US Grant Mysteries Boxed Set

by Jeffrey Marks

  "Mrs. Todd, the truth. Why don't you just tell us why had that man took your jewels there? I'm here as a friend to the General and not as a journalist. Those were pawned long before you came to see us."

  Grant cleared his throat. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation."

  Her eyes flickered in the half-light. "There is. I'm afraid I've been a very silly woman. I feared what Ephraim would say if he found out and I . . ." The words choked off into the silence as a tear ran down her cheek.

  Grant stepped towards her and met her at the bottom of the stairs like the suitor he'd never been permitted to be. "What happened to the money?"

  "Gentleman, I don't wish you to think my husband is not a generous man, he is. Ephraim is anything, but penurious. I get a perfectly good allowance from him that amply covers the household expenses and more." She took a breath and an opportunity to dab at her tears with a linen handkerchief.

  Adelaide sighed as she turned from one man to the other. "I can tell that you two plan on being persistent about this. I had some bad luck on a riverboat on the way to Higginsport. It's an affliction I bear."

  Grant turned his head to avoid her eyes and betray his disappointment. It was painful having a boyhood dream smashed. The perfect woman had a chink in the pocketbook.

  Hart didn't seem to have the same concerns. He waited for a few seconds and piped up. "What kind of money are you talking?"

  Grant sputtered. "Sir."

  Adelaide rested a bare hand on his arm. "No need, General. I lost over three hundred dollars in my — debts. I had to complete my trip and wasn't anxious to avail myself again of Ephraim's income."

  "Wouldn't he rather that option than lose precious jewelry?"

  Adelaide's free hand caressed the side of her face and then dropped. "You don't know my husband. I would be punished for my gambling. Perhaps be forbidden to travel or have my allowance reduced. With a robbery, I'd be chastened as a foolish wife at best."

  Grant nodded, feeling heavy-hearted. What an irony for her family. Money hadn't saved Adelaide from a bad marriage. Social position had not provided her with happiness.

  Her face glowed in the uneven lights of the lobby; the sun's long shadows played out along the hem of her dress. Tattered edges caught his eye. Grant couldn't tell if her color stemmed from anger at admitting imperfection to him or embarrassment. It didn't matter to him after all these years. She turned without speaking again and headed towards the stairs. She paused on the bottom step. "Please don't tell anyone about this. May this be our little secret?"

  Grant bowed to her. "On my honor." He felt inclined to be gracious since he had the upper hand.

  "The other guest at the hotel saw me with the jewels yesterday. He offered to pawn them for me to spare a lady's reputation. I accepted, perhaps foolishly."

  "So he took your jewels with your consent?" Hart wrote like a gust a wind.

  "Yes, and imagine my dismay when he didn't return. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to tell the Sheriff. I didn't even know the man's name. How could I explain that situation?"

  "So when you heard someone had killed him, you decided to pretend that the jewels had been stolen. Quick thinking, Mrs. Todd." Hart smiled at her in admiration, but she didn't return his favor. Her gaze remained on Grant’s face.

  "I didn't know what else to do. I was desperate for money."

  Grant pushed his hands deep into his pockets. "We found almost five hundred dollars on the man. I'll instruct the Sheriff to return it to you as soon as this matter is cleared up."

  "Thank you, sir. You're still the kind man I remember." She ascended the stairs with a bare rustle like a summer breeze over the tobacco crops.

  Hart looked at him. "Well, what do you think?" He whispered even though they were alone in the lobby. Grant was keenly aware of the number of nooks where someone could eavesdrop. “This gives her a pretty good reason to want to kill Mathers if he took her money.”

  “Why would she tell us that if she’d killed him? She’s pointing the finger at herself.”

  “I must say that it didn’t benefit her much. She didn’t get her money or her jewels back.”

  Grant shrugged. "I shouldn't like to be in her shoes."

  "Or yours if the missus catches you cavorting at all hours of the night with Mrs. Todd." Hart smiled at him and slapped him on the arm.

