“I promise you, Jeffrey, this will be the best horse race in our new nation. My Black Knight against the Garths’ Reynaldo.”
“I believe you are right.”
“All the talk at the mill today was about this convention in Philadelphia. To start early May, so they say. The last time I remember this much talk was before the war. It’s a good thing, I think.”
“I hope so but unlike you, I am not political. Even when we fell afoul of each other, I always kept in mind the great risk you took during the war. You are a man of exceptional courage.”
“You are kind.”
“I often wonder if such a trial occurs in my lifetime will I be equal to it? I was too young during the war and I think my father kept a lot from me. Youth can be inflamed.”
“Indeed.” Yancy laughed. “I often wonder how we lived through it.”
They visited for another half hour then Yancy mounted up with help from DoRe.
Jeffrey walked up to the house, where his wife was giving orders in the garden, shoots popping up, lilacs ready to bloom.
She turned. “My tulips, spectacular though they were, are now asleep.”
“You have such an eye for color, my dear.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve had an interesting proposal, an interesting visit.”
He presented everything to her.
“Half of the winnings should he win?”
“Yes.”
“And does he want us to pay part of Black Knight’s feed and training now?”
“No, no. He wishes to rent William, as I said.”
She sat on a Chinese-inspired bench. “That really means he gets the benefit of DoRe.”
“DoRe will remain here, of course, but yes, my angel, William has been at DoRe’s knee since he was about that tall.”
She laughed. “Well, he has grown since then.”
“An advantage in this case.”
“Is.” She scanned the garden, eyes falling on the azaleas, some weeks from revealing their treasures. “I have no objection and I do think this is an opportunity for you to do business.”
“I hope so.” He now held her hand. “I’m looking forward to the races.”
“Yes,” she simply said, sighed. “I must call upon Catherine. Now is a good time. But I don’t want her to think we are actually competing against her. She bought Serenissma, Francisco’s blooded mare, for a princely sum. It’s important to keep good relations.”
“I’m sure she will be grateful for your call.”
Maureen picked up his hand, the one holding hers, kissed it. “I always wanted children. You know that but this dream never came to pass. When I see or hear of the sufferings of women I know, I think perhaps I was spared. Oh yes, she has JohnJohn—two, I think—but so many diseases carry the little ones away. It has to have crossed her mind that she can take nothing for granted.”
“You would have been a perfect mother.” He halfway believed it. “And to be surrounded by children as beautiful as their mother. And who knows, we might yet…”
“Oh, now, Jeffrey. Much as I would love to have your child, I am soon out of reach.” She lifted her shoulders. “I think there was only one Abraham and Sarah.” She quoted the old couple in the Bible who conceived.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t try.” Jeffrey knew just how to handle her.
35
February 9, 2017
Thursday
Sweeping out the center aisle in the morning, horses turned out to play in the snow, Harry heard the phone ring in her tack room.
Hurrying in, she picked it up. “Hello.”
“Harry, do you know what has happened?” Anne de Vault’s voice registered worry.
“No. About what?”
“I opened the store today like always and heard a bit of commotion down the hall. So I walked down there and, Harry, Nature First is blocked off with the horrible yellow crime scene tape.”
“What?”
“No one can go in.”
“Where are Felipe and Raynell?”
“I don’t know but I expect if they came to work today they are somewhere being questioned again. I mean this is now a crime, right?”
“Anne, the crime is murder. Why else would there be tape up?”
“This is awful. She was found slumped at her desk, no violence. Murder?” Anne couldn’t believe it, well, she didn’t want to believe it.
Who would?
“There are ways to kill without leaving a mark or at least an obvious mark. Was Cooper there?”
“No. The young lady who noticed me told me they were the forensic team. I told her I owned the bookstore down the hall.”
“Anne, I am terribly sorry. This is upsetting and you are right there. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. Can you think of a reason the rest of us might be in danger?”
“No. I’m not saying that to pacify you, but we’ve had two unexplained deaths of two people who knew each other, shared common interests, and worked together in so far as redoing the office is working together. They liked each other.”
“Yes,” Anne said that slowly. “Other than design, I mean what did Gary and Lisa have in common?”
“Little things. I mean they seem like little things to me. She was obsessed with dinosaurs. He kept little rubber dinosaurs on his shelves.”
“Lots of people have a keen interest in dinosaurs.”
“Yes, but they are usually eight or nine years old.”
A very long pause followed this. “You’ve got a point there.”
“The other thing—again, such a little thing—when I helped Tazio set up her office—well, I really sat on the floor to go through Gary’s file books but I did move a chair or two and I polished desks. Anyway, I found an article about frogs surviving dinosaurs. Lisa had the same article.”
“It’s possible they spoke to each other, suggested books and magazines. It’s not far-fetched.”
“No, but now they are both dead. Murdered.”
“Should I close the store?”
“No. You might want to gather the other shop owners there, discuss it, and go back to business. I always think the worst thing to do is react before you know enough. It’s important to keep calm.”
“Easy to say.”
“I know. You asked me a question and I answered it. Let’s take a worst-case scenario. The killer is close by. Don’t show panic. Make him wonder.”
