Surprised, Catherine answered, “She is.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” he somberly replied.
“It doesn’t, but we can’t put her name on anything,” Catherine said.
“We can place slate over her grave. She’s in the servant’s graveyard with the others, right?” Rachel asked.
“That’s where Bettina said they buried her. We’ve all promised never to speak of Ailee or Moses or any of this. I know of no other way.”
“Well, let’s do it, then,” Charles resolutely said. “Ewing’s had his lunch now and is smoking his second pipe of the day.”
Ewing looked up from the broadsheet he was reading. Bettina had been informed when Catherine walked through the back door. Bettina sent Serena to fetch Ruth.
The four sat down with Ewing, who was aghast at the sordid story. Why should they take this baby? The girls pleaded. He thought it highly irregular. Someone else can raise an illegitimate child. They also told him they’ll use the cousin tale to protect the townswoman so close to home.
Ruth came in with the girl. She held the baby for Ewing to see, and at that very moment, the baby girl opened her eyes, appearing to look directly into Ewing’s. She managed a tiny smile. He smiled back. Then he held out his arms. Ruth put the baby in his arms. Ewing Garth had fallen in love at first sight.
That sundown, Ewing visited his wife’s grave. He told her everything.
“I don’t know if I did the right thing, but, my love, is not life the most precious thing?”
As he spoke, a great blue heron flew overhead, looked down at him, uttering his croaking call. Ewing believed his wife had answered him.
Within six weeks of Rachel and Charles taking in the baby, Ruth being the wetnurse, Rachel became pregnant. It took Catherine and John a bit longer, but Ewing’s dream of having a house filled with grandchildren came true.
Marcia West, as Rachel and Charles named the adopted baby, grew into a unique beauty, famed for her cat eyes. She lived a fabled life, bequeathing to her own offspring two things: high intelligence and a physical weakness impossible to control.
Monday, August 22, 2016
Flags across Virginia flew at half mast. Governor Holloway’s funeral cortege started at the statehouse. Various civic worthies praised him. Edward Cunningham delivered a fulsome speech in which he promised to continue the work of his grandfather. Subdued though it was, the whiff of campaign clung to it. His sister Pauline and her husband and children had flown in from Montana, and she, too, gave a short speech with an engaging story about her grandfather teaching her to fish. She caught one, cried when she pulled it out of the water and saw it wiggling. So Sam took the hook out of its mouth and threw it back, saying he hoped the fish was a Democrat. Millicent chose not to speak.
Finally, the motorcade rolled down Monument Avenue as people lined the streets to say goodbye. Some knew him. Others remembered him from their youth, and for others, it was a good excuse to get out of work. A parade is a parade, even when the lead vehicle is a hearse. The overcast day could have been hotter, but it was hot enough.
Once out on I-64, cars pulled over as the police motorcycles preceded the funeral cortege. Some people honked their horns as a farewell. Most watched, and those who remembered his career felt the breath of time passing.
Two hours later, due to the slower pace, the line of vehicles had thinned out to twenty. The shiny black hearse pulled up to the graveyard. A tent placed by the open grave offered shade. Penny and her children and grandchildren sat under it. As childhood friends of Susan’s, Harry and Fair sat in the rear, along with some of Eddie’s old friends and Pauline’s. Oliver Wendell Holmes sat at Penny’s feet.
The graveyard service, the true Episcopal funeral service, was brief and dignified. It seemed a more-than-fitting goodbye to a war hero, a public servant, a man who made his mistakes in public, finally learning from them. Sam was a man who continued to serve, even out of office. Any historical group could depend on him. The Miller Center for Public Affairs benefited from his presence, as did the American Cancer Society, which he and Penny supported fully. Given the many eulogies spoken in Richmond, none were spoken here. The huge spray of lilac-tinged roses, Sam’s favorite flower, covered the walnut casket. Bound with gold and white ribbon, it was taken off and the casket lowered into the earth.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—”
A Navy honor guard fired volleys, and then, instead of taps, a bosun blew a ship’s whistle, which the governor had requested in his precise funeral instructions. He didn’t want eulogies, but given his status, there was no way to avoid that in Richmond.
