Cherry Blossom Capers

by Gina Conroy

  “Your kid plowed into me. He broke the telescope. Your purse was stolen and house ransacked. Each time I was minding my business and there you were, Tsunami Sam. Did you think maybe I have better things to do than rescue you?”

  Samantha’s chest ached. “You’re right. You never should’ve gotten involved.”

  “I didn’t say that. Just stay away from Sparks.”

  “He’s a suspect?”

  “At the top of my list with his name flashing in neon lights.”

  “Where’s the evidence?”

  “He ducked inside a lab with some guy to discuss a special project. Their conversation sounded suspicious.”

  Maybe Nick’s machismo-flexing yesterday wasn’t about her. Maybe Cody was guilty.

  “I’ve said too much. I need to check things out.”

  “If I talk to Cody, maybe he’ll explain.”

  “If Cody’s clean, I’ll be first to apologize, but if he’s not, if you keep snooping, you’re gonna get hurt.”

  “Fine. I’ll keep away from the investigation for now, but I can’t stay away from Cody. He’s my boss.”

  “Then be careful.”

  Samantha nodded. How dangerous could attending a church service be?

  Nick hurried to the staff parking lot where the guard allowed him to park his Jeep. One minute Samantha played the damsel in distress. The next, she morphed into the Iron Giant, obliterating anyone in her path. He slipped in the driver’s seat and pulled his laptop from underneath. After searching the Smithsonian’s paleobiology staff, he found his guy. Kyle Timmons, department head. The perfect cover for an artifact smuggler.

  He dialed Dispatch. “Tony, anything on Newberg?”

  “The kid’s clean. Whatcha working on?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “We’re gonna get involved sooner or later. Spill it.”

  “No can do. I need concrete evidence. Then it’ll go to Courtland.” “FBI?”

  “I’ve got another name.”

  “Not sure I can run it through without drawing attention.”

  “Sure you can. I need addresses and a criminal check ASAP on Kyle Timmons.”

  “When ya coming back?”

  “Didn’t say I was.”

  “Face it. It’s in your blood.”

  In his blood. He’d heard crusty old cops spout the mantra, but never understood until now. Maybe it took time away to see it. To feel it. To realize not even a transfusion could get the cop out of his blood.

  He convinced himself he took a leave of absence to kick his addiction, but the reason he quit wasn’t because of painkillers. It was because of the pain.

  Timmons exited the building and entered his Duster.

  Adrenaline swooshed through Nick’s veins. How could he pretend he was anything but a cop? Until he met Samantha, he’d been walking out his death sentence. Now he ached to be on the other side of the bars. He couldn’t bring his family back, and he’d forever welcome the guilt, but police work pulsed through his veins.

  Timmons drove off.

  If Nick stood a chance at being a respected cop again, he had to find the forger.

  Samantha hesitated outside paleobiology at the Museum of Natural History and listened. Reaching for the knob, her heart quickened. She eased the door open and tiptoed inside. Fluorescent lights stung her eyes as she stared at casts and fossils littering worktables. She sighed. Empty. With sweaty palms she closed the door, switched off the overhead lighting, and turned on a table lamp. Where should she search for evidence of Cody’s innocence?

  A bang sounded from the rear of the lab. Samantha’s heart thundered.

  Someone else was in the room.

  Chapter 6

  Samantha crouched below a table in the paleobiology lab and listened. Silence. Had she imagined the noise? She peeked toward where she heard the bang. A dimly lit object caught her eye. Washington’s telescope?

  With pulse throbbing, she grabbed a chisel from the table and waddled toward the telescope, the tool poised in her shaking hand.

  A strong hand clamped her forehead; another snatched the chisel. She screamed.

  “Sam?”

  “Nick?” Fear left, but Samantha’s heart raced. “You scared the life out of me.”

  “Good!” Nick examined the chisel. “What do you think you’d do with this? Anyone could use it on you like a letter opener.”

  “Thanks for the nightmares.”

  “Serves you right. I told you to stay out of it.”

