by CeeCee James
“Can’t wait,” he said. “Anything special you’re looking forward to seeing?”
“So many things. The Road to Independence exhibit sounded interesting when I read about it in the brochure.”
“Ah, I bet they talk about the shot heard round the world. Very exciting,” he said, leaning back in his seat, to my great relief.
It took us over two hours to get to Philadelphia, but I made it fun with a stop at a roadside fruit stand for a snack and lunch at the Wooden Stein where they have some of the best hamburgers in the state. Interestingly, there was a wanted poster hanging at the restaurant about the jewelry heist. I remembered hearing about it a few days earlier and, out of curiosity, searched it up again while waiting for my burger.
There was no new news. It seemed the trail had grown cold and the jewelry was nowhere to be found.
After our lunch, both the Carrols and the Sterns wanted to take a stroll to a covered bridge behind the restaurant for some photo opportunities. They took a few shots, and then I rounded them up to get back on our way.
We got to the Museum of the American Revolution at one o’clock which was later than I meant to, but there was still plenty of time left to explore. I paid for the tickets, and we headed toward the first exhibit. It was a film about the revolution. It was cool in the theater, which was a welcome change from the rising temperatures outside.
We settled into some seats in the back, and the lights dimmed. Just as they did, I got a text. I slid it out and tried to shield the screen with my hand. It was from Kari, and said, —when can we talk?
I glanced around, hoping I wasn’t disturbing anyone, before texting back,—I’m on a tour. How about tonight? Your house?
Her answer was quick.—See you then.
I dropped the phone into my purse and relaxed as the movie started. It was a short film reenacting the beginning of the American Revolution, and it kind of set the stage for our museum expectations.
The lights flipped back on and the group of us crowded through the doorway into the next room. I was impressed with the exhibit. In the center was a life-size reproduction of the Boston liberty tree, a large elm tree where the very first conversations about a revolution actually took place. Attached to the walls were posters that displayed in calligraphy different snippets of conversation that had happened around that tree.
Mr. Carrol went up and ran his hand along the bark before a museum curator shooed him away.
“I don’t see what the trouble is. I should be able to touch it, after all, it’s just a fake,” he said with a grumpy expression.
Mrs. Carrol grabbed his arm and shook her head. “Always a rebel, this one,” she said to me.
“This country was founded on rebels!” He announced as they walked into the next room. I waited to find the Sterns, who turned out to be right behind us. Together, we followed the Carrols into another room.
Just then, I got another text.—I can’t wait until then. I’m freaking out
I answered, —Freaking out? It’s going to be ok.
She didn’t write me back. The suspense was killing me. Okay, focus on your job.
The next room was just as amazing as the first. Built inside was an actual ship. The ship was a model of a privateer ship. All the guests were able to explore it. The five of us walked aboard, took turns looking through the telescope, and also examine the cannons.
Then there was another film and a wall of photographs of the veterans, where historians stated that during the course of the war, 231,000 men served in the Continental Army. The numbers of how many died were not known for sure, due to the deaths from starvation and disease, as well as Prisoners Of War. But the number was estimated to be was around 24,000 thousand people, with an additional 8,000–12,000 who died while prisoners of war.
It made me a little teary, seeing the plaques. I was glad there was a place of honor where there’d once been neglect of recognition of the war heroes of that day and age. They gave their lives for the United States and helped birth our amazing country. I was very grateful that this museum was finally built to provide them with some appreciation.
That gratefulness was thrumming through me when I got another text from Kari. —Maybe you shouldn’t come over. It could cause trouble.
What on earth was going on with her?
—What kind of trouble? I asked.
Her text was terse. —Just hurry up if you’re going to come.
I heaved a big breath of air. Seriously, I was feeling pulled into two different directions. I glanced up to see the b&b guests enter the next room without me.
—Kari, I’ll be there as soon as I can.
I turned my phone on mute and hurried after them. I found the Carrols’ studying a wall that displayed the paperwork of the Treaty of Paris of 1783, which had ended the revolutionary war and recognized American independence. There was the Bill of Rights in the next glass box.
Finally, we all walked in another room filled with artifacts from the war. There was George Washington's original sleeping office tent. It gave me goosebumps to look at it. He actually had conversations in there, war strategies and such.
On a podium in front of it was George Washington’s mantel clock, and his camp cups. Next to that was William Waller's powder horn that said liberty or death, along with a wooden canteen from the Continental Army.
Mrs. Carrol saw something and grabbed her husband’s hand to pull him away from where he was reading the first newspaper printing of the declaration.
What had caught her eye was George Washington's headquarters flag. It was pure blue silk with thirteen stars hand-stitched in the background.
It amazed me that all these things had been scattered for so long. Again, the gratefulness that everything was together in one place—to teach, to learn, and to admire—overwhelmed me.
When we finally left, I could tell that my tourists were history-drunk and satisfied by all that we had seen. The car ride home was relatively quiet. Everyone seemed to be mulling over their experience.
I was happy too, feeling like I’d stumbled onto a winner for the tour company. I could envision many more trips there in the future.
