William sat on the tarp leaning up against the stacked wood, which smelled clean, good. “I know where some of the money is, in the stables. Silver in the house. No point taking anything heavy. Selling those bridles taught me that. We need what we can carry but you, well, you should have brought more. Why should I risk myself for thirty dollars?”
“You aren’t risking yourself, William. We’re both good hands with horses. If this girl takes you to the money, like you say she will, we’ll have enough to get clear of here, way clear of here, and hire ourselves out. Then we can make good money.”
“Lots of money in Philadelphia. Lots of people wanting to show off their driving horses, racing even.”
“Long way away.” Ralston shifted his weight, for the ground was hard even with the tarp. “I listened at Cloverfields. Listened to Barker O talk, some of the others. They say there’s no slavery in Vermont.”
“Well, why go that far? I said the money is in Philadelphia.”
“Is, but we have to pass as free men.”
“We say we are. There was a reward out for me. No one caught me. We can do it.”
Ralston asked. “Why’d you come back?”
“Sulli. I’m taking her with me.”
“You didn’t tell me that. She’ll slow us down.” A flash of anger crossed Ralston’s face.
“No she won’t, and she knows where the money is, where some of the jewelry is. We need her.” He took a long moment. “She belongs to me. You touch her, Ralston, and I’ll kill you.”
“Shit.” Ralston shrugged, the picture of noninterest.
This changed when Sulli, shawl over her head, snuck out to the woodshed, whistled low. William whistled back. She hurried into the shed, basket on her arm.
“Sulli, this is Ralston.”
She cast her light eyes on him, which shone even in the night light. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He put on his best behavior.
“Will, here’s food for both of you, two old sweaters. It will be colder tonight. I’ve got to run back. Elizabetta is cracking the whip because the Missus will be back in a week or more but soon. Elizabetta has sat on her fat ass for months. So now we all got to make up the time. Dust windowsills, wash every pane of glass. Would be easier to keep working, but that is one lazy woman.” She paused, a mischievous grin. “She’ll be easy to fool. Woman is dumb as a sack of hammers, which is why I think Miss Selisse uses her.” She glanced outside. “I’ll slip down tomorrow.” That said, she melted into the darkness.
William folded back the towel. Ralston wanted to grab whatever was in that basket but he waited.
The two sat side by side and ate.
“The Queen Bitch will be back and we’ll be out of here. The best time to ransack the house for money is during church. Sulli will beg off sick. She’ll show us where the house money is, in a box, she says. Shouldn’t be anyone in the house. We can bust it open and go.”
“But what if someone is in the house?” Ralston wanted a better plan than that.
“We give them some money and go.”
“Never work at Cloverfields.”
“This ain’t Cloverfields. Everyone on Big Rawly hates that woman. They’ll smile to her face, that’s for sure, but no one will turn on us unless we drag them into it. I don’t want no help other than Sulli.”
“Right.”
* * *
—
That same night at Cloverfields, Barker O walked to Bettina’s cabin, told her about the stolen money from the stable.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish, but I’m sorry it cost you.” The powerful woman sat opposite him as the rain pattered on the shake roof.
“He only got what I had rolled up in a saddle pad. Rest is in my cabin. Enough.”
“You’re a man who gets tips. All deserved.”
He smiled. “I try. I’m not telling the Master, not telling Miss Catherine about the money. Find him, bring him back, he’ll steal from us again.”
“Yes. I mentioned that to Miss Catherine because Mr. Ewing was furious. Wanted to put out signs, a reward. She talked him out of it. Miss Rachel, too. Said, ‘Father, let him steal from someone else.’ ”
“William, now he’s clever. Ralston, not exactly dumb as a post but close.” Barker O shook his head. “If they get caught, I don’t know.”
“Won’t be killed. Too young.”
“Well, Bettina, you’re right. They could work but even if separated, neither one is worth squat. I figure they’ll be sold to Miss Selisse’s birth territory, down there in the waters, and worked to death.”
“The Caribbean.” Bettina filled in the name he couldn’t remember.
“Damn fools.”
“They might get away with it.” Bettina heard a crack. “Thunder. I’ll be.”
Barker O looked out the little window. “They’re holed up somewhere.”
“What makes me fret is our young people. Running might look good to them. Where you run to is another matter, but the idea of being free…Oh, as Miss Catherine would say, ‘a siren’s song.’ But if they start slipping away we’ll all pay for it. Even Mr. Ewing has limits.”
He nodded, face serious. “Well, Bettina, that’s the thing, isn’t it? When you’re young you don’t think of anyone else.”
Indeed.
17
April 20, 2018
Friday
Sitting in the tack room, Harry checked her email. A missive from Mary Reed appeared announcing that the Hounds F4R Heroes would go on as scheduled: Bassets Friday, April 27; Beagles April 28 and 29. She mentioned that no new information was available concerning the murder of Jason Holzknect. The board decided the cause was too important to postpone, and it appeared that his demise was not related to the Institute.
Harry picked up the old phone and dialed Susan.
“Hey.”
“Hey back at you. Did you read Mary Reed’s email? I just did.”
