LeGarde Mysteries Box Set, page 89
part #1 of LeGarde Mystery Series
“I’m standing in front of the nineteenth century cemetery located off Lewis Road, near the Genesee Valley Greenway, where another incident of grave robbing has taken place. Let’s see if Lieutenant Joseph Russell from the Conaroga Village Police station will share information with us.” The camera panned to the left. “Lieutenant, would you please tell us what’s happened?”
Joe leaned forward to speak into the mike. The tops of his ears were red, a sure sign of nerves in my normally unruffled friend. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. We’ve been after these guys for some time now, Glenda. I’m just glad those two young fellas noticed what was going on and called us, otherwise we wouldn’t have stopped the robbery in progress.”
The camera panned again, this time to two smiling ten-year-olds who straddled their bikes in the background, and then it swung back to Joe.
“Lieutenant, can you tell us what you found?”
“Er…yes. We believe the two men in custody are part of a larger ring of grave robbers based in Rochester. We think they might be responsible for a string of robberies that have occurred over the summer. These particular graves were apparently targeted based on the recent link with the Underground Railroad. I imagine they thought they’d get more money for artifacts because of that.”
“The Hills?” Camille said.
The camera panned to the old tombstones that we’d ridden past on many occasions. Two headstones were upset, and two huge holes gaped in the earth. Glenda asked one more question and the camera zoomed into the grave on the right. “And what did you find that was so unusual, Officer?”
The camera returned to Joe. His eyes shifted, revealing his discomfort. “Well, Dr. David Hill’s remains appear untouched. The skeleton is intact within its original clothing. A gold watch is still in the casket; along with the sword and war medals. We’re not sure what’s going on with his wife Mary’s casket, however. Talk about a cold case.” He nodded toward the grave. “We found no bones or clothing in there. Just three old sacks of sand.”
Chapter 30
On Sunday afternoon, I sat on the edge at the shallow end of the pool, dangling my feet in the cool liquid. Water lapped around my calves, seducing me to forget about the chores on my Sunday list. The noon sun sparkled on the surface, shooting bright reflections in all directions.
Johnny grinned and dog paddled toward me. When he reached me, he grabbed my ankle. “Come play with me, Opa.” Brown hair plastered his forehead and dripped down his eyes and cheeks.
Sorely tempted to jump into the beckoning blue lagoon, I leaned down and smoothed back his hair. “I’d love to, sport. But I have to shuck corn for lunch. Maybe we could take a swim together after we eat. Would ya like that?”
His face fell. “No. We have to wait ninety hundred minutes after we eat.”
I laughed. “Just twenty minutes. I know. But it goes fast, buddy.”
He shook his head and frowned. “No it doesn’t. It takes a forever time.”
I looked at his disappointed face and reached down to run the back of my hand over his soft, cold cheek.
He rubbed against my hand like a kitten rubs against his mother for affection. My heart squeezed with love for him. He raised his big brown eyes to mine, and my resolve weakened.
Who cares if lunch is a few minutes late?
I grabbed the beach ball and tossed it into the middle of the pool.
“Beat ya to it!” I said. I yanked off my tee shirt and jumped in the water after Johnny, who already churned after the ball, laughing with near hysterical joy.
Earlier in the morning, we suffered through an emotionless sermon from a guest preacher. The good man droned on and on about an obscure Bible passage that didn’t make sense to me. I kept picturing moths flying out of his mouth.
Talk about sacrilege.
I loosed a guilty smile and swam after Johnny, who’d already reached the ball and hugged it as if it were his lifeline.
I pretended to grab at it, causing a new wave of giggles.
While we splashed around, I couldn’t help thinking about Nahum, still lying in the hospital bed in a coma—albeit now under guard—and lamented how much I missed his sermons. I needed to be transported to those lofty places each week. Nahum’s inspiration fortified me for the days ahead, and I actually felt like I wanted to be a better person after listening to his words.
