Buried Roots

by Cynthia Raleigh

“I know you aren’t a certified appraiser, but you are a history professor and you know a lot about these weapons. Would you be willing to go through the stock, the weapons anyway, and separate any items that you think might be original? I have no idea if this will turn out to be a unique item or if there might be other antiquities mixed in with the repro stuff. Most of them are going to obviously be new, but it would help to have someone with a knowledge base of period weapons and other items to sort through them. Anything you set aside we can have verified later. I’m afraid I’ll miss something. We don’t have it in the budget right now to hire an appraiser to come in and sort through a room full of stuff. I hate to ask you to do this for nothing, but this is not my field and I’m at a loss. If you could only look at a portion of it, it would help.”

  “I’d be glad to give you a hand. As you know, I’ve got Nina, and her friend Perri, here with me, but I think they had an agenda of their own for this week anyway, so they probably won’t mind. We planned to be here for a few more days but I’ll check and let you know.”

  “Thanks, Tom.” Archer tipped his head back and gulped down the rest of his coffee which had cooled enough for him to drink. Somehow, Tom was able to drink the stuff at a core-of-the-sun temperature. Archer stood as if to leave, then sat back down again. “Oh yeah, I wanted to tell you this too. Eleanor Calder, Russell’s wife, told me that before Russell left their table and didn’t come back, there was a re-enactor, or at least a man in Union uniform, who was interested in side knives. Very interested, in a weird way. Several knives were out on the table, but he only gave them a cursory glance. She heard him ask Russell if he had any others and Russell told him they were all about the same style, not a big difference. Eleanor didn’t hear the rest of the conversation they had because she was helping customers too.”

  “That’s interesting. It sounds like he was looking for a particular one, the one that Nina bought maybe. Sounds like he expected it to be there.” Tom listened intently.

  “That’s what I was thinking. Eleanor said that the man appeared agitated and impatient but she didn’t hear what he was saying.”

  “Had she ever seen this man before?” Tom asked. “I know they were new to the re-enacting world, so that seems unlikely.”

  “Right. She didn’t recognize him. She’s going to be here today, in just a little while.”

  Tom looked at Archer incredulously, “Today? Eleanor is coming here today?”

  “Yes, I know it seems really, um, early, even inappropriate, considering her husband was murdered here yesterday, but I didn’t ask her, she volunteered. We don’t know that the man asking about the knife has anything to do with her husband’s death, but it would be a great help to be able to ask him if we can. No one has come forward as the person who inquired about a knife at the Calders’ table, which isn’t surprising. We have no idea if he’s even a legitimate attendee here – he may have come dressed for the part just to find the knife and then left. The fact that a genuine knife was purchased by your wife and then her hotel room was tossed seems to point to it being a possible connection. Eleanor wants to identify the man if she can, and if he is here today she can point him out to us.”

  “It makes sense, but I hope she…” Tom let the sentence trail off.

  “Hope she doesn’t misidentify someone, yes, especially since it can be hard to differentiate when so many men are in uniform. Sometimes anger and emotion, plus the need to identify someone, can be a bad combination.”

  “Well, the inventory seems like a good place to start. Do you want me at the station tomorrow morning?”

  “That would be great, if you can do it then.”

  “I can. Nina and Perri have an attack plan of some sort mapped out for tomorrow. I’ll have them drop me when they leave to go to Richmond. Around 8:30, ok? I think they want to be in Richmond by 9 o’clock.”

  “Thanks, buddy, I really appreciate any help I can get.” Archer clapped Tom on the back. “You have my number, just give me a call if anything comes up.” He walked across the field, toward Sutlers Row.

