“No. Harley Simpson was the supervisor. He’s on the job, but he’ll be happy to talk to you. I asked him if anything seemed amiss. He said no, it was a simple planting. Nothing unusual.”
She scribbled a few notes, then continued. “You would give Frank work?”
“Yes. As I said, especially in the spring and fall. He used to be able to work a full day digging, planting, weeding. The last few years, Frank worked slowly. He weakened. I’d use him when we were overloaded and whoever was supervising the project could keep an eye on him. Actually, Marshall and Rudy would use him, too, at busy times. He was unskilled labor, but he could use a shovel or his hands.”
“Can you tell me what he might have done for Mr. Reese and Mr. Putnam?”
“Marshall used him on construction sites, especially cleanup, and Rudy used him occasionally, but the paving business is different. You can’t risk a drunk around hot asphalt, but when Frank was sober, Rudy did use him.”
A red oak passed the window, small, being rolled on a heavy dolly.
Paul said, “A useful tree. Even has a nice silhouette in winter. The wood is beautiful.”
“You grew up in this business?”
“I did. I always loved it. I like working with living things, like creating vistas or privacy. People are more sophisticated about landscaping than even twenty years ago, when all anyone wanted was Bradford pears—a lovely tree, mind you, but not particularly sturdy.” He smiled.
“I like to see the driveways lined in Bradford pears when they bloom, early bloomers.” Cooper knew a little bit about shrubs and trees, but not like Harry, who could rattle on. “Let me get this straight. You, Mr. Reese, and Mr. Putnam often work on the same project, so if any one of you had hired Frank, the others might know or see him on-site?”
“Most times, yes. I wouldn’t say there was camaraderie.” Paul shrugged. “He could be a surly S.O.B., but when he was younger, stronger, he put in a good day’s work. Mostly, we didn’t want him to starve.”
She looked straight at him. “I believe those former UVA athletes that live in Albemarle County often help one another or throw business to one another?”
“We do. I send new people to Nelson if they need a dentist. We all use him. If he wants some landscaping, he calls me. It’s pleasant to do business with teammates, friends.”
“Yes. Your business is the biggest of its kind in central Virginia.”
He smiled. “We are.”
“You’ve bought additional acreage over the years.” He nodded, and she continued. “And, if a teammate, even one who played later, wants land, you might sell it to him?”
“Depends.” He shifted in his seat. “I need good soil for a nursery. If I have acreage, say, at one end of a larger tract, not such great soil but good views, I might sell that. Most people aren’t going to farm. They want a nice house and views. But mostly, Deputy, I should have told you that in the beginning.” She gave a little wave of the hand, and he continued. “I don’t sell. The cost of land in this county is out of sight. I need it if for no other reason than I don’t have as far to haul equipment. You know that tree we planted at The Barracks? An independent contractor with heavy equipment would charge you three hundred dollars an hour the minute he fired up the engine. We can do these things for less, and one of the reasons is scale, economy of scale.”
“Like Walmart.” She smiled.
He laughed. “I’m not in that league, but yes, same principle. That’s the reason Marshall and Rudy and I work together. Marshall creates historic subdivisions, upscale. He researches the history. I research the gardens for the time. I do the landscaping. Rudy grades, bulldozes roads, puts in the drainage, and then paves. Rudy doesn’t need history.” Paul smiled, then continued. “Working as we have over the decades, we rarely miss, or perhaps I should say we rarely get in one another’s way. The work is smooth. We get along.”
“The homes, the yards and gardens you create together are lovely. I like that there is so much land for each home. They’re not jammed up together.”
“That’s Marshall.” He paused. “He’s adamant about privacy. Adamant about the provenance, the history. He puts up markers that are more complete than the state ones. Marshall’s are easier to read too. I enjoy the history, but Marshall loves it. He was one of Ginger’s favorite students.” He inhaled. “Frank was too, until he tried to run off with Olivia.
