPS and ink analysis of the documents to determine age and validity. Please focus on the task at hand.”
“Before the three months are over, the task will more than likely be by my hand since this town doesn’t seem to have much happening,” Lana grumbled. “How is a hot, sexy, single gal like me supposed to keep herself entertained?”
“The work should be entertaining enough,” Fred replied, heading for the library. The door barely opened all the way for him to get the bulk of his body through the entry. “This man is a jerk. I said it. I said it out loud and I meant it. He died and left all of this for some poor sap to riffle through, sorting out his life. Enter the sap. The sap is now rifling.”
The sheer amount of dust in the room was enough for him to open the windows to let in a breeze. A desk and work spot would need to be cleared to start the testing of the papers without sending the materials to IPS, the acronym for Integrated Paper Services, based in Appleton, Wisconsin. Most of the work he could do on the spot with his handy-dandy fiber and ink testing kit he’d created himself. The patent was pending on the process, which would and could cut down on the time required to validate books, maps, and other archival-worthy papers.
As he stood by the window, a heady perfume floated by. For a moment, the anger and frustration of the assignment left him as his mind wandered, remembering a night, many years gone by, in his youth. It was a passionate night with a girl his age with a bit over-the-clothes action with a hot release that was not by his own hand, a first for him in a time long ago, making him momentarily nostalgic. The smile was still etched at the corner of his lips when he thought of Romana Pilkin, who was not his actual first, but the one who had allowed him to hold a real-life boob.
“That must be some memory you have there, big guy,” a sultry voice said as he looked up. No one was in the room with him. He looked out the window, and standing at the base was a woman, who carried the heady scent on her skin.
“Yeah, I tend to get lost in my own head,” he said, looking at her. She was bad news. Everything about her indicated she’d be the woman to screw your brains out, then cook half of the grey matter and serve it to you on a plate while she smiled and watched you cannibalize yourself. “Can I help you?”
“I’m hoping to help you,” she said, offering a smile. “Dr. Penelope Dobbs, archaeologist, archivist, antiquarian, and general treasure hunter. You have a colossal job in front of you and many hands make light work.”
“Light fingers also make many hands want to wring my neck,” he said, staring her in the face with no expression.
Her eyebrows arched suddenly, and the sex kitten act she employed shifted to a woman who was all business. “Excuse me? I come offering to lend you a hand with my impeccable credentials, and your first thought is that I am a thief?”
“It was my second thought too,” he said. “Plus, your reputation precedes you, Dr. Dobbs, in all circles, including the Society of the Golden Orb. Your kind of help I don’t need.”
“But do you want it?” she asked, shifting back to the sex kitten approach. “Don’t you want me in there with you, getting covered in dust, rifling through the pages, looking for hidden gems? I could begin the testing, then over a bottle of the good stuff Philoneus kept in the cellar, we could end the evening as friends.”
The offer was tempting, as was the woman, but Dr. Penelope Dobbs wasn’t a good person. On her best day, she was only half-decent and would steal a nickel from a homeless child if it were worth a dime. However, Fred Quartermaine was not one to believe in hearsay. He’d let her actions speak for themselves when the time came, but now was not the time. As he opened his mouth to reply, his assistant Lana barreled through the door.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked, walking over to the window and peering out. “Harpo, who dis?”
“That is Dr. Penelope Dobbs,” he said, offering no other commentary.
“Oh shit, not the bad Penny herself,” Lana sang, happy to see the woman under the window. “Dang, you’re even sexier in person. Are we inviting her in? Can we invite her to dinner? I saw some bottles of wine in the basement. A few glasses of the good stuff, and I know she’s going to make a move on one of us. I hope it’s me. Please, let it be me.”
“Lana, don’t you have a room to clear?”
“I wanna play with the sexy lady,” Lana said, pouting.
His attention was directed at Lana, and he took his eyes off Dr. Dobbs. When he turned back, the woman was no longer standing under the window. Both he and Lana leaned out and looked around, trying to determine where she’d gotten off to, but the heady scent of her perfume was no longer outside. The scent was now inside the room with them, along with the woman.
“How in the hell did you get inside the house?” Lana asked, pressing her hand to her chest.
“Easy, I opened the damned door and walked in,” Penelope replied.
“Don’t I have to like− invite you in or something?” Lana wanted to know.
“Darling, I am not a vampire,” Penelope said, turning her attention to Fred. “Dr. Quartermaine, or Fred, if I may be so casual with you, is there something between you and this woman?”
“It’s Dr. Quartermaine to you, and Lana is my assistant,” he corrected.
“Good.”
“Good, what?”
“It is good there is not a relationship there other than professional, so she will not be in my way,” Penelope said.
“Be in your way for what, Madam?”
“The sultry nights we are destined to share as I help you sort through this mess,” she told him, dropping the overnight bag she carried.
“Listen, this is a contracted job, and everything in here belongs to the Society. Those attorneys sifted through every single word looking for any claims against this estate, which means you can get your little bag and hot night of lies out of the door,” he said, pointing at the entryway like she was a dog who had made a mess on the floor.
“Listen at you sounding all tough,” she said, moving around the room. “I’m bored. Plain and simple. Life has very little that excites me anymore, and I’m bored out of my mind. This looks interesting. I have the credentials, and if we find anything good, let’s share the adventure. Don’t you want one last hurrah before settling down, getting married, and having a few pups of your own?”
“How do you know I’m not already married?”
“Sir, you don’t even have a steady hump in your life for weekend decompression,” Penelope told him. “I’m thinking, all of that backed up in you and a good pair of tits for you to suckle at night, and a girl couldn’t ask for more. Let’s connect. Let’s be one.”
Lana took a step forward, and Fred pulled her by the arm. “What? If you don’t want to climb on that ride, I sure as hell do. She seems like a fun night!”