  "It's a man's world and you know that as well as I do. Mrs. Grant would have little recourse. She's been quick to point that out on multiple occasions. However, I have the sneaking suspicion I would regret such action immensely."

  Hart laughed for a second; the jaw movement became a yawn. "My apologies. It's been a long day."

  Grant thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "It has, but there's one more thing that we need to speak about before you depart."

  Hart raised an eyebrow.

  "I hope not to see this in the newspapers."

  "What?" The words sounded from the brocaded curtains and through the hallways. "Be serious. Georgetown hasn't had a murder in years. I have to report it."

  Grant took a deep breath, mustering his energy. He'd been expecting this reaction and had postponed the conversation out of dread. "But the other material from today. Tyson, the telegram, Mrs. Todd."

  Hart looked relieved the subject of not reporting the murder had been dropped. "Why are you so concerned?"

  "Many reason. First, as not to upset Mrs. Grant or my family or associates. Washington is a place of political intrigue where rumor quickly becomes accepted fact. In addition, we don't know the truth about those matters."

  Hart stepped closer. "How so?"

  "The telegram could be false. Shane might have made the whole thing up; he was never fond of me."

  Hart licked his bottom lip. "Yes, Useless, I noticed that. If I do choose to hold off on reporting this, what do I get?"

  Grant felt around in his pocket, hunting for currency. "Money?"

  Hart shook his head as strands of hair fell in his eyes. "An exclusive interview with you. The only one in the state of Ohio on your post-War plans and presidential hopes."

  "Done." Grant felt the drops of sweat evaporate on his brow. Maybe he'd get out of this peccadillo with his skin intact.

  "And if anything comes of the murder case, I want to be the first to know. A complete story on anything involving you with the dead body in your room." Hart's eyes gleamed like a cat's, smelling his prey of a career-moving opportunity. The man would do anything to get out of Georgetown. Grant wondered for a moment if that included murder, but he discounted the thoughts to the late hour.

  "That body has nothing to do with me, but as you like it." Grant started to the stairs too, dismissing Hart. The man was gone by the time he turned at the landing.

  Chapter 11

  The waves of red and gold tree-covered hills rode behind the wagon, a timeless companion for the Grants. They had borrowed a vehicle from the hotel for touring the County. The Massies had protested until Grant reiterated the list of indignities they'd endured in the past twenty-four hours.

  The trip had also afforded Grant the opportunity to investigate the dead man's horse. The roan gelding looked like a military steed, seventeen hands tall, muscled and ready for battle. The horse responded to Grant's commands and didn't mind his inspection of teeth and hooves. He wondered if perhaps Hart had been correct - maybe Mathers was a deserter looking for amnesty. His ride bore out that observation. This horse had seen some kind of battle in the late war. He recollected the mention of guns too. The man had enough artillery to start his own war. He’d expected trouble and violence in the sleepy little Appalachian town.

  Julia waited in the beaten clapboard. The worn-out mare was slow enough for them to view the city without missing an inch. The squawk of the iron wheels overrode any conversation as they headed to the Western edge of the town.

  Grant had forgotten how he loved this Eden, the hilly farmland that he had missed in his military campaigns. The greens of the chestnuts, maple
s and locust intermingled along the edge of these foothills to the Appalachians. The rolling mountains always held promise, a delicious surprise of what lay over the next rise in the ground. Just as some people leapt ahead in life, some trees had changed hues, making them stand out on the hills. Others remained as they always had, lush and green.

  His years at West Point and Galena had been spent in flatlands that stretched for miles without a break in the scenery. Like the predictable scenery, Grant's life in those places had been charted for years ahead of him. The muddy Mississippi marshland near the Vicksburg siege had made him yearn for dry land and the clay soil that comprised Eastern Ohio.

  The mare balked at the steep grade leading down to the White Oak Creek, but Grant egged her on. Hogweed and tall grasses mingled along the sides of the trail. The wagon tilted downward and Julia lilted to the left, brushing against Grant. He turned to smile. He couldn't tell what she made of this rural wonder. Tobacco and cornfields rose on the other side of the stream, stretching out to the west.