Millicent Grimstead was on one side of her mother, Pauline Cunningham on the other; the three women walked slowly back to the house, where the parting reception would be held. Susan fell in behind her mother, as did Eddie, the spouses behind what Sam always called “my girls.” How alike they looked.
Harry had often noticed this, but it truly struck her at this moment.
When Harry’s parents were killed in an auto accident, she came home from Smith to find that Miranda Hogendobber had arranged everything. Susan had also come back from her own college to help. Millicent and Penny stepped in, too. Pauline had already moved out of state.
Looking around, Harry saw so many friends of Susan’s, from all over the country. As was the custom, in a time of crisis or sorrow your friends stand by you.
A TV camera rolled at a discreet distance. Sheriff Shaw, Cooper, and others on the force remained on the periphery. Other officers tended to traffic out on Garth Road.
Once inside the house, Harry found Mignon, a hat covering her bandaged head. The new part-time nurse, Rebecca Coleman, was also there. The place was bursting at the seams.
After an hour, Harry asked, “Susan, do you need anything?”
“No,” Susan replied. “It’s wonderful to see this tribute to G-Pop.”
“And G-Mom, too. People love your grandmother.”
“Harry, if only I knew why he went out to the Avenging Angel. It haunts me.”
“Don’t worry about that now.” Harry kissed her friend on the cheek. “We can think about it later. Do you think your mother or G-Mom need anything?”
“No. I thought Pauline’s tribute exactly what G-Pop would have liked, him throwing back the fish because she cried.”
“Yes. Even Eddie behaved,” Harry said.
“More or less. He did promise to carry on G-Pop’s legacy. He could have concentrated on G-Pop and not said a word about his sorry self.”
“Susan, there’s no such thing as a politician who cannot talk about himself. It’s a form of malaria—once bitten, it forever recurs.” She half smiled.
“I used to hate funerals. Now I understand it’s the respectful way to say goodbye.”
Harry agreed.
—
As Harry walked down the hall lined with ancestors she noted a grieving Wendell Holmes at the foot of the governor’s chair.
Walking in, she knelt down to pet the sad dog. “Wendell, you made him happy.”
“He was my poppy,” the springer spaniel moaned.
“You have to take care of Penny.”
“I will,” Wendell promised.
Harry stood up. The door connecting into Mignon’s tidy workspace was open. She heard rummaging. Going over and looking in, she saw a focused Mignon opening the long desk drawer, shifting papers inside.
“Mignon.”
The young woman, without looking up, said, “I’m remembering things. Ha! Got it.”
Mignon held up a thumb drive as Harry came over to her. “I put everything on this, including sensitive information which I didn’t put on the page. I wanted to talk it over with the governor.”
“Let’s get this to Cooper right away without calling attention to ourselves if we can.” The two women moved through the crowded rooms surreptitiously, until finally locating Cooper.
Mignon took the deputy’s hand, placing the thumb drive in it. “Found it. I remember I m
ade it.”
Expression unchanged, Cooper slid her hand into her pocket. “Thanks. I hope this tells us what we need to know.”
—
Later that night, sitting on the sofa, cats around her, Tucker at her feet, Fair sitting across from her in the deep club chair, Harry said, “It was a good sendoff, wasn’t it?”
“Was. I expected more raking his political career over the coals in the media. I’m glad they didn’t. Nothing to be done about it now. It’s not like he was Governor George Wallace.”
