7 Never Haunt a Historian (17 page)

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him outside the house before,” Warren commented, putting her own thought into words.

Leigh shook her head. Although Harvey moved about more easily than his frail appearance suggested he could, the farthest she’d ever seen him away from his books and his cat was the front porch. “He probably just wants to ask me more questions about the map,” she replied. “But I should see what he wants.”

“Should I wait?” Warren asked, casting an anxious glance back toward Archie’s place.

Leigh smiled at her husband’s attempt at protectiveness. They both knew that when it came to physical danger, he spoiled for a confrontation about as much as Lenna did.

Still, the gesture was sweet.

Leigh assured him she would stay on the Brown’s property and then walk home by the road, and Warren, Lydie, and the kids set off without her. She walked uphill and met Harvey in the middle of the Brown’s backyard, where he had stopped to rest by Lester’s hammock.

“Hello Ms.—I mean Leigh,” he corrected. “Lovely day today, isn’t it?”

Leigh nodded, although she could not help wondering if, on an average day, Harvey had any idea what was happening in the world outside his room. His lack of interest in the great outdoors was further evidenced by the fact that the giant sweater engulfing his torso clearly belonged to Lester.

“I have a message for you from Adith,” he said pleasantly. “She’s asleep at the moment, but she wanted me to tell you that she saw the dog you were taking care of.”

Leigh’s eyebrows rose. “Wiley, or the stray mother dog?”

“The stray,” he replied. “The little white one. Adith said she saw her midmorning, pacing around at the edge of the woods. She might have gone back into the tool shed, but Adith couldn’t see.”

Leigh smiled. “That’s good news! I hoped she hadn’t gone far. She should get the food we left out, then.”

“That’s fortunate,” Harvey said politely.

“Is Adith having trouble staying awake again?” Leigh asked, not really needing an answer. With everything that was going on in the neighborhood, she knew that Adith would otherwise be out on the deck, binoculars and popcorn in hand, 24/7.

Harvey nodded. “Emma keeps trying to adjust her schedule so she’ll be sleepy at night, but the medication seems to affect her differently every time. Last night she was up until the wee hours. By noon she couldn’t keep her eyes open, even though she kept saying she wanted to talk to you the minute you got back from church.”

The wee hours?
Leigh made a mental note. Had Adith seen or heard Lester leave the house?

“But I must confess,” Harvey said soberly, “I have my own reasons for wanting to speak with you.”

Leigh steeled herself.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of that map handy, would you?” he asked hopefully.

Leigh shook her head. “Sorry. I haven’t spoken with the police yet.”
At least not about that.

To her surprise, Harvey shook his head. “It doesn’t much matter,” he said gravely. “The fact that it exists is enough.” He paused a moment, scanning the horizon in every direction with pale, troubled eyes. A gust of wind ruffled the crown of white hair behind his ears, and he pulled Lester’s sweater tighter around him. “I’ve been thinking, you see. About how that map came to be lying on the ground.”

His eyes moved to hold hers. “Emma has called a couple of times today. She told Nora about an hour ago that Lester’s fever is down and his confusion seems to have cleared up. He says that he couldn’t sleep last night and went outside for a walk because it was cooler. He heard some sounds coming from the tool shed and decided to check on the mother dog. The next thing he knew, he was lying on a stretcher with paramedics hovering over him.”

“I see,” Leigh replied tonelessly, studying her shoes.

“I don’t believe that story,” Harvey said flatly.

Leigh looked back up at him with surprise. “You don’t?”

Harvey shook his head. “I think that Lester dropped that map. I think that he and Archie were looking for something together before Archie disappeared. And now, for whatever reason, Lester has gotten even more desperate to find it.”

Leigh sucked in a long, slow breath. “That’s what I think, too,” she admitted.

“What I’m trying to figure out,” Harvey continued, “is who
else
has the same map.”

“I gave the police the copy the children found,” Leigh explained. “I made more copies of it beforehand, though, to hang onto myself.”

“You keep them with you, then,” he said sternly. “Extras will only confuse the picture.”

Leigh studied his troubled face. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she urged.