  “Obviously I didn’t listen.”

  “Like mother, like son,” Nick mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Since you’re here, you might as well help.”

  Samantha headed for the telescope.

  “That’s mine.” Nick pointed to the desk near the door. “Look for invoices. Appraisal quotes. Anything related to the sale of an artifact.”

  Samantha slumped away. Why was Nick keeping her from the telescope? She flipped on the lights. Nick had the time and resources to steal it. Maybe he hired someone to replicate the original. She peeked at him searching through some drawers and quieted her suspicions. He said he’d worked at Mount Vernon less than a month. Not enough time to orchestrate the forgery. Samantha searched the cluttered desk, then moved aside books on wood restoration and gasped.

  Nick rushed over. “Everything okay?” His hand on her arm gave her unexpected chills.

  She shoved a paper at him. “Proof Cody’s not involved.”

  “An invoice for a refurbished rocking chair? Keep searching and don’t scare me again.”

  “Why are you stuck on Cody’s guilt?”

  “You said the artifact should be at the Museum of American History. Why is it here? Why was Cody here talking to Timmons?”

  “Professor Timmons?”

  Nick’s eyebrows raised. “You know him?”

  “Cody introduced us yesterday.”

  “See, something’s not right.”

  “All I see are two professionals in a working relationship.”

  Nick shook his head. “I know the ladies drool over the cowboy type, but I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Samantha’s face flushed. She turned away, huffing and puffing, ready to blow the desk down as she riffled through papers.

  She’d prove she was nobody’s fool.

  Nick returned to the telescope as Samantha attacked the desk, throwing papers around like grenades. How could Cody blind this intelligent woman?

  True, Nick had no evidence against Sparks. Carole might’ve asked him to follow up on the telescope, and Nick might’ve been fueled by jealousy. There, he admitted it, but that didn’t mean he’d pardoned the cowpoke. Though it did move him one spot lower, bumping up suspect number two.

  “Let’s go.” Nick nudged Samantha toward the door.

  “Where?”

  “To find your kids so you can take them home while I continue the investigation.”

  “Tara drove them home.” Samantha smirked. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

  The twenty-three-mile drive to Fort Belvoir took over an hour on a Saturday afternoon filled with DC traffic. Nick didn’t mind the drive or Samantha’s silence. It allowed him to strategize.

  After exiting Route 1, he entered a well-to-do neighborhood and parked in front of a two-story colonial way beyond a tour guide’s price range. Samantha reached for the handle.

  “Before you charge off, let’s cover the rules.”

  “Rules?” Samantha’s neck turned pink.

  “First, let me do the talking.”

  Samantha’s mouth opened.

  Nick held up his hand. “Second. Don’t say a word.”

  “That’s the same rule.”

  “Third, keep your mouth shut.”

  Less than ten seconds later, Samantha broke the rules.

  Nick stopped. “What part of ‘Don’t say a word’ didn’t you understand?”

  Samantha stomped up the steps and stood behind Nick as he
rang the bell. Nick Porter was infuriating. Althea answered the door in black slacks and a red blouse. A modern contrast to her eighteenth-century costume.

  Nick introduced himself and Samantha, but when she didn’t recognize them, he continued. “We work at Mount Vernon.”

  A polite smile creased Althea’s expression. “Come in. Would you like some lemonade?”

  “Yes, please.” Nick held the door open, then stepped into the entryway.

  “Make yourselves comfortable in the library.” Althea pointed to the right, then disappeared to her left.

  Samantha lingered, mesmerized by the great room. Grand piano. Marble tables. An ornate mantel over the fireplace. How could a docent afford this home? Samantha elbowed Nick and pointed to the family photo above the fireplace.

  Althea didn’t own the home.

  Samantha entered the library lined with three walls of books while Nick dawdled in the hall. A book on the table in the center of the room drew her attention. The Knave of Hearts by Louise Saunders. She opened it. First edition, signed. Her palms perspired as she held the book, remembering the story from college.