“In a way, it’s a sad story. She bounced back, married well, is happy. He hit the skids.”
“Everyone has mentioned that to me.”
“High drama.” Paul leaned back. “High drama as only young love can be. People at that time of their life can’t believe anyone has ever felt the way they do. When I met Anita, I couldn’t eat, sleep.” He grinned. “Lovesick but, you know, she somehow liked me and I asked her to marry me before she came to her senses.” He laughed heartily. “This year will be our fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
“Congratulations.”
“Most of us, the team from 1959, married wonderful women. When I see the divorce rate, I don’t know. I felt things begin to unravel in the early seventies, and, well, I just don’t know. I was raised that there’s no back door to marriage, so choose with care. Maybe we were all lucky. No drugs. Drinking, yes, but no drugs, none of the anger that came later. Well, I’m off the track. Sorry.” He inhaled again. “And I’m sorry for Frank. A man given great gifts and he threw them away.”
“Yes. It certainly seems that he did.” She closed her notebook. “Mr. Huber, can you think of anyone or any reason why someone would kill Frank?”
“I? No, unless they thought they were doing him a kindness.”
April 29, 2015
Late Afternoon
“An act of kindness?” said Cooper as she walked Shortro, a young athletic Saddlebred, on a lead rope behind Harry, who was walking another one of the brood mares into a stall.
“Well, maybe it was, Coop. I’m sure other people might feel that way.” Harry slipped off the halter, hanging it outside the stall.
Cooper, having done the same, followed Harry into the tack room, where Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker slept on fleecy saddle pads. Harry had tried cozy dog and cat beds, which they had ignored. The fleece saddle pads it had to be, so Harry used old ones, washing them once a week. Much as Pewter might complain, the two cats and one dog really were a little spoiled.
Coop sank into the director’s chair as Harry sank into hers.
“Tea? Coke? A beer?” Harry offered.
Cooper shook her head. “No, thank you. I was so struck by Paul Huber’s comment that I had to stop by on my way home from work. What do you know about Huber?”
“Not but so much. My parents knew him, of course, and his father. Paul Jr., is midway between their age and mine. I like him. He does outstanding work. The company wins landscape design prizes.”
“Can you think of any reason he might have to kill Frank? After all, the body was found at his job site.”
Pewter, eyes open, crabby, as her nap was being interrupted by chatter, grumbled, “I found the body.”
Tucker, awakened by the cat muttering, lifted her head. “I did.”
An altercation began, hisses and barks rising in decibel level.
“Will you two shut up!” Harry said and glared.
“She’s always taking credit for my work.” Tucker’s ears drooped.
“You! Bubblebutt. Ha! I’m the brains of the outfit. I found the exposed ankle before you did.”
“I dug his foot up!” Tucker growled. “I could smell him under the dirt.”
Harry again glared, this time pointing her finger at the two, who finally shut up. Mrs. Murphy turned her back on the lot of them. She had only so much patience.
Focusing her attention on Cooper, Harry replied, “I don’t think Paul Huber could have killed Frank even if it was a mercy killing, which I very much doubt. Granted, you never really know for sure about anyone, but he doesn’t seem the type to commit murder, hide the body, an
d then on top of that be stupid enough to hide it where he’d just planted a river birch.”
“Yes, there is that, though the killer could hardly guess some nosybody would be snooping around there.”
Harry ignored that. “Frank hardly qualified as one of life’s useful or positive people. He aroused pity or disgust—all the more so from those who remembered his glory days. To most people walking along the mall, he was just another reeking drunk.”
“Harry, clearly, more than a pain in the ass. He was a threat. Irritating people are rarely killed. Too many of them, and too much trouble cleaning up.”
A wry smile played on Harry’s lips. “I don’t mind cleaning.”
Cooper smiled in return. “I’ve even thought that perhaps someone considered Frank a threat to Olivia.”