Following the morning’s boring sermon, I ran an equally boring Organ Committee meeting. We discussed various alternatives, and argued about pipes versus electronic organs. I stood in favor of an authentic pipe organ, but some of the members had seen electric versions that they swore sounded “just as good.” Somehow, I couldn’t picture it.
It quickly became apparent that we needed an expert to coach us. I took the action to invite reps from three different companies to come to the church to explain the options and prices.
Mrs. Pierce was visiting her sister in Syracuse—as usual—which meant I was in charge of meals for the weekend. Freddie had accepted an offer from Adam Knapp to visit his parents. I was pleased their relationship was moving steadily forward. Meeting the parents was a big step, and Freddie had admitted she was afraid they’d disapprove of a woman with three young children and a felonious ex-husband.
They took the twins with them, but let Johnny stay home and swim after he begged for fifteen minutes straight. He seemed to relish the time he spent alone with adults, especially since his sisters demanded so much time from his mother. I’d readily agreed to watch him for the afternoon.
He splashed around some more, tossed me the beach ball dozens of times, and finally, with a little coaxing, clambered up the cement stairs with me. After I put on my shirt, he grabbed the back of it and rubbed his wet face back and forth on it, leaving a damp patch on my back. Peeking under my arm with his tousled hair, he giggled.
“Where’s your towel, buddy?” I spied it lying in a heap on the other side of the pool.
“You’re better than a towel,” he said. He threw his dripping arms around my neck and hugged me, soaking me. Laughing, he finally scampered to his towel, wrapped himself up, and ran back to me. Fat drops of water plopped from his red swimsuit into a little puddle around his feet.
“Can I help with the corn, Opa?” He squinted up at me in the bright sunlight.
I grabbed his flip-flops and positioned them. He slid his water-wrinkled toes into them, making a squeaking sound on the cement.
“Okay, pal. But let’s get your shirt on first.”
His blue tee shirt lay on the table beside us. I turned it right side out to expose Daffy Duck on the front.
I looked up when Siegfried hollered from the grove of fruit trees beside the barn.
“The plums are ready, Professor. How many do we need?”
Johnny squirmed his way into the shirt. I picked up an empty garden basket from the table, took his hand, and we headed for the plum tree.
Golden globes of Shiro plums hung heavy on laden branches, like flowing bunches of giant grapes. I picked one, rubbed it in circles on the front of my soggy tee shirt, and held it up to the light. The lemony skin stretched taut over the meat inside. I bit into the tangy skin and the juice spurted out, dribbling down my chin. The plump fruit was honey-sweet, but the skin tasted unbearably sour. I loved the combination.
Johnny pulled on my shirt. “Opa!”
Feeling guilty that I’d eaten one before him, I chose a huge plum from the branch over his head and wiped it off, polishing it like an apple. He grabbed it and took a bite. The tart skin screwed his face up tight, but he recovered and went in for the sweet flesh. I looked at Siegfried, who towered above us. He stood barefoot in his cutoff jeans and white tee shirt, his hair neatly tied behind his back in the customary ponytail.
“I think a half-basket will be plenty, Sig,” I finally answered. I planned to make a golden plum sauce to serve over homemade pound cake and vanilla bean ice cream.
He smiled, nodded, and stretched his long arms for the fruit nearest the top. Sig was the only one who could reach that high, and it was tradition for him to start at the top while Johnny picked from the bottom. I found a branch nearby and began to pluck the ripe fruit.
Two goldfinches swooped through the air and landed on an overgrown thistle while we picked plums and laid them carefully in the basket. The soft downy silks from the thistles swam on the air like dancing fairies while the industrious birds thrust their beaks into the plant to extract tiny black seeds.
“Professor?” Siegfried asked.
“Yeah?” I bent over and picked up the basket.
“Can Johnny and I camp in the woods? We haven’t gone camping in a long time.”
Johnny looked up with widened eyes. “Camping?” he mumbled. “With a tent?”
I looked from my grandson to my brother-in-law and back again. They both had such hopeful grins on their faces that I laughed out loud.
