“I can smell the dead man’s scent.” Empress lifted her nose, for the Tahoe’s windows were open. “It’s faint, but it’s there.”
Curious, the whole pack sidled over to the Tahoe as Amy and Alan quickly walked to each side of them.
“Hold,” Amy commanded.
Empress lifted her nose. “Faint but him.”
Virgil, on his hind legs, put his front paws on the driver’s door. “Perfume.”
Empress copied him as Amy carefully pulled the beagles down so they wouldn’t scratch the black SUV. “Perfume or cologne. There was a woman in this car.”
As sister and brother quietly shepherded the beagles to the trailer, Tucker walked over, lifted her nose. She thought it was cologne but it could have been perfume.
Once the beagles nestled in their trailer, the eight humans repaired to the now glassed-in porch. Fair readied it for winter over the weekend.
“We can go inside,” Harry offered.
“It’s so lovely. There won’t be many days when we can even sit out here.” Amy pulled out a chair by the small round table. “It’s not cold here, a little chilly maybe but not bad.”
“Well, let me just start these warmers. Once the sun sets that mercury will plunge.” Harry positioned two tall warmers, the kind used on restaurant patios.
Immediately, the air warmed. Arie brought out his tin of cookies and a drink called The Ridge Lee Special. Harry ducked inside the kitchen, returned with a Pabst Blue Ribbon for Bob, a Corona Extra for Cooper, sweet tea for those who wished it.
“Anyone want hot tea or coffee?” Harry offered. “Food?”
“No, sit down.” Alan encouraged her by pulling out a chair.
They ate their cookies, chatted as the rays of the sun grew ever longer. The cats had moved to the opposite end of the barn. They could be seen sitting in the open second-level doors.
“Looks like you put up good hay. The cats are guarding it.” Amy laughed.
“You know, our hay crop was spectacular this year.” Harry grinned.
Arie asked Cooper, “Any progress on the murdered man?”
“Nothing dramatic, but we know he was a high-priced private detective on a case.”
“Anyone know the case?” Alan inquired.
“Not yet, but we know it involved Charlottesville. It could be something as simple, as common, as Charlottesville being a drop for drugs. The town is central to the state. The train runs through it twice a day, the passenger train. Freight more often, but the schedules are erratic. Thanks to 64,” she named the east-west interstate, “anything can be easily moved east to west, Route 29, north or south. If this isn’t an illegal something, Charlottesville a hub of distribution, it’s some kind of stopoff. But we don’t know what yet. The drug-sniffing dogs crawled over that Tahoe. Nothing. Very sad.”
“That there weren’t drugs? But he was a PI,” Susan, being logical, pointed out.
“No, not that he was carrying anything, but black Tahoes, with black-tinted windows, are a big fav with criminals, rock stars. We’re trying to put this together. Why the Tahoe?”
“Black Tahoes with black-tinted windows are also favored by our government, federal,” Bob noted. “The other vehicles are all marked. But if an important person is on the move, there are decoys, unmarked cars. This fits the bill.”
“Does.” Harry thought about it then turned to her neighbor. “What are you doing with the Tahoe?”
“Picked it up from the dealer. They know their cars better than anyone so our forensic team worked with Price Chevrolet. They took this car apart. Everything. Nothing.”
“Dogs should do their work. Humans miss too much,” Tucker announced.
Harry gave the corgi part of her cookie. “But, Cooper, what are you doing with it?”
“I was late picking it up, so I called Rick and he said drive it home, bring it in tomorrow. It’s terrific to drive. Has everything, I mean this thing is loaded.”
“Loaded and expensive,” added Harry, who kept up with such things. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like one.”
“What’s wrong with your Volvo station wagon?” Alan liked the Volvo.
“Has just over two hundred thousand miles, that’s what.” Harry slumped in her chair.
“The engine’s just getting broken in.” Arie smiled.
Harry fiddled with the Number Eleven chit around her neck.
Noticing, Bob remarked, “Isn’t that what the man we found wore?”
“He wore Number Five. I bought this from Liz. She had a whole bag full that she bought from Hootie and Martha Henderson. They found them in their attic when they did some work on the house. Found old accounting books, too, all the way back to 1786.”
“Wow. They might be valuable,” Amy said.
“Hootie will allow me to read them and I asked Tazio to help. What I’m thinking is what if slave prices are in the book? We know Ewing Garth didn’t sell anyone on his holdings here but he surely would have noticed costs. And if not that, I’m sure he would at least have noted the price of flour, fabric, medicines, stuff like that. Anyway, maybe we can get them, if they do contain that information, for the schoolhouses.” She then told them the idea about actually using the old buildings, about thinking of a fund-raiser for Save the Old Schools.
“Wonderful idea. Put the kids right back in time.” Bob smiled.
March 19, 1786 Sunday
“You’d think after sitting in church this morning, they would curtail their activities.” Mignon mentioned the nearly full house.
Eudes replied, “They will do their business and go home. Maybe the hope of spring has the sap rising, I don’t know but I do know as long as men are fools for women we have a job.”
Outside the kitchen, the candlelight played on the young faces. Men drank a bit, then rose, holding out their hands to the lady they wished. Up the stairs they climbed, some men so eager, they began to unbutton their breeches before reaching the top stairs.
Georgina played whist with three customers, who, having been satisfied, wished a bracing game before returning to their ever-so-Christian homes and hearths.
Despite her love of cards, Georgina kept a sharp eye on her girls. Given that most all of her customers returned home at a reasonable hour, she knew a girl could service two or three clients if necessary. Ladies’ maids would hasten upstairs to tie up a corset once a man left, quickly reset hair, and change the sheets if needed. The maids worked as hard as the girls and usually without extra tips. The girls, the smart ones, learned to tip the maids and therefore trotted downstairs at a faster pace than the cheap ones. They served more customers, which equaled more money. The tightwads never did figure that out.
Binky, carrying decanters to each vacated room, stuck his head into Deborah’s room while Sarah, a young maid, powdered Deborah’s perfect bosoms. Sarah didn’t look up at Binky, although Deborah turned to speak to him.
“Binky, you’d better get downstairs. Georgina doesn’t want men up here who aren’t customers.”
As if to second her, a mighty moan could be heard in the next room along with an appeal to Jesus.
“I’m bringing a decanter of wine now that you’re free. What did he do?” His lower lip quivered.
“What they all do, Binky. And I pretend I am overcome by their manliness. Some have more manliness than others.” She laughed as Sarah now brushed her hair.
“I have a way for us to leave.” He retrieved the wrinkled paper from his vest pocket describing Mignon, having picked it from Georgina’s wastebasket. “I’ve kept this for two weeks. Thinking about it.”