  ***

  After breakfast, Tom had cleaned and replaced his utensils in the bag he used for storage. The soft, supple kid leather bag also held saddle soap to clean leather items, his straight razor, and other toiletries, such as he had accumulated thus far. It was a couple of hours later and he was returning his knife kit to the bag: oils, cloths, and the honing steel he used for the demonstrations he gave at events on the cleaning and care of knives. He had about a dozen people attend this one and felt reasonably happy with the way it turned out. He was accustomed to teaching in a classroom with a whiteboard and desks and students with laptops. Teaching took on another facet when he was concentrating on staying in persona while instructing a group on a period skill. He was usually a little unnerved knowing that at least some of those at the demo probably already knew what he was teaching, and in many cases, more than he knew. But, it had turned out well today.

  He stowed the bag just inside his tent and folded his stool, leaning it on its side against the tent post. After checking to make sure everything was cleared up from the demo, he ambled toward the south field to help out with the drills.

  He wasn’t in a hurry. He took his time and enjoyed the scenery. There was a pond on the property that occupied about a third of the southerly half of the land. It was an odd shape and there was a narrow piece of field to pass through to get to the farthest piece of meadow where the Sunday morning drills were happening.

  As Tom crossed the largest expanse of field, where yesterday’s drills and exercises had been, he looked up and saw a great blue heron gliding across overhead. The large bird was a silvery blue gray image against the backdrop of the pale watercolor blue sky. Its head was tucked back against its body and its long, gangly legs trailed out straight behind it, more like it was swimming through water than flying through the air. He watched it descend toward the pond and disappear from his view as it landed behind the scrubby trees along the edge of the water. He saw the heron again as he passed the pond. It stood very still on the shore, turning only its head in short, rapid movements, watching the water for fish for lunch.

  There was an agricultural field to the east, separated from William Allen’s acreage by a hedgerow. The area where the sutlers’ tents were located on Allen’s side of the hedge ended at one point and the adjacent field was visible running the length of the property. The neat rows with small green growth just beginning to show through the earth went on for what looked like miles.

  As Tom passed the pond and entered the expanse of the meadow, Archer was walking toward him. They met about a hundred feet past the pond.

  “Hey, Arch, how’s the drill going?”

  “It’s going fine, Tom, no problem.” Archer was frowning.

  “Well, that’s great.” Noticing the look on Archer’s face, Tom asked, “Now, what’s not going fine?”

  “Eleanor Calder. She told me she would be here around ten o’clock. It’s nearly noon. I know that isn’t a huge amount of time to be late, but it is two full hours. We are shutting down the site at three o’clock and she specifically said she wanted to be here around ten so she’d have time to look over the people who were here today. I asked Owen to stay around the entry area to be there when she arrived, but he just came out to the field to tell me she hasn’t come in yet.”

  Tom’s countenance changed to reflect Archer’s sober mood. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to go to her house. I’m just really uneasy. I’m going to go call the Richmond PD and let them know that I’m going. Will you help Martin with the rest of the drill?”

  “I sure will. Anything I can do to help.”

  “Thanks. I’ll catch up with you later.” With that, Archer resumed his quick pace back to the event entrance.

  Chapter 14

  After driving back to the station, Archer checked in with the Captain and changed into his uniform. He was in his cruiser and headed for Eleanor Calder’s home
in less than fifteen minutes. It was going to take him a while to get to Oakwood. He took 150 to Interstate 95, across the James River as quickly as he could. He was tempted to turn on his lights, but didn’t want to cause undue alarm, especially if Eleanor had simply overslept or gotten busy with something else. When he informed the Richmond PD station, he had nearly asked for one of their cars to meet him there but was leery of calling out assistance when he didn’t have any definite cause, but they were aware he might need backup.

  He threaded his way through the streets after exiting the interstate and pulled up in front of the Calder’s modest bungalow-style house. The small lawn was neatly cut and trimmed. A wrought iron railing led up the side of the brick steps to the porch which was covered by an awning to deflect the direct sun. A pot of geraniums sat at the edge of each step. The porch furniture was clean and painted white.