“You’ve gotta ask your mother, Johnny. But I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay.” Johnny jumped in place. “We can give her a call if you want. If she says yes, you two could plan your camping trip while I go down to Oscar and Millie’s. I’m bringing them some corn ‘cause Millie’s not feeling well.”
Siegfried lifted Johnny onto his broad shoulders. They had stopped listening at my tentative “okay.” Sig danced around in circles, whooping and hollering. I smiled at the huge man and little boy who were such good friends and then handed Siegfried the basket. He maneuvered Johnny toward the tree. The boy reached to the very top, picked a plum, and dropped it into the basket.
Chapter 31
I headed for the compost pile behind the barn with a basket of corncobs in one hand and a bulging rubbish bag in the other. At lunch, we’d devoured five-dozen ears of buttered Silver King sweet corn, eight ripe tomatoes, and three cucumbers. Siegfried polished off nearly two dozen ears himself. I still tasted the golden plum sauce on my lips from dessert. I’d eaten far too much, and as a result, I felt totally sated and ready for a nap.
After tossing the cobs on the compost pile, I walked toward the rubbish area and tilted a trashcan toward me to inspect the bottom, wondering if any rain had collected from the thunderstorm last night.
In the bottom of the barrel lay a gray furry creature. I leapt back, momentarily shocked, then tossed the trash bag onto the grass and leaned over to look inside.
A possum.
His dull brown eyes stared at the barrel walls, unblinking. I refocused, wondering if he was dead. His fur looked almost cat-like, but the long pink hairless tail resembled that of a giant rat. I stared for a moment at his lifeless body and was startled when his sides heaved. They bellowed out and in, and then froze again. I stepped back.
“Now I get it.” A grin spread across my face. “You’re playing dead. Playing possum.”
I guessed the critter had crawled into the trash barrel to look for food or water and then had become trapped. Peering over the rim, I jiggled it gently. He slowly moved his head in my direction, looking up at me with his big eyes.
“Okay, little guy. I’ll get you out of there.”
I tipped the barrel onto its side, taking care to quickly step away as I felt particularly vulnerable in my sandals and shorts. After about a minute, he waddled out and headed toward the woods, looking back over his shoulder once before he disappeared into the brush.
I laughed all the way back to the house, dying to tell someone about my find, but the house was empty now. Siegfried left a few minutes earlier to take Johnny grocery shopping for their upcoming campout. Camille had gone to the movies with Maddy and Shelby. I planned to deliver corn and vegetables to Millie and Oscar, then rendezvous with Camille at five to check in on Nahum.
I grabbed my keys and the basket of vegetables, and whistled for Max. “Come on, boy. Wanna go for a ride?”
The dog heaved himself from the floor and trotted a bit slower than usual, but still made a beeline for the car. He managed to leap through the open window into the passenger seat, eyes shining. The cast looked a bit worse for wear, dirty and shredded. But he walked with less of a limp now and seemed to be healing.
“Feeling better, buddy?” I patted his head, stowed the vegetables in the back seat, and started down the drive. Max’s tail wagged when he stuck his head out the window, inhaling the scents of summer from the passing woods and fields.
On the way, I noticed two contractors’ trucks parked at the church. I pulled in to watch them. Two men crouched on the partially completed roof. I was surprised they were working on a Sunday, but heard they’d been putting in a lot of overtime since the tornado. Max stayed in the car while I wandered over to the one of the men on the ground.
“Gus LeGarde,” I said, moving forward to shake his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Bob McVean. We spoke on the phone.” He grinned and gripped my hand in a vice that nearly dropped me to my knees. I gritted my teeth and smiled back, unwilling to be the first to release.
We’d discussed the roofing job on the phone a week ago. After some haggling, with me bemoaning the church’s financial situation and McVean complaining about the rising cost of gas and raw materials, we’d settled on the price, style of shingles, and the work schedule.
“Looks like you’ve made good progress,” I said.