Harvey nodded. “If the item Archie and Lester were seeking is indeed a valuable Civil War relic, it must have come from Theodore Carr. So therefore did the map. The question is, how would a map made by Theodore wind up in Archie’s hands? If Carr made the map to preserve the item for his descendants, he would have given it to his son or daughter, and it would then have passed down through the family. But Archie is in no way related to Theodore Carr. I can assure you of that from my genealogical studies.”

Leigh caught the drift. “Then at some point, someone in the family must have given a copy of the map away to a friend, or sold it, or something.”

“The copy that fell into Archie’s hands, yes,” Harvey speculated. “It could have passed through several pairs of hands, and probably did, if the history of the farm being ‘haunted’ since the fifties is true.”

“It is,” Leigh assured. She gave a brief summary of Dora’s story, which Harvey listened to with rapt attention. “Adith told me something about that visit,” he said wryly, “but her story bore little resemblance to yours.”

Leigh grinned. “I expect not. Focused on the orbs, did it?”

Harvey harrumphed. “My point is, if we could determine who else might have a copy of that map, we will also know who else might be searching for the treasure.”

Leigh’s expression darkened. “And who might be determined to keep Archie and Lester from finding it first.”

Harvey nodded gravely.

Leigh tensed. “You really think it could be the hat of General Armistead?”

At her words, Harvey’s eyes blazed with an internal fire. “I can’t express to you how valuable such a treasure would be to the faithful. I’ve been doing some reading since our last chat. The hat would be of gray wool felt, what they call a slouch hat. It would have had a wreath insignia and been worn with officer’s cords. I read one account, based on an enlisted man’s journal, that claims the general wore two ladies’ hatpins hidden under the brim, one to honor each of his late wives. And of course, the genuine article would probably have a hole in the top crown, where the sword punctured through.”

Tiny beads of sweat formed on Harvey’s brow. Leigh hoped it was from mere excitement and that he wasn’t catching Lester’s flu, although seeing physical evidence of the man’s ardor on the topic was almost as disconcerting.

“It’s unlikely such a treasure could have survived in good condition,” Harvey said at last, lightening his tone a little. “It would have to be very well preserved. Air tight, without humidity. Not easy to do, perhaps. Never mind the ample evidence we already have that Theodore was not in his right mind when he died.”

“But it could have been the son,” Leigh pointed out. “Tom Carr could have made the map and buried his father’s hat.”

Harvey considered a moment. The thought seemed new to him. “I suppose so,” he mused. “But why? We know that Theodore suffered from dementia and paranoia; it makes sense that he would hide the hat from whatever imaginary threats he perceived. But would his son feel the same inclination?”

“According to Dora,” Leigh explained, “Theodore and Tom were both a little off their rockers at the end. Tom could have been just as convinced the government was out to steal their prize, or UFOs, or the ghosts of Confederates past… whatever.”

Harvey nodded. “Good point.”

“I just hope,” Leigh continued, her thoughts turning suddenly macabre, “that Thomas didn’t bury the hat
with
his father.”

Harvey’s bushy white eyebrows rose. “You mean… in a cemetery?”

“No,” Leigh answered. “On Frog Hill Farm. According to Dora, Theodore was buried there.”

“I never heard that!” Harvey exclaimed. “I’m sure Archie would have mentioned it.”

“He might not know,” Leigh replied. “Dora described a small, flat gravestone, but it’s not there anymore. The kids have explored all through those woods and around the creek—there’s no way they would have missed a gravestone.”

“I suppose not,” Harvey mused. “Such things are supposed to be disclosed when a property is sold, but… well, people don’t always comply. It’s possible.” He pulled a handkerchief out of a pants pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

Leigh noted that, suddenly, he looked very tired. “Let me walk you back to the house,” she offered.

Harvey complied. “I wish I thought the searching was all in good fun,” he said, his voice growing feebler as he moved uphill. “An honest quest, if you will. But with Archie gone, and now Lester…” his sentence remained incomplete. He stopped a moment and looked at her. “I know that Lester is lying to the police. He even lied to me yesterday when I asked him, point blank, what he and Archie were up to. But I know why he did it—it’s because he’s scared. I’ve known Lester since he was a little boy; his father was a friend of mine. He and Archie are good men, Leigh. It might not seem like it under the circumstances, but I know that they are.”

