Rushville's Gold Coin Murders
by
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The four men in Chief Rhodes office heard the painful wail of an ambulance as it tore down the quite Rushville streets to Monroe and Madison. The chief dialed the dispatcher and received the information on what had happened.
"Gentlemen I trust you will secure the coins if I don't get back, there's been a hit and run with a small child and I'm needed. For a nano-second a dark cold dagger pierced Brenden's heart when he heard the words but he knew she was at home, she would not disobey him and besides his men have a 24/7 watch on her. Picking up the next coin he started again what was becoming a labor of love.
Half an hour later Brenden barely heard his assistant as he spoke. "He doesn't look so good boss."
"What!" Brenden said as he looked up from the coin he was photographing.
"The chief's coming back and he don't look good." Brenden pulled his head away from the coin to see the chief entering the room, an expression of sorrow and pain etched on his face. At the same time he saw past the chief's shoulder as two of his own agents, grim faced, come charging through the front door with guns drawn. Realization struck Brenden like a bolt of lightning and his knees began to buckle as the chief reached his side.
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About the Book
Rushville, a small sleepy farming community in the middle of the state of Illinois awake to the gruesome murders of two of its citizens in the early summer days of June. In the following days as the F.B.I. and Secret Service swarm over the town the citizens learn the dark secret of their oldest resident.
Gold coins, with dates that the United States Mint has no record of minting, have surfaced one hundred years later. Three murders have been committed because of the coins and more lives will be lost in the coming days as the Sercret Service tracks down one lead after another. They find that all leads are traced back to the United State Mint more than one hundred years ago.
About the Author
For his eighth book the author travels back to Rushville, Illinois, the town of his youth. Through his old eyes the author takes in the various places that look and feel so different than they did when he was a young boy growing up in the blissful innocence of the 50's.
Stopping by a vacant lot he let his memory wander back to the countless hours he spent on this spot inside the now torn down high school as he practiced for hours with a basketball in his hands. Listening intently he could almost hear the sound the ball made as it hit the hardwood floor over and over before the satisfying swish as it hit its mark.