We had dinner at the Maridales, a restaurant that has all the staff dressed in period pieces from the American Revolution. I have to admit, I was rather proud of myself for reserving a table. It was like the cherry on top of a spectacular day.
Hours later, I dropped the group back off at the Baker Street Bed and Breakfast. I waved goodbye as I got out of Cecelia’s station wagon and into my little Volkswagen. I hadn’t heard anything from the mechanic, and I was feeling a little scared. Maybe this wasn’t going to be an easy fix, after all. I waved goodbye and, after I watched them all enter the establishment safe and sound, I headed over to Kari’s to see what was going on.
Chapter 10
I loved driving, especially at night. It had been my escape for years. There was something soothing about driving in the dark, with the headlights cutting swathes in the blackness, except for the occasional giant moth that startled me.
I turned down Kari’s street, where the overhead street lights obliterated the soft glow from the stars and moon. I stopped in front of her house, gave the bobbing flower another pat, and climbed out.
“What’s going on, lady?” I asked when Kari answered the door. Her eyes cut to the side and she grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the doorway, shutting the door firmly behind her. She pulled me over to one of the lawn chairs and then let me go. Her hands wrung together as if still needing something to hang on to.
“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling concerned.
Her hair was in a lopsided bun that looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in a week. “Have you found anything?” she whispered.
I frowned and decided to play dumb. I wasn’t sure if I had anything that could help Joe out or not. “Found anything, what?”
“Don’t hold back. I know you’re looking into this. Have you found anything about the murder?”
&n
bsp; I sucked in a deep breath. “I think I have a few things, but nothing solid. But don’t worry, I will. I have to do a little more digging. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I have the slightest clue.”
She bit her lip, which was chapped and showed signs she’d been picking at it. “All right.”
“Is Joe doing okay? How are the kids?” I asked.
Her gaze cut back toward the house. “They’re confused. Joe’s angry. He keeps insisting that Devon had a million enemies.” She lowered her voice to the merest breath. “He also says the guy was a scum bag who deserved to die. I keep telling him not to say that to anyone.”
“Yeah, probably not a good idea.” I had to admit, the fact that Joe was being so cold-hearted kind of gave me the chills. It didn’t match his character, at least from what I’d seen from him as a dad. In high school, he was a jock that I just tried to avoid.
A cold-hearted jock, my inner voice reminded. I squelched the thought down fast.
She shrugged and rubbed her arms as if she sensed what I was feeling. “Thanks for stopping by, but I think I need to have these nervous breakdowns alone. I don’t want the kids to hear us talk.”
I nodded and gave her a hug. She held me like I was her mom and she was the kid and wanted me to make it all better. I would do my darnedest, that was for sure.
“Text me, okay?” I asked.
“I will,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat. She released me and slogged back into the house with her head hanging. As soon as she opened the door, her back straightened and she put on a big smile. I suspected her kids were in sight. I waited until the door was closed behind her before walking to my car.
This was getting serious. I didn’t know how much more Kari could take. There had to be some way to find the people who hated Devon. If Joe believed a lot of people did, then I should be able to locate more than just Mikey.
I sat in the car for a moment before starting it. The flower bobbed as if waiting for me to do something.
I stared at it. “Should I text Jefferson about Mikey?”
The flower waved as if agreeing with me.
I sighed and then sent Jefferson a text about how Devon owed Mikey a lot of money. I hedged a bit on how I’d discovered it and just said I’d overheard a conversation at the bar.
I hit send, not expecting a lot from it. Devon’s personal pictures came to mind. I remembered that, in the mix of the men’s faces, there had also been a woman there.
Who was she? If I recalled correctly, his profile said he was single.
I saw a twitch of the curtains. Kari peeked out. Her face was drawn with worry. I waved and started the car and headed back to town.
My phone dinged. At the stop sign, I glanced at it with the expectations that it was from Jefferson.
Instead of a text, it was an email notification. I glanced in the rearview mirror, but no one was coming on this quiet road. I clicked it to read.
Georgie,
Just confirming our meeting on Thursday. Noon still work for you?
Robert Croker
My eyebrows lifted. It was from the coroner.
I remembered emailing him earlier that I’d love to meet for lunch. I sent another email back, confirming the meeting, this time with my phone number.
Now it was going to take everything I had not to check my phone every ten minutes to see if I missed a call or a text. But what if Croker emailed? I was going to have to check that too. It was crazy all the ways technology could cause me anxiety trying to contact someone.
Once home, I checked both text and email. I groaned at no response. I made myself a cup of hot cocoa and got into my pajamas. Then, I texted Frank.
I hadn’t exactly told him everything that was going on, other than the news about Joe. I figured he would hear about that through his partner, Jefferson.
I typed—Hey honey. Miss you.
Well, it wasn’t exactly romantic prose, but it would do. My phone dinged before I even had a chance to put it down. I was surprised he wrote me back so promptly. Usually, his training kept him busy at all sorts of weird hours and times.
—Miss you too. You keeping your nose clean in the Walters murder?
I cringed, not sure how to word my response.
