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a film about some of the local historical sites. As a matter of fact, that's the reason I am on this road. I received a phone call about someone who lives in Keystone that supposedly has some information about my family history. But when I got there, I discovered that there was no such address."

"Weird!"

"Seriously! But if I hadn't gone, I wouldn't have been here to rescue you."

"That's true," I said. "Can I repay you by buying you lunch?"

"You can do better. Come with me this Saturday when I do my film of the historic walking tour."

"Awesome!" I answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. Playing hard to get was never one of my talents.

"Great," he smiled. "The tour starts at 11 at the Breckenridge Visitor's Center. Let's meet for breakfast at 10, at the Prospector."

"Sounds good" I answered. When I returned the bike, William was no longer at the store. A young clerk with a nose ring asked me if I had the rental slip. I told him that William didn't give me one.

"There's no William here," he yawned.
"But I met him this morning!"
"Whatever," he scowled. "At least you returned the bike.

Upon returning home, I opened the door and heard the insistent ringing of my telephone. Caller ID told me it was my mother. "Hi Mom," I chirped. We chatted for a few minutes, while I told her the events of the week, conveniently leaving out my unfortunate bicycle accident. When I told her about Timothy and the historic tours, she seemed interested.

"You know, Jennifer, you have ancestors from Breckenridge."

"I do? Do you know anything about them?"

"Not really. They were on your father's side of the family. Your dad discovered some old letters in his grandfather's house. Something about a rock collection that would be offered as a dowry for his daughter's wedding. It seems that your great grandfather was quite the explorer, and those silly rocks were worth quite a lot of money. Unfortunately, the daughter, your great aunt, died in some kind of riding accident. It was right before her wedding, the poor dear."

"Yikes!" I said. "I'd better be careful. Not that I plan to get married anytime soon."

"Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans," she answered. Mom had a tendency to strangle me with her pearls of wisdom.

On Saturday morning, I sat with Timothy in the Prospector Restaurant on Main Street. "Is this the place that was supposed to be haunted?" I asked.

"So you know the story of the ghost of Sylvia," he laughed.

"I read that this was once a boarding house, where a woman named Sylvia lived.

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