Haunted (36 page)

“I came to take out old Tannenbaum,” Harry said. “I haven't been out on him for a while. I just want to make sure that he and I are still real good friends, before we get out in front of the crowds tomorrow.”

“Sure. I'll go saddle him up for you,” Clint said.

“I lead one of the cavalry charges,” Harry told Darcy. “You ever been to one of these things?”

“No. I've been to a lot of the national parks, but I've never really seen a reenactment,” Darcy told him.

“Well, want to take a ride with me, young lady? I'll show you where it's all taking place. Sorry—you do ride?”

“I love to ride. And if you'll give me a minute to get dressed, I'd be happy to go with you. Unless…” She hesitated and looked at Penny.

“You can go to the mortuary if you want, if you think you can help,” Penny said. “But I'd be staying the hell away from Matt myself this morning. Let him handle things the way the police would do it, first.”

“Hell! Did you hear that? My, my, Penny Sawyer swearing!” Carter teased. “But seriously, I'd stay away from Matt right now, too.”

“You saddle Tannebaum for Harry, and I'll get Nellie ready for a ride,” Clint said.

“There's really nothing else you can do at the moment,” Penny told Darcy. “Go with Harry. You'll enjoy it.”

Darcy nodded. “Give me just a minute, then.”

“Hell, I think I'll go for the ride, too,” Carter said.

“Hell, I'll join you, too,” Clint said, grinning at Penny.

“I'll be right down,” Darcy said.

“No hurry,” Harry Smith said. “I'm off the next three days. Take your time.”

“Yes, dear, take your time. I have muffins in the kitchen—how rude of me. Harry, come on in and have some coffee and muffins.” She looked both Clint and Carter up and down. “And when you ne'er-do-wells with all that time on your hands have saddled the horses, you can have coffee and muffins, too.”

“Ne'er-do-wells!” Carter protested. “I'm a hardworking entrepreneur!”

“And I even have some work this evening,” Clint said. He winked at Penny. “You wait and see. You'll be eating your words.”

Penny sniffed. “Coffee when the horses are saddled. Darcy, you take your time. Harry, you come with me.”

Darcy ran back up the stairs, but didn't head straight for her room. She tapped lightly at Adam's door.

He told her to come in, and she found him still in bed.

“I might be getting a cold,” he told her sheepishly. “Anyway, Penny brought me some cold pills and tea and toast awhile ago. I'll just hang out in here for a few hours.”

“Adam, the skeleton was stolen from the mortuary,” she said.

“I know. Matt called.”

“Oh?”

“Don't worry. He's on it like a hornet.”

“Adam, doesn't it seem really suspicious to you?”

“Of course.”

“They all seem to think it was a fraternity prank,” she said. “They—Clint, Carter, and the rest of the town, I imagine.”

“Sure. They all think that you discovered a skeleton that was hundreds of years old.”

“There was nothing there, right? No jewelry, no remnants of cloth…nothing?” Darcy asked.

Adam shook his head. “The remains, from what Matt said, were purely skeletal.”

“Still…there would be teeth,” she said.

“Yep.”

“Adam, do you think it's possible that the skeleton isn't so old, and therefore someone really wanted to get it back?”

“Darcy, I told you I'd find Lavinia Harper.”

“I wasn't particularly implying that it would be Lavinia Harper.”

“Darcy, let's give Matt a chance to be a sheriff, okay?”

“Right, but…if there was a break-in…”

“Yes?”

“Wouldn't it be most feasible that it was done by someone who definitely knew that the bones were there?”

“Darcy, give Matt a chance.”

“Of course.” She told him then that she was going riding, and she would check in on him later.

A few minutes, she was dressed, and she ran downstairs. Penny had a plate with corn muffins set for her, along with juice and coffee.

“Did you check in on Adam, dear?” Penny asked her.

“Yes, he's just going to sleep for a bit. Hopefully, he'll feel some better by this evening.”

“Let him get some rest today,” Clint said. “He'll want to enjoy the show tomorrow.”

“The reenactments are fun,” Carter told Darcy. “You'll see today when we go riding—there are already a bunch of encampments set up. Wives come along and dress in antebellum fashion and cook on the battlefield. Some women dress up as laundresses…and those who just kind of follow armies, if you know what I mean.”

“Prostitutes,” Penny said impatiently.

Carter grinned and laughed. “Right. Prostitutes. Since General Hooker gave his name to one of the current labels for such ladies, we know that they were in abundance in the Civil War. And, hey, do you know how many soldiers came down with sexual diseases?”

“No, and we don't want to know,” Penny said.

“Well, that's good. I don't really know the number. But a lot,” Carter said.

“Shall we ride?” Harry asked.

Darcy gulped down the last of her orange juice and stood. “I'm ready, whenever. Penny, did you want to join us?” she asked.

“Heavens, no! I watched these boys play soldier far too long. Have a lovely afternoon.” She waved them all away, and they headed out to the stables.

 

Despite his absolute faith in his own people, Matt recognized that they were a small-town force. Before he ever reached Mahoney's himself, he'd put through a call to Randy Newton, the friend at the FBI who had tested the library floorboard for him.

While he waited for Randy and his team to arrive, Matt followed Thayer around the mortuary, seeing where a screen had been broken in the basement, allowing the thief—or thieves—entry. Mahoney's desk had been rifled, but it looked like a sloppy job. Nothing had been taken but the hundred dollars from the petty cash box, while Mahoney's Rolex, a Christmas present from his wife the year before, lay untouched right on top of the desk.