—Just doing my best to support Kari. I grinned, proud of how I explained that. Not a lie, but nothing alarming. Completely fool-proof and—
—Supporting Kari means no snooping though, right?
Drat. That man was too precise for his own good. I better just come clean.
I wrote—Found out that Joe kept his knife in his truck. That’s how the killer got the knife.
Frank answered—Why would the killer have pin-pointed Joe’s house and broken into his truck just to steal a knife?
I responded with the only answer I could think of —to frame him?
—And who would do that? The only enemy Joe had is the one who ended up dead.
I was getting mad now. —Frank, you know Joe wouldn’t have killed anyone!
He wrote back—Do I?
It was then that I remembered the summer after our senior year. Frank and I had both volunteered at a mission to feed the homeless in the city. It had been an unexpected eye-opening experience for me. I think for both of us. The one thing I hadn’t expected to see among the homeless was the children.
It took everything I had not to cry, day after day. It truly changed my life forever. It was weird because I’d gone into it with these lofty ideas that I was going to help, that I was going to bring some amazing change.
But what happened instead was that they changed me. I saw them not as lesser than anyone, but as living with less than most of us. I saw that most weren’t there by choice, but were choosing to still fight to move forward. They just needed someone to fight along with them.
Joe had already graduated high school a couple years earlier. His future was bright, and he was in his second year at college on a football scholarship.
One night, Frank and I had been at the mission when we saw Joe. Joe was with a few of his friends and had one of the homeless men cornered.
Frank tried to get in between the guy and Joe when Joe pushed Frank. Back then, Frank’s bulk still hadn’t grown into his height, and he was no match for the football player.
“He tried to steal my wallet!” Joe screamed, his face mottled red.
“I didn’t! You bumped into me!” The man on the ground cowered with his hands over his face.
“Joe! Stop it!” I yelled.
“Get away, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes,” Joe sneered. “I’m just trying to clean up the trash.” With that, he picked up the guy and threatened to throw him into the dumpster.
Frank and I both grabbed Joe’s arms and got him to release the man. Joe had laughed and said he’d just been kidding. In the end, Joe’s dad managed to get the charges squashed, saying that Joe was drunk and didn’t mean it. Still, Joe had nearly lost his football scholarship because of the incident.
I’d never discussed it with Kari since we reconnected later in life. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure if Kari even knew the exact details as to what had happened that night.
I felt sad when I wrote back. —I’ll talk to you later. Sleep well.
I shuffled into the bathroom as the memory replayed in my mind. Did I know Joe as well as I thought I did? Maybe Devon had asked him for a meeting, and it went horribly wrong. Was Joe capable of doing something like that again?
I tried to shake the vision out of my head. No, people can change. I know Joe did. He even volunteered at the soup kitchen with his son, Colby. Everyone was allowed to grow from a mistake. He wouldn’t jeopardize everything he had like that, again. I know he wouldn’t.
I grabbed my toothbrush and stared at my reflection. Immediately, the line from Hamlet came to mind, and I said it out loud. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Chapter 11
I took my cocoa and phone over to my couch that I’d gotten as a hand-me-down from Cecelia. The cu
shions were already broken in and cozy. I sipped as my fingers typed up Devon Walters. So where was that picture of the woman? They wouldn’t have taken his page down because he died, would they? I scrolled through the images in a panic. Who would do that? Relief flooded me when I found them again.
Hmmm, she was a dark brunette. I clicked the photo and zoomed in on her face, trying to match it to the one I’d seen in the bar. The light had been horrible in there, and I couldn’t be sure it was the same woman.
Sometimes eyes couldn’t be depended on.
As I stared at the photo, I remembered Daisy saying something like that to Gertie. That’s right! Gertie had mentioned she’d seen a woman at the house where Devon had been murdered.
I gasped and mentally kicked myself for not following through with questions at the time. Why had I let them change the subject?
Because the two women were arguing, I reminded myself. And one of them still scares you.
I took another sip, mulling the warm cocoa over my tongue. Sounds like a visit to Gertie’s was in order. I hoped she’d be as accommodating as Daisy was.
After checking my phone—still no more texts—I took the empty mug into the kitchen. Tonight was kind of a bust, but maybe I could get some painting done.
I lifted canvas and set it on the easel. This was going to be my biggest painting yet. I got out my brushes and tried not to hyperventilate at all the white space. I was used to small 5x7’s. This was going to be a challenge.
First I laid down a layer of white paint. I liked to mix my colors into it rather than go straight onto the canvas board. I painted the horizon with sweeping strokes and then grabbed my thinner brush to line the mountain range.
I then grabbed my phone to check it for the millionth time, the end of the paintbrush finding its way into my mouth. Nothing. Groaning, I rinsed my brushes and put away my paint. Honestly, I couldn’t concentrate anymore. I just needed to go to bed. Hopefully, tomorrow would bring some answers I really needed.
The next morning, I headed out of the apartment early for the Baker Street B&B to help out with breakfast. As I ran down the stairs, I called Bob’s Mechanics. My fingers crossed, hoping for a good update.