  For their picnic, she'd chosen a navy blue dress of a material Grant knew none of the locals could obtain or afford. Just like his wife to overpack for a trip to the Midwest. The Dents hadn't worked with their hands for generations, unless money counting could be included. Julia slipped a soft, dainty hand in his and squeezed. "So this is home?"

  Grant winked at her. "Now that you're here with me. I've been gone too long for it to feel like much of anything."

  "But you're peaceful here. I can feel your tension starting to ebb, Ulys. You're more the man I married and less the general." A sparkle came into her eyes as she spoke.

  "And you think finding a dead man in the bed has made me restful?"

  Julia leaned closer and squeezed his hand. "Must you always be so difficult?"

  "I got it honestly. Wait until you're with my parents in a few days. You'll recognize me in a minute."

  "Perhaps I will and I'll love them all the more for it."

  The wagon bobbed down the hill with the nag still struggling to resist her master and gravity. Grant looked over his shoulder to make sure the provisions for lunch hadn't been lost in the rough ride. After his oratory on hospitality, Mrs. Massie had softened sufficiently to pack them warm bread, salt pork, and the last of the fresh green beans. Despite her surly demeanor, she was an excellent cook.

  Julia pointed to a telegraph pole in the distance. "Ulys, whatever is that man doing?"

  Grant looked up to see a man sitting astride the pole, legs propelling him to the peak. From this distance, it appeared to be the elder Shane. The man could still climb with the best of them even if he looked a hundred. The figure reached the top of the pole and searched the sky in all directions like a sentinel.

  "I told you that the telegraph lines were down yesterday, didn't I?"

  "I don't see why they don't get more. One line can't be sufficient for a town this size." Julia faced her husband. Her crossed eyes gave her a puzzled look, making Grant's heart swell. How he'd missed this woman, though she'd be appalled if she knew the reasons.

  "Georgetown is lucky to have one line. The only message most of them have had from that machine is news of their sons' death in war. These people rely on old-fashioned ways. Progress is a swear word to these people. Mark my words; it'll be twenty years before the people here try to use the telegraph for anything more than bad news."

  Julia kept vigil on the horizon as they descended the hill to the creek. "This rural aspect will look lovely on the campaign posters. Remind people of Lincoln."

  Grant's eyes widened. Julia hadn't been so blunt in her aspirations before. He'd known her to tolerate many things in her desire to move up, Mary Lincoln among them. He was still unsettled by the tepid response in Georgetown. Would the whole country be this lukewarm? "Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren't we?"

  "Ulys, you'll be nominated. It's inevitable."

  Grant's mouth drooped at the corners. "I wish it were that easy. This new Congress, those Radical Republicans, is a gauntlet, and I have a hunch that I'll be dragged into the fray before it's all over."

  "Andy Johnson needs to work with those Republicans." Julia slumped back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, and stared ahead.

  Grant laughed as he snapped the reins. The mare seemed oblivious to gee. "That may be, but he doesn't bother to even mask his distaste for them. Washington's full of people who wished Lincoln had picked another running mate."

  “Well, I just know you'll be president."

  Grant took off his hat and pointed to his scalp. "Did I ever tell you about that phrenologist?"

  "Ulys, you didn't! That's so — spooky and macabre." Even though the day was warm, she pulled her shoulders up like she'd caught a sudden chill.

  "I was only a lad. It's been years ago. I'd almost forgotten about it until you started talking."

  "Why? I remind you of snake-oil charlatans?" She gave him a tap on the arm and a smile.

  Grant took her hand and slid his fingers between hers. "Hardly. The phrenologist told me that someday I'd be president. Can you believe it?"

  "And you'd rather believe some bumps on your head than your wife? Preposterous."

  Grant grinned. "More than likely, that's how those lumps got there."

  Julia threw herself back in the seat, rocking the wagon. "You're impossible." The basket of food knocked against the wagon's wall.

  Grant swiveled in his seat and started to speak. A whizzing noise split the silence as something smashed into the clapboard of the wagon. Splinters filled the air. A hole appeared in the wood. Julia squealed.