“Governors have to deal with Washington’s messes, don’t they? I mean, if there are budget restraints, the federal tap is turned off, the states can’t print more money. The federal government can print whatever they want. Any Supreme Court decision, the states get it in the neck. No matter what that decision is, there are those for it and those against. To me the biggest difference between the president and a governor is the governor actually has to solve problems, has to look his constituents in the face. Presidents can add another layer of Secret Service people, plus the usual phalanx of flunkies.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way, but you’re not far off, I guess. But the president deals with foreign policy. If there’s a wing nut anywhere in the world, he or she deals with it. Well, some don’t, but then the next guy is stuck with an even bigger mess.”
“Maybe they’re all cowards. At least Governor Sam wasn’t a coward.”
“Honey, I know equine health. Politics, I don’t know anything anymore. It all seems crazy to me.”
“Crazy, I think that’s why I can’t settle myself. That man crawled out to the Avenging Angel, the last yards he crawled so he could sprawl over those two tombs. I think he was trying to tell us something.”
Fair wrinkled his brow. “I can’t imagine what.”
“There’s something in that cemetery. Why was his nurse Barbara killed? And Mignon hit over the head and her computer stolen? You know, well, you didn’t know, that Susan’s mother was taking the computer home at night. And why was Crozet Media broken into? Whatever it was, the governor figured it out.”
“Then why didn’t he just come out with it?”
“Maybe he didn’t know until it was too late. Whatever it was, someone else knew. Had to.”
“Never thought of that. What could be so dangerous? Fraud? Robbing state funds? Misconduct while in office, bribes, that sort of thing?”
“He may have been wrongheaded, but he wasn’t a crook. Samuel Holloway was an old-time politician, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, but he wasn’t a crook.”
Fair thought about that, then replied, “It is hard to imagine him stooping that low.”
“Could he be protecting someone else?”
Fair put down his book. “If he would protect anyone, it would be Penny. Even if he caught Eddie with his hand in the till, he’d turn him in.”
“Exactly. Eddie has the most to lose. I know Eddie is behind this somehow. If he’s been on the take, he’s darn good at hiding it. Of course, he could have an offshore bank account.”
“That would come out sooner or later. Look at how our government browbeat the Swiss bankers.” Fair thought allowing some crime is better than criminalizing many activities.
“Putting money in offshore accounts does not necessarily signal a criminal,” Harry replied.
“Honey, are you thinking that the governor did not die a natural death?”
Stroking Mrs. Murphy’s cheek, Harry thought for a moment. “Why take the risk? He was close to death and his decline has been sadly apparent. Maybe he was pushed along but not actually killed? The only reason to kill him would be if he were planning to spill the beans before he died, make a clean slate of it. If our killer knew the governor’s condition, maybe he provoked his death with overexertion, something like that. He goaded the governor, who would die without a mark on him other than his needle marks from all the shots. It could happen. What I really think is that whatever it was he knew or wanted us to know, maybe he wanted it to come out after he died. Maybe to spare Penny. Fair, something’s just beyond reach.”
“If it is as you might think, then who is in danger now?”
“No one, I would think, unless someone else knows or has an idea. The computer is gone. Whatever was at Crozet Media might be gone. Barbara Leader is gone.”
She thought for a moment. “But Mignon found her thumb drive. She could be in danger, but only Cooper and I know.”
“Then it’s medical. If that’s your list.”
“Huh?”
“The one person killed is the one person with medical knowledge.”
“The man was dying of leukemia. How could that affect anyone else?”
“Maybe it was more. Who knows? Maybe he had AIDS. Something like that could be a bombshell. And you know, more and more older people are contracting HIV.”
“Now I’m more confused than ever.”
“Maybe that’s for the best, honey.”
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
“I can’t ask her that.” Susan shook her head. “I know she won’t do it.”
Harry walked over to Susan’s bay window as they retreated inside due to the heat. “It would be terribly upsetting to exhume the governor, but what if he was killed?”
“Given his tenuous hold on life, whoever did it would be stupid,” Susan countered. “Again, given his deterioration, why kill him?”
“If I knew that, I’d have this figured out. Okay, what if he wasn’t directly murdered? But whoever was in the house, whoever knocked Mignon over the head, knew that violent exercise or even a brisk walk, given his state, would hasten his death. I talked about that to Fair, and the more I think about it, the more I think I’m on the right path.”