The wooden evidence box, filled with dirt and bones, had been left in one of the viewing rooms, where one of Matt's men would have picked it up from to drive it on in to Digger at the museum.

Mahoney was concerned, convinced that they were making far too much out of an ancient skeleton, and was concerned that the police would still be around when the Thompsons arrived for their great-aunt's funeral that night. Matt could only assure Mahoney that he'd do his best to collect what he needed, and be out.

Randy Newton was a tall, well-built guy who had made some of the top scores when he'd been in the academy at Quantico. He'd met Matt while working on a serial killer case in the outskirts of D.C., a truly psychotic fellow who had preyed
on impoverished prostitutes. They'd worked together well, and remained friends. Despite the usual peace and tranquility to be found in Stoneyville, northern and central Virginia provided havens for criminals who struck in the bigger cities, and hid out in the countryside. Matt and Randy had kept up a communications system which had served them both well in the past.

Randy looked like FBI. He wore the inevitable suit, and sunglasses, and with his height, build, and dark hair, he emitted an aura of authority. Even Mahoney welcomed him with something like awe.

But when they were alone in the viewing room where the box had been, Randy shook his head. “I don't get it, Matt. I mean, I can see where you're angry, but hell. This probably is a fraternity prank. Who the hell would want a bunch of old bones?”

“Randy, there is no guarantee that they're old bones.”

“I thought that your psychic had been led to them by a ghost in a long, flowing white gown.”

“Yeah—and there are still lots of white flowing nightgowns out there.”

“Really? I don't remember. I've been married too long. Rita wears T-shirts.” He shrugged. “She used to wear nothing at all, and that was pretty cool, but then we had the kids…hey, Matt, you're not smiling.”

“Because I think this is serious.”

“Do you know how many known murders I have on my plate right now, Matt?”

“I can imagine. But Randy, help me out on this. Get your guys to do the fingerprinting, look for any shoe marks…anything.” He hesitated. “And do me another favor.”

“What?”

“Run your files for me. Look for anyone in your missing persons files who…who just might have disappeared from this area.”

“Matt, I think a bunch of kids stole the bones of a woman
murdered so long ago, there's not a damned thing we can do for her.”

“Randy, help me out here anyway.”

“Did your psychic tell you to bring me in?” Randy asked suspiciously.

“Randy, no. I'm asking a favor.”

“All right. You've got it.”

“I need the files as quickly as possible.”

“Drive up to my office tomorrow. I'll give you everything I can get.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, you're looking frazzled as hell.”

“Haven't slept.”

Randy cocked his head to one side. “Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts. Hell, I guess they can keep you awake. Go home. Go to sleep. We'll take over here. And get out before the funeral. Trust me. Go.”

Matt didn't argue. He left Mahoney's, and headed straight home. He could hear Penny in her office when he stepped into the foyer, but he quickly slipped up the stairs, and crashed straight into his bed.

In a matter of minutes, he was sound asleep.

 

The ride was incredibly pleasant.

They headed out toward the north, following the main road for several miles, then riding into pasture land where canvas tents dotted the fields. They dismounted from their horses and walked around the various living history exhibits, visiting the blacksmith, an officer's tent, a seamstress, a common soldier's little plot, and the field hospital. Harry Smith introduced her to dozens of people, but when they came across those who had read about her in the newspapers, he politely but firmly found a way to steer her away.

Carter and Clint were old friends with many of the men as
well, and with a few of their friends, they rode on over to the Yankee camp, where they all teased that she belonged.

Naturally, she reminded them who had won the war.

“Of course,” Carter said. “The North had to win. I mean, what were those fellows thinking, that any man had the right to own another? It's crazy now. But history.”

“And history we shouldn't forget,” Clint said. “Things that were horrible have to be remembered. Hopefully, we learn from our mistakes. What is that saying? Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it?”

“Very true,” Harry Smith said. “I fought in the very early stages of Viet Nam. Any man who has really gone to war knows how terrible it is. Generals usually do their best to avoid conflict—politicians are the ones who are most eager for it. Anyway, don't get me started. Dusk is coming soon. We ought to get back. Let's take the back fields.”

“Sure you want to do that? We may have some fences in the way,” Clint reminded him.

“I know the way,” Harry said.

The ride back was far more beautiful. They never touched a main road, but traveled around farm fields and pastureland. After one massive cornfield, they came up a lovely little stream, with the water dancing over small rocks and boulders.

“Some of the heaviest fighting took place there, in the cornfield. Just like it was at the battle of Sharpesburg, men and corn alike were mowed down,” Harry said. As they rode, the stream widened. They came upon a beautiful whitewashed wooden bridge, spanning the stream between fields and the dirt trail they rode.

“The bridge is new. The original was destroyed during the fighting. Dozens of men crashed through it, and died, broken and battered, on the rocks below,” Harry said sadly.

Darcy could well imagine. There was an aura here, one of great sadness. She closed her eyes for a moment, and heard the
heartrending cry of a wounded man. The lucky ones died instantly, she thought, because the others had lain with broken bones, in agony, while the fighting had continued.

She quickly opened her eyes. The memory of pain here was deep.

Harry winked at her. “There's some activity in this area tomorrow. But we don't destroy the bridge anymore. Too expensive.”

“I can imagine,” Darcy said.

“Still, you'll enjoy it, I promise!” Carter told her.

“Darcy, you should dress up,” Clint said.