  With each knock on the storm door, the beaten metal panel at the bottom rattled. He turned around to survey the neighborhood while waiting. A curtain in a window across the street quickly fell back into place. He waved toward the house, just in case the neighbor was still watching, which of course they were, then turned back to the door. He opened the storm door, propped it open with his foot, and hammered on the wooden door. There were three narrow rectangular windows in the doorway toward the upper half of the door. He peered through the middle one but didn’t see any movement, just part of the living room and a hallway. No answer. His uneasy feeling ratcheted up a bit. He tried to appear unconcerned as he descended the stairs and walked the slender finger of grass between Eleanor’s house and that of her neighbor. It couldn’t have been more than four feet, wide, if it was even that. The ground angled down perceptibly as he walked between the houses.

  Archer rounded the back of the house and quickly took in the backyard area. A clapboard garage in need of a new coat of paint backed onto an alleyway. The grass here was sparse and weedy, but mown, and there were flower beds dotting the edges of the yard along the chain link fences at both sides. There was a small patio made from paving stones with stray blades of grass growing up between them. A patio table with two chairs and a gas grill crowded together on the square.

  There were three steps up to the back door, the pre-cast concrete type. They were not quite level or close enough to the house and they didn’t reach high enough, which made the last step up into the house was bigger than the other three. Archer climbed the stairs and opened the storm door. He immediately ducked off the steps and drew his revolver.

  The splintered edge of the wooden door was hidden from view by the large screen door handle. The door wouldn’t close all the way because of the shattered wood. Archer called for assistance and retreated around the corner of the house where he could watch the back, his side, and at least the portion of the front that was visible from his vantage point.

  He stilled his quickened breath the best he could and listened. He couldn’t hear anything from inside. He did hear birds chirping, a dog yapping a high-pitch bark in the distance, and a lawn mower somewhere in the neighborhood. He heard the lawn mower hit something solid. It made a sudden clatter, then a grinding sound and stopped. He heard nothing new other than the attempts to restart the engine over the next couple of minutes before another cruiser pulled up in front of the house.

  Archer bent at the waist until he was beneath the level of the window sashes as he returned to the front of the house. Two uniformed officers exited their car and stepped up on the sidewalk. Archer motioned for one to go around the other side of the house and one to cover the front. He had no idea if someone was still in the house, but didn’t want them to get away if they were. Just as he pivoted around, he saw the curtain across the street move again. He made a mental note to talk to the neighbor when he had a chance. If anyone saw something, that neighbor did.

  Archer reached the back of the house just ahead of Officer Frank Harrison, a long-time member of the Richmond Police Department. Archer nodded at Frank and then slowly approached the door for the second time. He had pulled the screen door open and was preparing to open the door when an elderly gentleman came out the back door of the house next door. Archer froze and waited until he could catch the man’s eye. He jerked his head toward the man’s house and motioned for him to get back inside. The man raised one hand as though acknowledging a neighbor and calmly walked over to a red and white metal glider. He took a seat and pulled out his pipe. Archer again motioned for the man to go back in his house. In return he got a nod and a dismissive wave of the hand, as if to say, “Oh, no thanks, I don’t want another piece of cake, I’m full.” The man went back to filling his pipe with tobacco from a pouch he had pulled from his shirt pocket.

  Officer Harrison turned and spoke as quietly as possible to the man to get back inside. “I don’t want to have to arrest you, sir, but I don’t want you to be hurt or killed either.” The man smiled with the pipe between his teeth. He stopped the back and forth motion of the glider and retreated into his house without comment, and completely without haste.

  Frank Harrison resumed his position, almost imperceptibly shaking his head with a smile. Archer pushed on the lower portion of the wooden door. It stuck momentarily but then swung open easily. Archer backed up against the open screen door behind him and waited. Nothing. He peered into the house. From the open doorway, he could see descending stairs on the left side, leading to the basement, a closed closet door directly in front of him, and the side of the stove in the kitchen.