“The only people who knew about that were Olivia, Susan, and myself. Olivia didn’t tell her sister or mother. She was too embarrassed about going to the mall. Oh, and we ran into Sandy McAdams off the mall, so Sandy knew.”
“M-m-m.” Cooper rose. “I think I will have a beer. Mind?”
“Go ahead.” Harry nodded at the tack room’s fridge.
“Want one?”
“No.”
“I owe you a six-pack, and God knows how many tins of tea I owe you.”
“Coop, you don’t owe me a thing,” Harry said as Cooper sat back down. “Olivia lives in New Orleans. She’s safe.” She paused. “Is it safe to assume this is connected to Ginger’s murder?”
“They knew each other. Had a terrible falling out. Frank hated him. Confessed to a crime he didn’t commit.”
“Did you go back to the golf course, find the stump I told you about? I wanted to go with you, but I’m not a member and Susan told me not to call you. Said I was seeing things, jumping to wild conclusions,” Harry said.
“I did. Late in the day, just enough light to see. Better not to be a presence at Farmington.” Cooper took a long pull on the bottle. “I saw the spike marks. I’d say a man’s size ten-C. Two feet pointing toward the murder fairway, which is how I now think of it. Could be relevant. Could not, and I haven’t had time to catch up with you, especially with this latest murder.”
“Frank had to know something, and so did Ginger. These murders don’t bear the mark of thrill killings or extreme hatred. The corpses weren’t mutilated. It was just two shots. A silencer. Ginger drops. How did Frank die?” Harry asked.
“Stabbed. We’ve sent the remains to the medical examiner, but the damage was easy to see once we dug him out of there.”
Harry grimaced. “You know, I hope he was so drunk he didn’t know what was happening.”
“Me, too.” Cooper put the bottle on the desk after folding her handkerchief under it.
“Let me try something.”
Immediately wary, Cooper said, “What?”
“The homeless down on the mall, I spoke to one of them, Snoop, because he was with Frank when Frank screamed at Olivia.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I wasn’t sure he knew anything important, but I thought I might go back and talk to him more.”
“Harry, that’s my job. And neither of us knows the level of danger involved in this investigation.”
“Snoop won’t talk to you. He’ll see the uniform and that will be it.”
Cooper considered the wisdom of this, nodding as she pulled out her card from her uniform pocket. “When you’re finished with him, give him this. Just in case.”
“I will. I’ve already given him my card. I thought I’d take down a basket of food. The man is rail thin. Actually, I like him.”
—
Just before sunset, long rays of sunshine turned old brick buildings coppery, rooftops glowed; there is no light quite as beautiful as the slanting afternoon rays of spring or fall. Harry carried a wicker basket. At her feet, Tucker wore a little backpack filled with a water bottle for her, and one for Harry.
Seeing Snoop once again sitting on the large planter, she waved. He smiled as she reached him.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Harry said.
“Is that for me?”
“Is.” She flipped up the hinged lid, pulled out a fat ham-and-cheese sandwich.
Peering inside, he smiled. A little cooler took up a corner.
She plucked out a grapefruit fizz drink. “Not booze, but pretty good.”
“Thank you.”
She sat beside him, and together they ate the sandwiches. Harry gave Tucker small pieces of ham. “Heard about Frank?”
He nodded, mouth full, swallowed, then said, “Killed. That’s the word down here.”
“Knifed.”
Snoop looked across the mall. “He never did anything that bad.”
“Someone thought he did.”
Snoop shook his head. “Except for that one time he blew up at that lady, you saw it, he never troubled nobody. Didn’t even panhandle. If someone tossed money in his jar, fine. If not, he blinked and didn’t say anything.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“The day after the big funeral, he said he ran away from the halfway house and knew the sheriff would be looking for him. The next day, he sort of checked in. Asked if they’d been looking for him. I said no. He figured he still couldn’t stay around here. Said he was headed down to the construction site around the hospital.”
“Seems like there’d be too many people over there.”