  Carefully, she flipped through illustrated pages and recalled a line she’d memorized. “We are distracted by violence, we are deceived by hypocrisy, until only too often villains receive the rewards of nobility and the truly great-hearted are suspected, distrusted, and maligned.”

  She remembered how the seemingly low knave wasn’t a thief and became the hero who rescued Lady Violetta by supplying her with the tarts that won her the crown. “Nick?”

  Standing by the picture window, he turned to her.

  “I want to apologize for interfering.” She wet her lips. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  She showed him the book. “Something I read reminded me I should trust more.”

  Nick took the tray from Althea and placed it on the table between the two leather chairs. “Please sit, Ms. Washington.”

  Samantha settled in one chair, Althea in the other.

  Nick rested on the arm of Samantha’s chair and whispered, “Watch and learn.”

  He gulped his drink. “Fresh squeezed?” Time to establish a baseline of truth, but Althea nodded instead of answering.

  “Let’s get to the point.” Althea’s crossed leg bobbed. “You’re here because I touched that book.”

  Nick set his glass on the coaster. “I’m here on a matter of security.”

  “I’d never take anything. My ancestors were slaves on Washington’s estate. I volunteer every summer to be near my heritage.”

  Nick braced for wild eyes. Nothing. “I’m not accusing you. We need your assistance to prevent that from happening.”

  Althea leaned forward. “How can I help?”

  “Could an employee steal from the mansion?”

  “People working there want to preserve history, not steal it.”

  “Not everyone is there for noble reasons.”

  “Several students from NOVA take summer jobs. I can’t imagine them stealing.”

  “Any vulnerable spots?”

  “Due to cutbacks, there’s less staff in the mansion and security patrols the rooms. Security and janitorial staff have keys to the mansion. Employees go through background checks, but you know all that.”

  Althea’s nonverbals showed she was nervous, but about what? “Mind if I use your restroom?”

  Nick followed Althea’s directions to the bathroom, then hurried past to where he guessed she roomed. Bingo. Bed made. Room neat. Laptop on table. Nick booted it up. Not much on desktop. Games. Document folder. He clicked it open. Recipes. Althea’s memoirs? Nothing suspicious.

  Nick powered off the computer and searched the nightstand. A worn black Bible. A newer book, An Imperfect God: George Washington, His Slaves and the Creation of America. A tattered book with an illegible inscription and date. 1775. The year before the revolution? Did Althea take it from the study? Could Althea be the Mount Vernon thief?

  Nick snapped a photo of the books with his cell. Samantha’s voice rose in the hall. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  Then Althea. “I’d better see if he’s lost.”

  Footsteps pounded. Althea’s humming got louder. He returned the books and slipped behind the door. It creaked open. No way he’d talk himself out of this. “Nick?”

  “Sam!” Nick exhaled. “Where’s Althea?”

  “In the laundry room.”

  Nick peeked out. “All clear.” They tiptoed through the hall.

  Samantha stopped at the bathroom. “I’ll catch up.”

  “No rush.” After realizing Althea’s affinity for old literature, he needed to poke around the library. The perfect place to hide stolen books.

  Lavender permeated the air as Samantha dried her hands on the embroidered towel. Reapplying her lipstick, she noticed a magazine in the basket on the floor.

  Archaeology Today with Mount Vernon on the cover. She turned to the showcased story. The article detailed more than sixty thousand artifacts excavated from the brick-lined root cellar below the slave quarters from 1984 to 1991. Beautiful photographs brought this dig to life. The array of domestic artifacts and food remains provided information about slaves who lived on the estate.

  Their current excavation site wasn’t far from this one. Uncovering one significant artifact could propel her career forward.

  So could finding the forger.

  Though a bit quirky, Althea seemed a devoted employee curious about her ancestry. Nothing more. She returned the magazine and noticed a prescription bottle in the trash.

  Althea Washington, haloperidol. If Althea took this medication and had run out, that might explain her bizarre behavior. Samantha jotted the prescription information on a receipt from her purse. Maybe Althea warranted further investigation.