  He quickly crossed to the other side of the open doorway and craned his neck to see the rest of the kitchen. Everything in the kitchen appeared normal and quiet. The only thing Archer could see that appeared out of place was a dishtowel on the floor. Archer quietly stepped into the passage between the stairs and the kitchen and slowly walked past the stove. There was a cup on the counter with a scoop of dry instant coffee in the bottom, the spoon and jar on the counter behind the cup. The electric kettle was full and a glowing orange light on the top indicated it was ready.

  He continued through the arched doorway into the tidy living room. He made his way through the rest of the main floor. As he returned to the kitchen he stopped and listened. He thought he heard something. He waited. Thump. A very soft thump. From downstairs.

  He waved Frank into the house. Frank stayed at the top of the flight of stairs, just to the side of the back door while Archer slowly descended, one step at a time, leaning forward to get as much of a view of the room as he could.

  The basement was smooth, painted concrete with a few throw rugs here and there. He could see an old sofa and recliner. He took another step. He saw feet. Someone’s feet, wearing what his grandmother called mules. Slip on house shoes. Archer took the last few steps at a much quicker pace.

  Eleanor Calder was the only person he could see in the room. He cautiously advanced across the room. Eleanor was alive, she appeared to be fine, but she couldn’t move much. She was wearing a calf-length light blue terrycloth robe. She had been secured by duct tape to the four-inch metal support pole in the middle of the basement. A lot of duct tape. It wound around and around. It was very effective; she could barely move. Hearing Archer walking above, Eleanor had made the only sound she could make, striking the back of her heel against the metal pole.

  Archer yelled for Frank to come downstairs. He indicated for Frank to check the rest of the basement. “Eleanor, this is Detective Vaughn, I talked to you out at the event site yesterday. We’re going to help you, but I need to figure out the best way to do that.”

  The problem was not getting her off the pole, but the duct tape had been wound around her face, and neck, and head, covering everything but her nose. She was beginning to panic. Archer looked around and spotted a basket on legs next to the sofa. He’d seen them before. It was a sewing basket. He opened the lid and found scissors as Frank re-entered from the laundry room, “Everything clear here.”

  “Call for an ambulance.” Frank turned and made the call.

  “Ok Elea
nor. Try to stay as calm as you can. I’m going to have to cut the duct tape away from the pole. I can’t pull it away from your face and hair without hurting you. Cn you hold on until we can get you free?”

  Eleanor made a small, throaty noise as Archer began cutting the tape away from her thighs upward. It was easy to remove where it only covered clothing, but skin was a problem. He cut the tape away from the pole in front of and in back of her arms, leaving the tape in place on the skin. It took several minutes to get through the layers of tape around her head. The points of the scissors weren’t particularly sharp, but Archer was afraid she would panic and jerk, causing him to injure her.

  Frank helped restrain her hands, which automatically went to her face. She kept pointing at her mouth and trying to claw at the tape. Once all the tape was free of the pole, Frank and Archer lifted her to the recliner. “I’ll try to get the tape off your mouth, please be as still as you can. Frank, go to the kitchen and find some oil, cooking oil, whatever and paper towels.”

  Frank ran up the stairs. Archer could hear cabinet doors opening and slamming closed. Frank came back with a bottle of canola oil and a roll of paper towels. Archer poured some oil on a towel and tried blotting it under the edge of the duct tape. It wasn’t enough. “Eleanor, you’re going to feel some oil on your cheek. It’s just canola oil from your kitchen. Try not to move.” She nodded. He grasped the cut end of the tape that covered her mouth and poured a little of the oil above it. Oil ran behind the tape then around and down her face. It beaded up along her jawline and dripped to her lap, but some of it soaked in to the backing. Archer continued pouring more oil and gently tugging. As the adhesive loosened, the tape could be pulled away from her face without abrading the skin. After several minutes of this procedure, the tape was finally free from Eleanor’s mouth.

  She sucked in huge gasps of air, expelling them forcefully, then immediately started to cry. Archer could hear the siren as the ambulance pulled up in front of the house.