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Saturday, June 27, San Francisco Francisco Hector Deville Leered at Gracie Travis Castellanos over his wine glass with the confidence of a man who owned half of San Francisco's Montgomery street and let his eyes rest on her cleavage a few seconds longer than good manners permitted Gracie. She had inherited the family name from her long dead mother, Eleanor. A grace and Travis Castellanos was glad the turquoise gown she had worn for tonight's show was like all her stage costumes modestly cut, but she tensed at the Devilishly handsome financiers blatant appraisal. Your uncle Eustace has set you up for a big fall. If you swallow his stories, the or fear is no great shakes. He just didn't want to admit it. He swirled the red wine in the glass, spinning the crimson liquid right up the rim without spilling a drop. Then bent, sniffed the bouquet and sipped. He ran his tongue slowly along his upper lip after he swallowed as an acting display, it ranked up there with Edwin booth. She thought and it provoked the desired result. She was a mouse being toyed with by a feral cat as he eyed her tapping his glass with long manicured fingers. You may be young and beautiful, but I don't think you're a fool. They were seated in her performers sitting room at mcguire's Opera House on Washington Street. Her glass of soda sat at her elbow beside the riotous oranges and pinks of the last night bouquet on a low coffee table. The final curtain had fallen on a great run of full houses. She, the popular chanteuse sharing the spotlight with a French magician who pulled rabbits from hats. She had plopped into a backstage armchair with a grateful sigh. When the stage manager announced aviles uninvited arrival, his cheek astounded her. She'd never met him before, but he was a well known benefactor of the arts and she knew she owed it to theater owner, Tom mcguire to play the welcoming hostess. She took a slow sip of her soda. So you knew Eustace, she made it sound like a casual inquiry, but she could barely suppress a groan at the needling stab of uncertainty that twisted inside her. At the mention of her uncle's name, Bachelor. Eustace Montford was no blood relation but an old family friend of her mother's. She couldn't honestly recall if she'd ever met him. Life had turned to chaos after her mother died when she was nearly five years old and she had never seen or thought of the man until three months ago when a Sacramento solicitor advised her, Eustace had bequeathed her some shares in an old partly worked out gold mine in the Sierra Nevada mountains. The solicitor had explained that the mine had closed a year ago. She had no idea whether the shares were worth anything and she didn't know anyone she could trust to advise her. So she'd done precisely nothing but locked them away in a safe deposit box. Nor did she have a clue why Eustace had got it into his head to leave her. Anything particularly a shut down mine. Eustace, he settled back in his chair. I handled some cargos for him when I was still at sea. He partnered up with sir John Russell, as you probably know. But he didn't have the killer instinct for deals. It was the romance of it all that got him fired up. Really? I don't know about the romance but the lawyer indicated Eustace had high hopes for the fear. My point. Exactly. The fear closed down a year ago because it wasn't paying its way and he couldn't afford to keep working. It. Does that sound like a great proposition? He cleared his throat and frowned its of passing interest to someone like me who already has machinery and men to work it. But to anyone else, too much expense with a low chance of a good payout. Gracie felt like a fragment of rock being flushed down hill under a hydraulic flux. She was calculating whether she could resist the momentum or if she should go with the flow. When she heard a child's whale outside the dressing room door, she was on her feet in alarm as the nanny burst in without knocking Gracie's four year old adopted daughter on her hip. Gracie turned to Deville and with as much authority as she could muster, shouted over the noise, Mr Deville, a domestic emergency. I'm afraid we will have to continue this conversation later.