“How strange.” Catherine was intrigued.
“And it was stabbing,” Rick chimed in. “Finally, after fulsome discussion, the grave was opened. Those caskets were as good as the day they were built, but on top, no effort to cross her hands over her chest, had been what I think was dumped, but at any rate, there was a woman’s body. Bones, a scrap of mustard silk fabric. What was shocking was she wore a pearl necklace. Large, large pearls, two long strands, and earrings to match with diamonds surrounding the pearls. We had Keller and George appraise it.” He looked at his audience. “Six hundred thousand dollars if a penny. Can you believe it?”
Keller and George, in operation since 1875, could be relied upon to carefully study antique jewelry. They cleaned it, took photographs from every angle. Called in an expert from the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts who came to the same conclusion they had concerning value and approximate age based on design.
“Who was she apart from being rich?” Catherine asked.
“We have no idea. The medical examiner’s office thought she died in the late 1780s. Probably near the time the Taylors were laid to rest. But she didn’t die. Her neck had been snapped cleanly by someone who was powerful and knew what he or she was doing.”
“I checked her teeth.” Nelson looked up as his hamburger arrived. “Little decay. She had eaten some refined sugar but her teeth were better than a lot of what I see today. I’d estimate her age, based on wear, maybe early thirties at the most.”
“The medical examiner came to the same conclusion concerning her age.” Rick smiled as his lunch arrived.
They were all hungry.
“That’s one of the strangest stories I’ve ever heard.” Catherine dug into her Cobb salad, a cool lunch but filling.
“And she was African American.” Cindy, too, thought this quite strange. “Granted, there were rich African Americans as there were rich tribal individuals who owned slaves, too. But wouldn’t you think someone that wealthy would have been reported missing?”
“You’d think,” Catherine responded.
Rick cut his sandwich in half. “We have good records from that time. The constable did his job and with clear handwriting, too. No mention at all.”
“Why didn’t the killer take her jewelry? That could have set someone up for life.” Nelson couldn’t understand that at all.
“No records at St. Luke’s?” Catherine inquired.
“No, and St. Luke’s has fine records kept in a temperature-controlled vault. Every year’s offerings and expenses are noted to the penny. All illnesses are recorded. All deaths and probable causes of death. Births are recorded, as are baptisms. Nothing. Not one iota.” Rick shook his head.
“Well, if she was a businesswoman, someone would have noticed. If she was local or even from as far as Richmond.” Cindy, having seen those pearls at Keller and George in the vault, imagined the wealth that purchased them.
“Herb canvassed the congregation. No one came forward regarding disturbing the grave. Obviously, whoever was fooling around at the Taylors’ grave had some kind of suspicion about the body’s whereabouts and maybe even about the pearls.” Nelson waved to a club member leaving the nineteenth hole. “If they found out, why can’t we?”
“What if she was kept by a wealthy man?” Cindy was practical.
“With six hundred thousand dollars’ worth of pearls plus the diamonds around the earrings! What did she know that we don’t?” Catherine queried and the others laughed.
“There were people of enormous wealth at that time. The Garths, the Selisses. She became a Holloway after her husband was murdered. And there were people like Yancy Grant who had a lot of money but ultimately lost it. Still, I can think of no one who would buy that kind of jewelry for a mistress. We’d know. You can’t hide something like that.” Rick was firm about that. “I mean even Jefferson couldn’t hide, you know?”
“They all tried.” Cindy bit into her sandwich.
“Still do.” Nelson laughed.
“Maybe I should retire from medicine and go into detective work. This is really fascinating.”
“Well, I know one thing,” Rick stated. “She was hated. You don’t kill like that, hide the body, and leave great wealth if you don’t completely hate the victim.”
“Maybe she deserved to be a victim. My mother used to say, ‘Some people need killing.’ Maybe she did something horrible. Women can be bad guys, too,” Cindy stated.
“Equal rights.” Catherine winked.
“I make one prediction.” Rick shrugged. “This is close to home.”
4
April 9, 2018
Monday
“What’s your weather app say?” Harry peered at her phone.
Susan stared at hers. “Spring snowstorm. Predicted to start early evening.”
“Didn’t say that yesterday. Mine says the same thing as yours. Certainly looks threatening.”
Susan wrapped a scarf around her neck. “Supposed to snow from Maine to North Carolina. A nor’easter. Those are hateful and my phone says it’s already snowing in New England. Moving down.” She looked around for heavier gloves than yesterday’s light work gloves.
“The changing seasons. You never know but usually by April fifteenth we’ve seen our last hard frost. By then the forsythia’s in bloom. Guess not this year.” Harry zipped up her lightweight down jacket, which did keep her warm. “Let’s make a run for the bathroom. Got your toothbrush?”
“Do.”
They charged out of the cabin, sprinting up to the stone house, where running water was actually running and hot. There was no bathroom or kitchen in their cabin. Their items, even towels, were at the stone house.
After brushing their teeth and tidying up their hair, they put their items in bags, a Dopp kit for Harry, a baby blue bag with a ribbon for Susan. Harry usually bought men’s things because they were better made, lasted longer. She always bought men’s work boots.
“Let’s leave our bags here. No one will care.” Susan slipped her blue bag on a shelf. Harry did likewise.
They clambered upstairs for breakfast.
“Susan, I’ll be right back. I need to make sure I closed the door to the cabin. Tucker will push it open if I didn’t.”
“Okay.” Susan sat next to Jason Holzknect, set to talk about his Chesapeake Beagles in Maryland, while Harry dashed back to the cabin.
“We want to go with you,” Tucker announced.
“All right, you all. Stay inside. It’s cold outside, the barn will be cold, too. You’ve got your food and water.” She put two more large logs on the fire, checked the fire screen. “I think we’ll probably leave early today and I don’t want to go on a search and annoy mission. I search, you annoy.”
“Not me,” Pirate protested.
“Perfect.” Pewter flopped on the bed.
Harry had brought her comforter and Susan brought her heavy sleeping bag, so the kitties snuggled into them while the dogs sat in front of the crackling fire.
“I should go with you. You need protection,” Tucker grumbled.
Harry walked to the door, looked back. “Be good. I’ll see you soon enough.” She opened the door and closed it firmly behind her.
Once in the dining hall, muffins on the tables, the president announced that those who had come from the North, north of the Mason-Dixon Line, should leave now as the storm, according to her app, was sweeping down and would be in New York and Pennsylvania by noon. They just had almost enough time to outrun it—some snowflakes but the worst would be later.