“That’s not the worst-case scenario. The worst-case scenario is he comes after me.”
“You’re right. But, Anne, you don’t share the same interests the two of them did. I mean, you have aesthetic tastes, you like architecture, but that’s not front and center. And whatever took Gary, I don’t think it was architecture.”
“I hope not.” She took a deep breath. “What is the saying? Keep calm and carry on. I’ll try.”
“You’ll do it. Thank you for calling me. I’m going to track down Cooper. She’ll tell me to butt out. Always does, but I can read between the lines. If I get even a whiff of generalized danger, I’ll call you.”
“Thank you.”
After hanging up, Harry finished her job, returned to the house along with Tucker, who shadowed her. Tucker felt she was protecting Harry. If she could, she would.
Opening the door, Pirate woke up, bounded over. “I missed you. I fell asleep. You won’t leave me, will you?”
“What a handsome boy.” She knelt down to kiss the puppy, who was growing so fast she wouldn’t have to kneel much longer.
“I like you. I like Tucker.” The tail wagged.
Tucker whispered, “Say something good about the cats. Pewter has one eye open and she can be a royal pain in the ass if you get on her bad side.”
The Irish wolfhound whispered back, “She’s mean to me. The other kitty is nice.”
“Pewter is even mean to Harry. She turns her back on her, flattens her ears, and walks away or sits on the bookshelf and kicks off a row of books. She’s a terrible cat.”
Now Mrs. Murphy awakened. “Heard what?”
“Tucker told Pirate I was a terrible cat.”
“Oh, don’t pay any attention. She’s being dramatic,” the tiger cat said to the Queen of Drama.
Oblivious to the swirl around her, Harry reached for the wall phone. She did notice that Pirate was sticking close.
“Coop! Anne de Vault called me to tell me Nature First has crime scene tape on the doors.”
“Ah, well, yes it does.”
“So this is what I think.” Harry ignored the groan on the other end of the line. “Murder. Obviously. No violence. No blood. No bruises or marks. At least no obvious marks. It’s possible the medical examiner’s office found something. But my money is on poison.”
“Yes.” Cooper tried to remain noncommittal.
“And it would have to be a fast-acting, colorless, and odorless poison. No arsenic. We’d know because it has a distinct odor. No belladonna. Her pupils would have been enlarged. It appeared she suffered a stroke or a heart attack.”
“That’s quite a bit of information from someone who didn’t see the body.”
“Coop, someone would have noticed. This is a small community. I would have heard, so I know I’m right.”
“You are. The team is there going over everything, especially the little kitchen and the bathroom. There could be a trace in a cup. A small residue on a counter.”
“Tell me. You know I’ll dig it out sooner or later, plus what if I’m in danger? I’ve been in her office many times, and recently.”
“If you were exposed you’d be dead,” Cooper said with finality.
“What the hell is it?” An exasperated Harry swore.
Resigned, Cooper spilled the beans: “Nicotine.”
“Cigarettes?” Harry was incredulous.
“Pure nicotine. It is colorless, odorless, viscous. You can buy it on the Internet for twenty dollars for fifteen milliliters. Those transactions can be traced. We can’t find such a transaction. It’s possible the killer has had a supply for years or stole nicotine from a pharmacy in the past.”
“Nicotine?” Harry uttered in disbelief. “How can you kill someone with nicotine? Force it down their throat?”
“No. It’s easy because nicotine can be absorbed through the skin. Exposure to the air causes some discoloration. To date there is no discoloration on Lisa’s body.”
“Could the killer have wiped it on, say, her lips or her arm?”
“I think he did. Whoever killed her knows chemistry.” Cooper took a deep breath. “The stuff, the pure liquid stuff, five drops or less, can kill a person in minutes. If it’s a high dose there won’t even be the nausea and seizures that can accompany it. The victim can die almost instantly of respiratory failure. Five drops for a normal-sized woman of Lisa’s age.”
“Dear Lord.” Harry gasped.
“She probably suffered a few seconds, knowing she was dying, but it was so quick. We can’t find out how the poison was administered. That’s why the team is back. Is there a trace on her desk? Something like that?”
“Then wouldn’t Felipe or Raynell be dead?”
“Possibly. If there was a trace it would have made them sick. But neither one mentioned illness. And Lisa had to have had pure nicotine on her body.”
“Where are Felipe and Raynell?”
Cooper was exasperated. “They’re down at HQ. More questions.”
“I knew it!”
“That doesn’t take a rocket scientist,” Cooper fired back at her.
“Well, I imagine they’re scared.”
“Raynell more than Felipe. She kept saying what if she touched something. We told her if she had, she’d know. Tears. The usual. Felipe on the other hand is trying to figure this out. Replaying everything. Stuff like, did someone come in and out and somehow they missed it.”
“I don’t see how they could.”
“No.”
“Here’s another piece of unsolicited advice. She was killed because of something she has in common with Gary.”
“You don’t know that” came a too-swift reply that told Harry what she needed to know.
Fortified by that, Harry repeated to Cooper the thoughts she had told Anne.