Snoop shook his head. “There’s no one around at night when they’re under construction. You sleep with a roof over your head. Same here in town. After that, I figured he’d eventually get out to one of the county subdivisions—no one around at night. Four walls and a roof. Keep you dry if it rains.”
“Think he walked?”
“Could. He was still cleaned up from his stay at the halfway house. Hadn’t had anything to drink, so he didn’t smell like old booze. Someone might have given him a ride.”
“How did he seem?”
“Okay” came the brief reply.
“Did he have any interests?”
The question caught Snoop off guard and he laughed. “Besides drinking?” When Harry nodded yes, he said, “I knew when he was going to read because he’d clean up.”
“Why?” Harry couldn’t understand what cleanliness had to do with reading.
“The library. He didn’t want to get thrown out. He’d go on these jags. Go most every day for a week or two, then pick up an odd job, stop.”
“Ever go with him?”
Brownie in hand, Snoop smiled. “Ma’am, I’m not a reader. But Frank was educated. Some of us graduated from high school. Some not, but Frank was, I think, the only college graduate on the mall. Could be wrong. We don’t much talk about stuff like that.”
“I see. Well, did he ever tell you what he was reading?”
Snoop thought for a minute. “Once he said whoever writes a book isn’t dead. Never thought of that. He liked history stuff.”
Harry smiled, watching him enjoy the triple-rich brownie. “Ginger was a history professor,” she said.
“What’s the dog’s name?”
“Tucker.”
“She’s watchful.”
Harry grinned. “She is one of my best friends.”
“I protect her,” Tucker spoke.
Snoop reached down to pat Tucker’s glossy head. “What kind of dog is she?”
“A Pembroke corgi. Like the Queen of England has.”
His eyes twinkled for a moment. “Good choice.”
“Snoop, do you still have my card?”
“Do.” He reached in his back pocket, retrieved it.
She reached in hers, handing him Cooper’s card. “Here. I know she’s a cop, but she’s my neighbor and a solid friend. Straight up. If you need her, if there’s trouble, call. She isn’t going to drag you off.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know, but there’re two murders close in time, two men who knew eac
h other, even though that connection ended back in 1975.”
“Ma’am, the professor was at one end, and Frank was down here. I don’t see how they can be connected, and I don’t see how it can touch me or any of us.” He swept his hand to indicate the others who more or less lived on the mall.
“Snoop, I hope that’s true. But if someone is frightened or needs to protect something, that person might think you know more than you do. Be watchful like Tucker.” She paused. “Actually, Snoop. Be really careful.”
February 20, 1781
“One, two, three, heave!” Charles commanded three other men, who helped him pick up one end of a huge log.
The four men on the other end labored to raise it as Charles and his side did. They eased this heavy burden onto a horizontal pile of three logs, staked perpendicular with other narrowed logs. They had no iron nails, and pegs didn’t work to secure the sides of a new barracks. Given the lack of tools, chains, or nails, Corporal Ix figured the only possible solution was to drop logs between two stakes. The difficulty was in driving narrow logs that had their ends cut to a point into solid ground. Still, they did it. Hard work helped ward off the cold when lifting or chopping, but once a man stood still, the winds cut to the bone. Better to keep at it.
Each new barracks being built had an outside fire to warm men between tasks. The prisoners would run up, hold their hands to the fire, even lift up their freezing feet.
Every few hours one man from each of the work parties would return to his barracks to feed the fire. When the day’s work was finished, at least they would be able to walk into a somewhat warm room.
And the new barracks would ease the overcrowding.
Dark gray clouds bore down on them from the north, having rolled over the Blue Ridge Mountains. Charles was learning to read the weather. Winter in these climes, harsh as it may be, he could bear. It was the New World summers that tested man and beast.
The log settled on top of the others.
“Sir,” Corporal Ix called from the other end of the new side, “we need the pulley and the rope is frayed.”
“Damn,” Charles muttered under his breath as he walked over to the rudimentary pulley that the Hessian had created.
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