Susan rested her chin in her hand. “Well, given how quickly he was failing, I’d think any extreme exertion would stop his heart.”
“It’s possible that G-Pop heard Mignon get hit. Think about it. He tries to protect her, chase down the culprit, but his heart gives out.”
“It would be like him to protect her.” Susan turned this over. “It might be, but we shouldn’t say anything to G-Mom, or my mother, for that matter. They’re really feeling the loss. Give them time. I take that back. Until you or I find something, we shut up. They’re going through enough.”
“But what if your mother and grandmother find out whatever it is that created this mess? Then they’re in danger.”
“Harry, if they were in danger, we’d know by now,” Susan resolutely said.
“Not necessarily. Let’s try this. We go through his office.”
“Harry, I can’t go over there and root around my grandfather’s office at a time like this. You expect me to ask G-Mom and Mom? Come on, now, be reasonable.”
“She’s right,” Mrs. Murphy, sitting on the floor with Owen, Pewter, and Tucker, affirmed.
“There is another way. G-Mom and your mother run errands, have lunch, sometimes even play a few holes of golf on Tuesdays. Let’s drive by and see if their cars are gone. We go in and see what we can find.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“We aren’t stealing anything, we aren’t harming anything. We’re double-checking in a way that won’t disturb them. I’m willing to bet your grandmother wants to keep to her routine. It’s consoling.”
“And what if they come back while we’re there?”
“First, we go to Ivy Nursery, buy a lilac, his favorite bush. If they come, we run out back and begin planting it.”
“The lilacs have bloomed.”
“So we’re planting for next spring. Buy some mums for now. They won’t think anything of it, and it’s better than flowers from the florist.”
Susan smiled. “Have you ever seen so many flowers?”
“Overwhelming, and your grandmother sent them all to cancer wards for both adults and children here and in Richmond.” Harry’s voice softened. “Here she is losing her partner of—”
“Sixty-eight years.” Susan f
illed in the number.
“Sixty-eight years and she’s thinking of others.”
“Flowers can be shredded or chewed, but people should have sent more food. Mrs. Holloway would have given some to Harry,” Pewter opined.
“Doesn’t mean she’d share with you.” Tucker raised her eyebrow.
“The kitty-in-distress routine. Works every time,” Pewter bragged.
Noticing that Pewter was preparing to flop on her side and utter piteous cries, Owen ordered, “Don’t you dare. Not in my house.”
“Spoilsport,” Pewter said and huffed.
“Susan, come on. Let’s hit up the nursery. It’s ten o’clock, hot, and will get hotter. If we do have to plant because they’re in the house, it will be tolerable. If we get to go through his desk and they return, we’ll be doing it in a full furnace, but it’s worth it.” Harry made this decision for Susan.
“Well—”
“Susan, it can’t hurt!”
“All right. All right.”
Susan complained the entire way to Ivy Nursery and the entire way to Big Rawly.
“They aren’t here!” Harry jubilantly remarked. “Let’s take the lilac and the mums out back, pull out the shovels, so if they return all we have to do is zip out back.”
“Why do I let you talk me into these things?” Susan said, carrying the mums.
“Because you know there is something. I’m right. We just have to figure it out.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
They put the lilac and the mums under the shade of a large old poplar, then scurried back inside.
The governor’s library office smelled like his cologne with a dash of bourbon. The two cats and two dogs followed them into the office. Wendell had gone with Penny and Millicent.
Harry took charge at the desk. “You cruise the side drawers, I’ll pull out the large center drawer.”
Susan pulled out a double drawer, two front handles, but it was one big drawer inside. Down on her knees, she sifted through hanging file folders.
Harry lifted out a blueprint for a new potting shed. Underneath that were car and truck titles.
“He had a truck title going back to 1952!” Harry exclaimed.
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