“Been a good season for roofing, with all this dry weather. Driest summer in a century, some folks say.” Bob tipped a liter-sized bottle of Lipton green tea to his lips and drained half of it.
“That so?” I nodded and shielded my eyes from the sun while peering at two men on the roof.
McVean took another slug of tea and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “We’ve stripped off the old shingles and planks. The load of new lumber was delivered last night.” He gestured at a strapped pile of wood in front of the cemetery. “With luck, we’ll be done tomorrow, before the rains come.”
I followed his gaze to the roof and watched the man pulling the Boston ivy away from the brick chimney. We’d decided to cut the vine back to the base of the building and allow it to climb up again next year.
Bob explained the details. I mechanically responded to his chatter. We moved closer when he pointed out the roof pitch and discussed the benefits of the interlocking shingles. I squinted in the afternoon sun and gazed at the exposed chimney bricks.
One white stone nestled among the rough collection of red bricks.
It shone like a beacon, welcoming desperate travelers to the comforting shelter below.
Chapter 32
I stepped over the brittle grass in Oscar and Millie’s front yard, followed closely by Max, who stopped to sniff a few bushes along the way. Although I saw the white farmhouse, the roses on the trellis, and the gardens in the back, I didn’t take it in. My mind filled with visions of Mary Hill and her involvement in the Underground Railroad.
Not only had our home been a haven for fleeing slaves, but our church was probably involved, too. Mary had been a parishioner, and we’d seen her marriage records that proved she’d been wed there, as well.
The thoughts swirled in my brain like the hot breeze that blew through the leaves of the American Yellowwood tree. Faded white blossoms whirled and settled in the brown grass below. As we approached the porch, a curtain pulled aside. Oscar’s face peered from behind the glass.
I knocked briefly and opened the screen door. “Oscar? Millie? Got your veggies here.”
Max scooted past me and ran ahead into the living room. I hurried behind him, worried about his wagging tail and the delicate bisque treasures in the room.
“Come on in, Gus.”
Oscar sounded subdued. I turned the corner to find Millie in her wheelchair with a lavender handkerchief pressed to her face. She looked up with reddened eyes when Max began nosing around her elbows and licking her arms.
I glanced at Oscar, who stood quietly by the window. He turned toward me with a sad expression.
“Oscar? Millie?” I put the basket down and moved closer. “Everything okay?”
Oscar scowled and pushed his hair back from his forehead. “Not really, Gus. We need to talk.”
Max’s tail whipped back and forth, precariously close to the French fashion doll on the table by the window.
Oscar reached down to pat him. “Let’s put Max out with Tinkerbell. She could use a good romp with him. Then we’ll tell you all about it.” He picked up a white bone-shaped dog toy and squeaked it once. Max’s ears perked up, and he followed Oscar through the back door to Tinkerbell’s fenced-in yard.
When he returned, I sat beside Millie and laid my hand over hers.
Oscar walked to the windows again and pulled back the curtains, looking toward the road. “There’s been more trouble, Gus. They found a skull fragment at the mine that might be from the ancient burial site. The environmentalists and the Senecas are back up there, demonstrating. I heard there’s a scientist from the university coming down later to examine it. Digging’s been halted again. Another delay for the miners.”
He backed away from the window and dropped onto the Victorian couch, his arm draped over the backrest. “You okay, Mother?”
Millie sniffed into her hanky. “I’ll be fine, Daddy.” She looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, Gus. I just don’t know what to do.”
I patted her hand again and waited. She peeked at Oscar over her soggy handkerchief and received an encouraging nod.
“Well then, I guess I’d best come right out with it.” She dabbed her eyes and sat up. “Yesterday we had our quilting group. You know, with my friends who are married to the miners?”
“Oh?” I knew she was part of a quilting group, but hadn’t realized they were mining families.
“Something came out in the conversation. I was asked not to repeat it.” Her voice thinned and rose to a high pitch. “It was told to me in confidence, you understand, from very good friends. I’ve been thinking about it all night and day. And I’ve decided that I have to do the unthinkable.”