“Me, too,” Harry replied. “She sent it out last night, but I was making up lists of ideas for homecoming and didn’t check until this morning.”
“Same here. I was at a fundraiser,” Susan clarified. “Not for Ned. We’ve got another year before that, but for the Emily Couric Cancer Center. I didn’t invite you because you give to the Women’s Center. If I wrote checks to every organization asking for money, I’d be in the poorhouse.”
“Wouldn’t we all? There are good organizations out there. I pick what’s closest to me, like Hounds for Heroes.”
“Ditto,” Susan agreed. “I’ll call Liz Reeser. I’m assuming we can rent the cabin again. I sure hope so.”
“If not, let me know. I’ll call around. I think the Institute will be pretty full. Maybe that was one of the perks of the job,” Harry replied.
A deep breath later, Harry asked, “I Googled Jason. Did you?”
“No.”
“More information about his career, how important his work was in Ankara. There was a photo of him, maybe in his early forties, at a conference table. He was standing just behind our ambassador. The other men at the table, all men, represented different countries, and they, too, had a primary assistant behind them.”
“He didn’t talk much about it,” Susan remarked.
“Probably because the rest of us wouldn’t understand it or because we all talked about hunting, as did he. On his Facebook page, still up, he appeared in white tie at a Paris hotel, obviously another big conference, some of the same faces appearing in the background. He certainly ran in rarefied circles.” Harry stared into the distance for a moment.
“Switch gears. Homecoming,” she stated.
“I put Mags Nielsen and Janice Childe as cochairs of the hospitality committee, hoping that will direct their energy and they won’t be, shall we say, so questioning,” Susan told her.
“Good idea.”
They chatted some more. Then Harry hung up and dialed Cooper, who was driving to work.
“You’re the early bird.” Her neighbor teased her.
“Both are. But there’s more light in the mornings now.”
“Is, but I still get up in the dark.”
“Will you do me a favor?” Harry’s voice rose slightly.
“Depends on the favor. If it involves my work, again depends.”
“It does, but let me explain. You know a man was killed Sunday up at Aldie and Susan and I were there.”
“I know what you told me.”
“Coop, is there any way you can nose around as one law-enforcement officer to another? We have heard not one thing. Maybe the sheriff’s department up there has found something. The reason I ask is Susan and I will return there Friday the twenty-seventh and stay through the thirtieth. We’ll be helping with Hounds for Heroes and I, well, I’m not afraid, but I believe whoever killed Jason was working that day with all of us.”
Cooper braked for a stoplight, the morning rush hour in full swing. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The sheriff’s department in Loudoun County put Cooper through to the chief investigator for the county on the case. Cooper told the deputy, her counterpart, about her neighbor and asked forthrightly, as she should, was Harry in danger concerning the upcoming Hounds F4R Heroes?
“There’s always the possibility of danger,” Mark Jackson replied. “But we don’t anticipate it during Hounds for Heroes.”
“Given what my neighbor Harry Haristeen told me about finding the victim near the tractor, confirmed by her best friend who was there clearing trails also, this seems to be someone who was there or who knows the ground intimately.”
“Right. This is in the initial stages, but the one question we return to is his business. Jason Holzknect operated and owned a very successful Maryland Toyota and Lexus car dealership outside the D.C. Line. He was negotiating to buy a Volvo dealership and he had the funds, had the backers.”
Cooper mused. “The car business is ruthless, but I don’t think it’s that ruthless.”
“As I said, he had the money. What we’re focusing on is potential investors. We think there’s a connection. There was the drug-running conviction some years ago concerning a salesman. The money is interesting.”
“So often comes down to money, doesn’t it?”
“That or someone’s fried on drugs or drunk and starts throwing punches.”
“Deputy Jackson, thank you. I assume some law-enforcement people will be at Hounds for Heroes?”
“Actually, we would be there anyway and our armed forces recruiters will be there, too. Veterans of Foreign Wars will be there and the American Legion.”
“Sounds like everyone will be safe, including the hounds.” She joked and he appreciated her humor.
No sooner did she end the call than the dispatcher called her. “Officer Cooper, St. Luke’s Lutheran Church.”
“Right.” Cooper turned on the siren and lights.
“Attempted break-in just discovered when the pastor unlocked the door, which was 7:50 A.M.”
18
September 30, 1787
Sunday
The faint sound of beautiful singing intermittently drifted up to Sulli through the open window at Big Rawly. Given that the night had turned cold, the window, allowing just a gap of daylight, let in the sound with a slight breeze.
In general, Maureen Selisse Holloway, driven and ruthless as she was, thought her slaves singing and praying on Sundays quite a good thing. The Old Testament, that paean to monotheism, justified dictatorships, one-man rule. Justified slavery, too. Her late husband ran the place with her help, but she was in charge and everyone knew it. Her father, who used the same methods, equally impressed her. Being a widow would have been a form of freedom, but when Jeffrey looked at her with that handsome face, those sensitive eyes, well, a lady must live. So he was her screen. Everyone knew, of course, but fictions must be preserved.
