“Given what my neighbor Harry Haristeen told me about finding the victim near the tractor, confirmed by her best friend who was there clearing trails also, this seems to be someone who was there or who knows the ground intimately.”
“Right. This is in the initial stages, but the one question we return to is his business. Jason Holzknect operated and owned a very successful Maryland Toyota and Lexus car dealership outside the D.C. Line. He was negotiating to buy a Volvo dealership and he had the funds, had the backers.”
Cooper mused. “The car business is ruthless, but I don’t think it’s that ruthless.”
“As I said, he had the money. What we’re focusing on is potential investors. We think there’s a connection. There was the drug-running conviction some years ago concerning a salesman. The money is interesting.”
“So often comes down to money, doesn’t it?”
“That or someone’s fried on drugs or drunk and starts throwing punches.”
“Deputy Jackson, thank you. I assume some law-enforcement people will be at Hounds for Heroes?”
“Actually, we would be there anyway and our armed forces recruiters will be there, too. Veterans of Foreign Wars will be there and the American Legion.”
“Sounds like everyone will be safe, including the hounds.” She joked and he appreciated her humor.
No sooner did she end the call than the dispatcher called her. “Officer Cooper, St. Luke’s Lutheran Church.”
“Right.” Cooper turned on the siren and lights.
“Attempted break-in just discovered when the pastor unlocked the door, which was 7:50 A.M.”
18
September 30, 1787
Sunday
In general, Maureen Selisse Holloway, driven and ruthless as she was, thought her slaves singing and praying on Sundays quite a good thing. The Old Testament, that paean to monotheism, justified dictatorships, one-man rule. Justified slavery, too. Her late husband ran the place with her help, but she was in charge and everyone knew it. Her father, who used the same methods, equally impressed her. Being a widow would have been a form of freedom, but when Jeffrey looked at her with that handsome face, those sensitive eyes, well, a lady must live. So he was her screen. Everyone knew, of course, but fictions must be preserved.
In Sulli’s hand were topaz earrings, a lovely but modest necklace, no large stones.
“Where’s she keep her jewelry?” William wanted to get out before the service ended.
“Elizabetta has the key.”
“Where’s the stuff?” he demanded.
Rather than argue with him, Sulli glided through the main room, Ralston in tow, moved into the hall and down to the small pantry. She turned left, stood at the top of a solid wooden stairway leading down to a root cellar. Halfway down the stairs a metal door, large, filled part of the wall.
“It’s in here.”
“Even if we had a crowbar, we couldn’t open that.” Ralston’s jaw dropped.
“Dammit!” William turned, nearly knocking over his beloved, and charged upstairs. “There’s got to be something we can turn into money.”
“Tack?” Ralston thought.
“Too much to carry. The pieces you brought me were hard to sell. We need jewelry and cash.” He turned to Sulli. “Everyone has a box of money to pay little things.”
Sulli wordlessly walked to the kitchen and opened a drawer. “Household stuff.”
He pulled the drawer all the way out. Some scrip and coins rested in the bottom. He scooped them up.
“William, we need to get.” Ralston knew that while services were long, more time not to work, they weren’t that long.
“We need two heavy coats,” William ordered Sulli.
“Wait here.” She left, returning with two woolen jackets, dark gray, plus a beige one for herself and a scarf.
William sighed, taking a jacket from her. Ralston also lifted a jacket off her arm. If Ralston had thought about this, he would have realized William didn’t have much of a plan. Sulli tried to come up with useful items, but what could she do? Big Rawly, well run, treasures locked away or hidden, would yield little.
“Do you know where the key is to the wall safe?”
Sulli stared at William. “Around Elizabetta’s neck.”
“Why can’t we wait until she comes back? We can tear that key off her neck.” William rubbed his hands together.
“She’d scream,” Ralston sensibly noted.
“Put your hand over her mouth and I’ll hit her upside the head.”
“William, don’t be stupid. Everyone on this place would turn against you.” Sulli may have loved him and believed he loved her, but she was beginning to doubt his intelligence.
“She serves Maureen. Who would care?”
“She’s not like Sheba.” Sulli had known Sheba since she was a child and Sheba was hateful to everyone, including children. “She does the Mistress’s bidding, but if she can help without that witch knowing, she does.”
“What’s that to me? We need things to sell.” William nearly spat.
“We can steal along the way.” Ralston wanted to get moving.
“He’s right.” Sulli smiled at Ralston.
“Goddammit.” William stalked off, looking over his shoulder. “Well, come on.”
Walking behind hedges and trees, fall now obvious, they headed down to Ivy Creek. The idea was to go east-northeast, to get through Virginia and Maryland. Once in Pennsylvania they could decide whether to keep moving north or find work with rich horsemen. Pennsylvania boasted fine carriages, and people needed good hands with horses.
Running to freedom. Three young people, Ralston sixteen, Sulli eighteen, and William twenty-two. They weren’t just running to freedom; they would find money, maybe even fame. Silk breeches awaited them and patent leather shoes with gold buckles. Low-cut dresses with sheer lace bodices and exquisite bonnets, such fine things to adorn young heads. The world beckoned.
19
April 20, 2018
Friday, 8:50 A.M.
“Pretty primitive.” Cooper knelt down.
“Whoever did this splintered the wood.” Reverend Jones knelt down beside her.
“Amateur. If someone knew what they were doing, a true break-and-enter robber, this would have been easily popped if carrying the right tools.”
“I’ll buy a new lock and install it today,” Harry offered.
“Actually, Harry, let a locksmith do this, and while he’s at it, let him check all the exterior locks. These doors, locks included, have to be forty years old.”
“Cooper, the doors are from 1787. The locks, yes, they’ve been updated,” Harry replied.
“Update them again.” Cooper stood up, as did Reverend Jones. “You have crosses, candelabra, expensive embroidered vestments. The chalice alone is worth a fair amount of money. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Have the locks changed on your house, too,” Cooper suggested, a bit forcefully. “You don’t think about it, but everything in this church, even the baptismal font, is from right after the Revolutionary War.” She smiled. “And your office, Reverend Jones, well, Victoriana.”