“I know that too,” Leigh agreed. “And I think you’re right… about everything. But that includes this being a potentially dangerous game. So please, don’t feel like you have to do any more. I promise I’ll make sure that the officers investigating the case know everything we’ve talked about. It’s their job to sort it all out.”

To her surprise, Harvey smiled at her wryly. “You didn’t believe me when I first mentioned the hat. You thought it was an old man’s nonsense. Are you sure the police won’t think you’re a little ‘off your rocker’ too?”

Leigh let out a chortle. “Of course they will. But I’m used to that.”

***

As Leigh walked past Nora and Derrick Sullivan’s house on her way home, her heart contracted with sympathy. The baby was crying again. Little Cory had cried as much as any newborn for the first month, but then the testy tyke had kicked it into serious overdrive. He was close to three months old now, and not only were the evening cry sessions still going strong, but he was often fussy all afternoon as well. Before she had kids of her own, Leigh would have blamed the parents. Surely they were doing
something
wrong?

Now she knew better. She also knew that Nora had already made an excessive number of visits to her pediatrician, certain that the baby must have some medical ailment. But happily, little Cory always checked out fine.

His parents, on the other hand, were probably getting close to the brink. Just as Leigh reached the corner of her own yard, the crying stopped, and she breathed easier. She wondered if Nora could hear the crying from inside the Brown’s house—and hoped she could not. Listening from afar was probably worse than being there. Besides, Nora had a point. Derrick, like all new fathers, would be well served by some one-on-one time with his son.

Leigh entered her house to find the entirety of the Pack playing some incredibly noisy game in her basement. Cara and Gil were running late in their return from New York state and Lydie had pleaded some unspecified prior commitment, leaving Warren to supervise all four. He was accomplishing this by relaxing in his favorite armchair reading a paperback with a glittering purple light saber on its cover. Both their guest mutt and the resident corgi, energy temporarily depleted, slumbered at his feet.

All in all, it seemed a typical Sunday afternoon.

Leigh fidgeted with her phone, contemplating a call to Maura. She had no way of contacting the detectives from the General Investigations unit directly—she didn’t even know who they were. Even if she did, she doubted the effort would bear fruit. The best way to deliver the new information was through Maura… who at least believed that a treasure hunt might be a possibility and who would know how to present the evidence so the theory didn’t sound quite so ridiculous. But should she do that
now?

Maura’s husband Gerry was due back from his trip this afternoon. Leigh glanced at her watch. Any minute, actually. Which would make her timing maximally terrible.

She sighed and walked to the front windows. There was no emergency. Not really. Lester was safe in the hospital. No one would be going back under the tool shed—at least not this afternoon. She would give Maura a little more time with her husband, then call her later tonight. The detective probably wouldn’t pass along the info until the next morning anyway.

“Warren,” Leigh announced without enthusiasm. “I’m going to my brainstorming hammock. Those pottery crocks aren’t going to promote themselves.”

Warren nodded. “May The Force go with you.”

Leigh’s eyes rolled. “As always.”

“And don’t leave the yard.”

She offered a salute.

“I mean it, Leigh,” he said seriously, lowering the book. “If I look out those back windows and you’ve mysteriously disappeared, I’m picking up the phone.”

“You’d call Maura?”

“No,” he answered, his tone grave. “I’d call your mother.”

Leigh scowled. “That’s dirty pool.”

A devilish grin played on his lips. “Indeed.”

No sooner had Leigh crawled into her hammock, closed her eyes, and started thinking about pottery crocks than she heard it again.

Baby Cory was screaming his lungs out.

She put her hands over her ears and swayed the hammock.

Look what’s new in ancient pottery crockware!

Absolutely nothing.

This isn’t your great-grandmother’s pottery!

She peed in hers.

It’s not just for King Tut anymore!

Even you can be buried with it.

Leigh groaned out loud and opened her eyes. The hammock wasn’t helping. Neither was the crying baby. She could stand it no more.