Finally released, they slowly walked back toward the large stone building a quarter of a mile ahead. No one spoke until the Institute came into view.
“What do we tell the others?” Mary asked.
Arlene lifted her shoulders, then let them fall. “That we found him.”
“Perhaps we might spare them some details,” Susan suggested. “Especially Clare. Why didn’t the sheriff bring her to the body?”
Harry replied, “Aren’t spouses and next of kin the most suspicious people? People are killed by those close to them, not that I think Clare is a killer. Maybe the sight of him would be too dramatic. They wanted to spare her.”
“It’s hard to get more dramatic than finding a man with his throat slit,” Arlene posited.
“Fast?” Mary wondered.
“Not fast enough,” Harry told them. “You bleed out but you know you’re dying. I expect the shock doesn’t totally cover the pain.”
“Harry, we don’t need to know that.” Arlene gently chided her.
“Sorry.”
“Our human is practical even about death.” Tucker was proud that Harry never lost her head.
The four women gathered in the dining room with everyone else. The kennel group replayed how Jason asked for the tractor. Amy had made him promise to be quick about it. He was in a good humor. Each person chipped in their impression of Jason in what no one knew would be his last moments. Mary and Amy comforted Clare as best they could, once she was free of questioning. Everyone felt awful for her. She was especially distressed that she had not seen his body. Mary, through her many connections, was allowed to take Clare to see her husband, who would be sent to the medical examiner’s office in Richmond early in the morning.
The other work party had nothing to say. They had been far away from the kennels, from Jason on the tractor, and also far from Harry’s work party. Naturally, each person expressed dismay and sorrow, but they were one step back from the immediacy of it all.
The dark outside enveloped them. Harry wanted to go to the cabin to let the cats in.
“Given the circumstances, if anyone wished to stay the night, that’s okay,” Amy told them. “There won’t be breakfast tomorrow morning, but you all know you can pick up something once on the road. The bathroom will stay open.” She looked to Arlene. “Is there anything we need to do? Clean out the kitchen?”
“No. I’m sure we can round up coffee. I’ll be staying.”
“Me, too,” Amy said.
“We’ll be in the cabin,” Harry told them. Most of the group did decide to stay, either in the main building or their cabins. The dark proved intense and everyone had the sense to know they were not at their best. No point driving if your concentration would wander. Although many did volunteer to drive Clare back to Montgomery County, Maryland, tomorrow after she saw Jason. The rest of the family had been called.
Harry and Susan grabbed two sandwiches and had drinks in the cooler back in the cabin. As they stepped outside, the stars loomed overhead so low, it seemed they could touch them.
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter rose to greet them, for they’d been sitting on the cabin porch.
“I’m freezing!” Pewter loudly complained.
The dogs shot inside the second Harry opened the door. Tucker and Pirate told the cats everything while Harry knelt down, poking the embers. A few glowed amidst the ashes. She rolled up newspapers, dropping them into the just placed logs, crossed like a box. The papers caught. She arranged smaller logs over the square, then sat in the rocking chair to warm her feet. Susan had put down food for the animals. She, too, sat down, first handing Harry an iced tea. Neither had thought to bring a plug-in teakettle, but the tea was fine.
“I’m famished.” Harry bit into the ham and cheese. “Cold makes me hungry.”
“The sight of Jason has dimmed my appetite.”
“Susan, it wasn’t so bad.” Harry remained calm about it.
“Why would anyone kill Jason Holzknect?”
“That’s what’s shocking, really. The suddenness of it. Now you’re here. Now you’re not. No signs of struggle. He knew who killed him, I would think.”
“They came up behind,” Susan reminded her.
“Yes, but he had to climb down from the tractor. He knew who killed him and whoever did it knew how to do it.”
“I expect quite a number of people know how to kill.” Susan folded her sandwich wrapper.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because of the large number of military and government people, some still active and some retired, in hunting. We’re close to Washington. We get all manner of people flying under false colors.”
“What do you mean?” Harry leaned forward.
“CIA, FBI, defense department people. Ned has alerted me to that. Not that they’re bad. They’re not, but Ned says if someone has a business, they make decent money, live in a decent house, but you never see a lot of people in, say, the insurance agency. There’s always people in the military service doing double duty. They’ve all been taught how to handle various weapons. Often, even though retired, they still have one foot in it even if used as a consultant.”
“I never thought of that.” Harry shook her head.
“We don’t have to,” Susan simply declared.
“Maybe he made a mistake.” Harry wondered.
“For all I know, he stole some money or was sleeping with someone else’s wife.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Jason never gave a hint of, shall we say, such excitements. If anything, he was a bit tedious.”
“Now Harry.”
“Nice enough. Don’t get me wrong. I just don’t think excitement was his middle name.”
“Well, Harry, he’s been murdered. Bam. Under all our noses. He couldn’t have been that dull.”
The fire warmed the chilled cabin. Harry and Susan removed sweaters and took off their boots.
Tucker rose, walked to the door, scratched.
“Oh, Tucker.” Harry reluctantly got up and opened the door. A cold, low air swept by her legs. Tucker halted, then turned back to the fire. Harry closed the door, accustomed to canine changes of mind.
Ruffy had brushed by her, walked to the fire, sat down. The other animals told him about the murder but he knew.
“It’s not over,” the ghost predicted, then lay down before the fire, something he hadn’t done in years.
11
September 13, 1787
Thursday
Bumbee set her loom and rose from her bench, which she preferred to the chair she occasionally needed. The girls spinning yarn or cutting patterns in heavier fabric in preparation for cooler weather had left for the evening.
Moving around the room, Bumbee checked everyone’s work. Like any other job, variations in talent revealed themselves, but no one was awful, and a few of the younger women evidenced a flair. Rubbing the thin, light wool between her fingers, she smiled. This would make a blouse or dress draping the female frame and the bit of warmth would be pleasant. On a cool morning Catherine or Rachel could throw over a heavier sweater.
Bumbee checked all the shelves. Sometimes in their haste to leave to go to husbands, children, or boyfriends, the girls would stick the wrong bolt in the wrong place. Bumbee would chide them the next morning, but she remembered those heady days.
She pulled off her shift, the cooler air noticeable. Then she walked over to the large pot over the low fire. She liked to keep warm water going, easy to bring to a boil if someone wanted tea. Mr. Ewing made certain everyone could have a bracing cup of tea. Bumbee mixed her own leaves together. She had her brisk morning tea, an afternoon tea with tiny bits of lemon rind, and then her evening tea with her secret mixture. Put her right to sleep.