  After Althea apologized to Samantha for not showing them out and disappeared in the kitchen, Samantha found Nick slumped in a chair in the library.

  “Interesting spin on a nursery rhyme.” He waved at The Knave of Hearts.

  “There’s always more than one side to a story.” Samantha sat.

  “Reminds me of Hoodwinked, the cartoon about Little Red Riding Hood told in different points of view. Turns out the big bad wolf wasn’t the villain.” “It was the bunny.” “I pegged him early.” “Fairfax police training at its best?”

  “Doesn’t take a detective to recognize a suspicious character.”

  “What about daredevil granny?” Samantha laughed. “I think I enjoyed the movie more than my kids.”

  “Me, too.” Nick’s levity broke.

  “You have children?” “Had.”

  Samantha froze. She never thought… Why did she ask? “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—“

  “Their death was my fault.” Nick’s voice held no emotion. “He’d be six this summer.”

  “On our tenth anniversary, we learned Angie was expecting again after trying for years.” Nick sucked in air, barely able to breathe, but compelled to spew. Confession wouldn’t purge his soul, but it might clear his head. “We stopped at a convenience store. It was snowing. Angie asked me to leave the motor running. I knew better. Walked in on a robbery. I blocked the door. Shouldn’t have intervened. Thought I could protect them. Didn’t think about the rear exit. He shot me. I fired. Hit him, but he escaped—in my car.” Nick swallowed, holding back tears. “He killed my family.”

  Samantha’s gasp drew him from the scene, winded and numb as if he’d experienced the horror for the first time. After a year and a half, he couldn’t shake the emotions. Or the guilt.

  The warmth from Samantha’s hand resting on his arm resuscitated his soul.

  “Oh Nick. I’m so sorry. I blamed myself for my husband’s death. If I hadn’t asked him to get a movie on the way home, he’d be alive.” Tears brimmed.

  She understood.

  Nick didn’t know how much time passed, but in the quiet moment in a suspect’s home, something shifted.


  Maybe confession was good for the soul.

  After Nick learned about Althea’s empty prescription from Samantha, they drove in silence. An hour later, Nick searched the house numbers of Alexandria’s most crime-ridden neighborhood. Each neglected shack spawned a jungle of bushes separated by chain-link fences. A visual reminder of the mess in his soul.

  What had made him spew? Ever since he met Samantha, ever since her son nicked open his heart. Ever since he started helping her, his soul began to itch like a scab, healing from the inside out. He wasn’t sure whether to pick it or leave it alone.

  He banished the psychobabble.

  The old book found in Althea’s room with the haloperidol fueled his suspicions of her. Later, he’d dig into Althea’s medical condition, but first he’d fry another suspect.

  Nick parked in front of a gray house with broken shingles. Johnny Newberg needed money in a bad way.

  As they walked the cracked sidewalk, Samantha’s silence surprised Nick. She stumbled, and he caught her. Her unassuming smile soothed like Neosporin on his soul. For a brief moment he allowed himself to visualize the healing.

  Samantha waited next to him as he knocked. A salt-and-pepper-headed lady peeked through the curtain.

  “Hello, ma’am. Is Johnny available?”

  “What do you want?”

  “We work with Johnny.”

  “Then you’d know he’s not here.” She let the curtain fall.

  Nick knocked again. She returned.

  “Sorry to bother you.” He flashed his security badge. “We need to ask him about an incident at work.”

  “You can’t be too careful in this neighborhood.” The woman unlocked the door and spoke through the screen. Her pale face looked as if the sun hadn’t kissed it in years. “I’m Johnny’s aunt Trudy. He’s due home from that law office of yours any minute.”

  Samantha’s expression mirrored his surprise.

  “Do you mind if we wait?”

  She hesitated, then opened the door. “Forgive the mess. I’ve cared for his mama ever since she got the cancer.”

  A musty odor hit Nick as he entered the dimly lit room. Dark spots covered the walls, the stench of mold overpowering.