  Six months had passed since the end of the war, but Grant still recognized the sound of gunfire. He paused only long enough to verify the damage to the board in front of them and snapped the horse into action. A second shot whizzed past them and hit the picnic lunch, splaying beans across the carriage. Grant spun around to face his wife. Another shot singed the air and cut through Julia's dress at the hem, missing her foot by inches. She screamed and curled into a ball beside him.

  Grant didn't wait for another shot. He evaluated his options in a matter of seconds.

  "What are you doing? What was that?" Julia gripped the seat as they managed to turn around and head back towards town without flipping the vehicle.

  Grant saw no signs of the sniper; probably a longer-range weapon was being used. His service revolver, much as he admired Mr. Colt, couldn't match the firepower aimed in their direction. He'd need muskets and a trench to challenge whoever had them in his sights.

  The long road back to town looked ominous now, a steep ascent at a slow pace. With Julia's dress and his uniform, they'd make obvious targets. Alone, he might have tried to outride bullets. The Mexican War had given him plenty of practice in fancy horsemanship and eluding the enemy. With this nag and another person in the wagon, that option was near impossible. Especially when that person was his beloved wife.

  Grant jumped down from the driver's seat and tied the reins to the front seat so that the horse wouldn't notice their departure. Wanting the wagon to continue its slow rise to the town, Grant snapped the reins and made a noise to speed the mare. He ran to the other side of the clapboard and plucked Julia from her perch.

  "Tell me what is going on?" she demanded as he set her on the hard clay roadbed. If Grant hadn't known her better, he'd have sworn a curse fell from her lips.

  "Head towards the trees, I'll tell you there." Grant pointed to the thick growth next to the road. He pulled her along to the underbrush, their sanctuary. Chestnuts, tiny pines and scrub blocked the view. The golds and greens of the woods didn't completely cover their navy colored clothes, but it helped. The sniper didn't have a clear shot at them anymore.

  Julia pulled a heel out of the clay and turned to her husband. "What was all that about?"

  "We had to take cover." Grant pointed to the mare that still wended its way up the hillside.

  "And you think it was intended for us? You, specifically?" Julia's eyes widened
at the thought.

  The general nodded, avoiding Julia's questioning eyes. "At this point, yes. I thought Tyson was full of stuff and nonsense, barging in here spouting off mysterious killers and assassination plots. I'll have to rethink this now." He tugged at his beard and wished for a hard shot of Bourbon, the only cure guaranteed to help his current situation.

  "That's all well and good, but what do we do at the present?" Julia pointed to the horse and wagon, which had trekked two hundred yards ahead by this point.

  "We need to follow the carriage back to town. Then we can use it again if the danger seems to have passed." Grant bent a chestnut branch out of her way and let Julia pass. Even in danger certain protocols needed to be preserved. Watching for thorns, he pulled back some locust saplings to reveal a path.

  Sweat poured down Grant's face by the time they'd reached the top of the hill, a mile from their start. Julia's dress had sundry tears and dirt streaks. Her face was smudged, but partially hidden by the black strands that had come free of her bun. Grant vaguely remembered that Mrs. Wethington had taken in sewing when he was last here. She'd grown much older, so had he, but perhaps she'd fix the dress as a favor to an old student.

  At the top of the hill, Grant emerged from the woods and took the reins from the wagon. His own casual uniform was filthy, but he slept in worse. The horse seemed grateful for the rest. Julia stepped from the woods and brushed her hand across the marred fabric. Grant didn't give the sniper a chance against his wife's anger.

  "So I can assume that you're safe? In town." Julia gazed at the small community with a disgust she usually saved for beggars and snake-oil salesmen. Or phrenologists, Grant thought with a grimace.

  Grant helped her into the wagon and stepped around to drive them to the hotel. "From the sniper, yes. But whoever did this knew we were going for a picnic out by the creek."

  Julia closed her eyes. "Ulys, you told Mrs. Massie who told the entire hotel while she grumbled about it. Half the town was waiting for you when we left. Everyone knew."