“I agree the two shared those interests, but what could there be about them that would imperil someone else or someone else’s profits? It doesn’t add up.”
“If you find the connection, it will.”
“I’m not as convinced as you are but I do agree there might be a tie. But, Harry, if whatever they shared in common led to their murders, it’s a tie they were at great pains to hide.”
“Maybe not, Coop. We just don’t see it yet, or it’s outlandish to us. But I will tell you one thing, whoever used this poison is smart. Knows chemistry. And is bold. Think of how Gary was shot in front of us. This, of course, was stealth. Do you think this might be a professional killer?”
Cooper didn’t want to answer directly but she knew Harry would see through any evasion. “It very well may be, which means keep out, Harry. Those people are highly intelligent and ruthless.”
“Do they get paid a lot?”
“Yes. Most do, and they take pride in their work.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine being proud of killing people.”
“It’s not so out there. What if a killer is a rampant ideologue? Like the Bolsheviks in Russia. They had mass-starvation campaigns, killing millions who they believed would impede the revolution. These are people who kill because they believe that killing will solve the problem, make a better world. Or create more profit—not exactly a better world, but better for whoever’s paying them. Ideologues are worse than profiteers.”
“The Thirty Years’ War.” Harry remembered her history.
“Isis. That kind of thinking will never go away. It might be able to be contained but it will be with us because it’s so simple. Here’s the equation: I will kill all my enemies and then I’ll be safe.”
“Doublethink,” Harry murmured. “But do you think this is the work of such a person?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“We’d have hints by now. Earlier run-ins. An ideological killer often has to brag or shows signs of the quality through writing, Facebook, that stuff. Nothing like that here.”
“You’re right, but is it possible something triggered the response?”
“Something did, but I don’t think it’s ideology.”
“CYA? Someone needs to cover their ass or that of the person paying the bill?”
“Yes. This is too clean. Know what I mean?”
“But there has to be a trigger.” Harry was adamant.
There was, underfoot, part of their lives every day. They didn’t know it, never looked for it, had no special interest in it.
36
May 5, 1787
Saturday
Blue skies, fluffy white clouds, a soft westerly breeze, Saturday seemed the apotheosis of spring. The Levels, groomed, cleaned, the spring grass cut to about an inch and a half proved flat. Teams of draft horses had rolled the sandy loam underneath the early grass to flatten the river deposits even more. The James quietly flowed toward the east, a gift, for it could be turbulent at times. Yancy Grant, Sam Udall, both dressed as perfect gentlemen, walked among the carriages lined up on the racecourse, one straight mile by the river. Few coach-in-fours were in evidence, for the day invited one to sit in the open air. The wealthy were attended by some of their slaves, also decked out in livery or finery. All manner of conveyance lined the racecourse, including carts driven by working men, lining up as a second row. Amidst all this finery, many on foot strolled along. Some remained in their carriages, feeling the bit of height provided a better view. But the lure of passing and repassing, of lurid gossip whispered behind gloved hands sang a song of temptation. Most gave in.
The poor whites and free blacks made up a third row. Anticipation of the competition was high.
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Maureen and Jeffrey, arm in arm, walked along the front row, nodding and chatting as they displayed themselves.
The maroon coach-in-four with the gold pinstripes that Jeffrey built for his wife was also on display. Some men even knelt down to investigate the axles. DoRe, reins relaxed, sat in his driving seat, the best seat for the races, he was sure. Barker O. felt the same way as he observed the large crowd from the height of Ewing’s coach-in-four. Rachel and Charles attended in their older open two-seater; Charles drove but Rachel would drive for spells. She quite liked it. All the Cloverfields’ coaches gleamed navy with mustard pinstripes enlivened by a tiny shamrock in the center of each door. Ewing shied away from brash display.
Many others did not, most especially Georgina and her girls. Pinks, mint greens, aqua silks fit her ladies to show them at their best, and their best, cleavage to the max, was prominently visible. The ladies of quality, high born or low, refused to even glance at the tarts, as they thought of them. The men suffered little restraint, all eyes mostly on Deborah. Naturally, Georgina’s girls couldn’t mix with the other people, so they stayed together, behaving like the ladies they dreamed of becoming. Mignon and Eudes, fearing trouble, did not attend. The chances of someone identifying Mignon as an escaped slave from Maureen’s Big Rawly might be slim, but Eudes wouldn’t risk it. As spirits were freely flowing, common at any large event, someone could shoot off their mouth without thinking.
Catherine and John, back at the area for the horses, away from the commotion, paid no attention to the social whirl. Jeddie, tight breeches, high boots, and a navy silk shirt, a navy cap with a mustard button in the middle, fidgeted on a tack trunk. John sat with him as Catherine rested in a campaign chair. Ralston and Tulli sat with Reynaldo, already fascinated with the activity. Reynaldo had never seen this many people, smelled the foods, the liquor, the other horses—some nervous, which, of course, he could smell. Catherine tried to relax. If they needed an extra hand, a strong man, Barker O. could be brought back.
“Got the sweats?” Tulli unhelpfully asked from his seat by the 16.2-hand horse.
“No,” Jeddie called back in irritation.
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