In Sulli’s hand were topaz earrings, a lovely but modest necklace, no large stones.
“Where’s she keep her jewelry?” William wanted to get out before the service ended.
“Elizabetta has the key.”
“Where’s the stuff?” he demanded.
Rather than argue with him, Sulli glided through the main room, Ralston in tow, moved into the hall and down to the small pantry. She turned left, stood at the top of a solid wooden stairway leading down to a root cellar. Halfway down the stairs a metal door, large, filled part of the wall.
“It’s in here.”
“Even if we had a crowbar, we couldn’t open that.” Ralston’s jaw dropped.
“Dammit!” William turned, nearly knocking over his beloved, and charged upstairs. “There’s got to be something we can turn into money.”
“Tack?” Ralston thought.
“Too much to carry. The pieces you brought me were hard to sell. We need jewelry and cash.” He turned to Sulli. “Everyone has a box of money to pay little things.”
Sulli wordlessly walked to the kitchen and opened a drawer. “Household stuff.”
He pulled the drawer all the way out. Some scrip and coins rested in the bottom. He scooped them up.
“William, we need to get.” Ralston knew that while services were long, more time not to work, they weren’t that long.
“We need two heavy coats,” William ordered Sulli.
“Wait here.” She left, returning with two woolen jackets, dark gray, plus a beige one for herself and a scarf.
William sighed, taking a jacket from her. Ralston also lifted a jacket off her arm. If Ralston had thought about this, he would have realized William didn’t have much of a plan. Sulli tried to come up with useful items, but what could she do? Big Rawly, well run, treasures locked away or hidden, would yield little.
“Do you know where the key is to the wall safe?”
Sulli stared at William. “Around Elizabetta’s neck.”
“Why can’t we wait until she comes back? We can tear that key off her neck.” William rubbed his hands together.
“She’d scream,” Ralston sensibly noted.
“Put your hand over her mouth and I’ll hit her upside the head.”
“William, don’t be stupid. Everyone on this place would turn against you.” Sulli may have loved him and believed he loved her, but she was beginning to doubt his intelligence.
“She serves Maureen. Who would care?”
“She’s not like Sheba.” Sulli had known Sheba since she was a child and Sheba was hateful to everyone, including children. “She does the Mistress’s bidding, but if she can help without that witch knowing, she does.”
“What’s that to me? We need things to sell.” William nearly spat.
“We can steal along the way.” Ralston wanted to get moving.
“He’s right.” Sulli smiled at Ralston.
“Goddammit.” William stalked off, looking over his shoulder. “Well, come on.”
Walking behind hedges and trees, fall now obvious, they headed down to Ivy Creek. The idea was to go east-northeast, to get through Virginia and Maryland. Once in Pennsylvania they could decide whether to keep moving north or find work with rich horsemen. Pennsylvania boasted fine carriages, and people needed good hands with horses.
Running to freedom. Three young people, Ralston sixteen, Sulli eighteen, and William twenty-two. They weren’t just running to freedom; they would find money, maybe even fame. Silk breeches awaited them and patent leather shoes with gold buckles. Low-cut dresses with sheer lace bodices and exquisite bonnets, such fine things to adorn young heads. The world beckoned.
19
April 20, 2018
Friday, 8:50 A.M.
Harry, Cooper, Reverend Jones, his an
imals, and Harry’s shone a bright light on the door to the back of the church itself, which sat in the middle of the arcades.
“Pretty primitive.” Cooper knelt down.
“Whoever did this splintered the wood.” Reverend Jones knelt down beside her.
“Amateur. If someone knew what they were doing, a true break-and-enter robber, this would have been easily popped if carrying the right tools.”
“I’ll buy a new lock and install it today,” Harry offered.
“Actually, Harry, let a locksmith do this, and while he’s at it, let him check all the exterior locks. These doors, locks included, have to be forty years old.”
“Cooper, the doors are from 1787. The locks, yes, they’ve been updated,” Harry replied.
“Update them again.” Cooper stood up, as did Reverend Jones. “You have crosses, candelabra, expensive embroidered vestments. The chalice alone is worth a fair amount of money. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Have the locks changed on your house, too,” Cooper suggested, a bit forcefully. “You don’t think about it, but everything in this church, even the baptismal font, is from right after the Revolutionary War.” She smiled. “And your office, Reverend Jones, well, Victoriana.”
He smiled back. “It is. I will call today.”
“Do you have any idea what they wanted?”
He shook his head no.
“Harry?”
“I do have an idea. I wonder, are we stirring the pot? I wonder if this isn’t about that body, or more likely the jewelry. It’s not here, but whoever is trying to get in doesn’t know that.”
“Possibly.” Cooper raised her eyebrows.
“I believe the jewelry belongs to the church. We should sell it and put the funds into our small endowment,” Harry said.
“Set aside some for treats. We work hard,” Elocution, one of the Lutheran cats, meowed.
Herb picked her up, rubbed her ears. “Well, I hope not. Keller and George has been extremely helpful keeping the jewels, but maybe we should move them or give them to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.”
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