The Virginia Mysteries Collection: Books 1-3

by Steven K. Smith

  Sam closed his eyes. There was no use fighting Derek once he got started on these crazy ideas. “Well, our tour guide said there’s a special reenactment program this Sunday afternoon.”

  “Really? That’s perfect!” Derek leaped up, smiling.

  “Perfect for you. Derek, I really don’t want to see those guys again. It makes me ill just thinking about it.”

  “They’re probably long gone by now,” said Derek. “And we’ll be there with Mom and Dad. No one is going to try to hurt us if we’re with them.”

  “That depends on how bad these guys are,” said Sam. “What if they’re murderers? What if they’re hired assassins for a South American drug lord? What if they kill people for fun, just to watch them die?”

  “You’ve been watching too many movies,” said Derek, laughing.

  Sam sat for a minute, thinking about Derek’s plan. He did have a tendency to get overly anxious. But Derek usually took things too far.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Sam said. “They did seem more like thieves than killers.”

  “Great, then we’ll go to the reenactment. It’ll be our cover. We’ll bring Mom and Dad for safety, and while we’re there, we can look for more clues. Now let’s go talk Mom into it.”

  Derek marched out of the room before Sam could argue further. Sam followed him downstairs and watched Derek ambush their mom in the kitchen.

  “Mom, we have to go back to St. John’s Church!” Derek blurted out.

  “We do?” Mom was stirring something over the stove. “Did Sam leave something there?”

  “No, but he told me about his field trip. It sounded awesome! That place is filled with history. I know that you and Dad would really enjoy the educational value Sam and I could get from seeing it all again.”

  “Excuse me?” Mom laughed. “I think you must be in the wrong house. Educational value? Who are you, and what have you done with my son?”

  “Our tour guide said they have reenactments of Patrick Henry giving his famous speech,” joined in Sam. “Remember how you told us about that?”

  “Didn’t you study history in college?” asked Derek. “You’d love it! I’m thinking about writing a paper for extra credit for Mrs. Lincolnmuller.”

  “Oh, honey, you must be sick!” said Mom. “Come here. Let me feel your forehead.”

  “It’s true, Mom,” said Sam. “We should go.” He didn’t sound quite as enthusiastic as Derek, but he was trying to play along.

  “Oh, no, it must be contagious!” said Mom. “You’ve caught it too!”

  “Very funny, Mom,” said Sam. “Can we go on Sunday? They’re having a program and it’s not far.”

  “Well, if you’re really serious, it does sound fascinating,” said Mom, getting back to the stove. “I was excited to hear that your class was going there in the first place. Let me talk to Dad and see what he thinks.”

  “All right!” Derek gave Sam a toothy grin. Sam weakly tapped Derek’s outstretched hand for a high-five as they left the room. He had a sneaking suspicion this wasn’t such a great idea at all.

  ***

  The morning of the reenactment, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. It reflected off a spoon on the breakfast table with a blinding light. Dozens of sparkling reflections danced off the far wall like a movie projector. Sam watched them glisten for a few seconds and then pulled the curtain across to block the rays while he ate.

  He hadn’t slept well. He lay in bed for a long time thinking about Church Hill. He must be crazy to go back there. He splashed milk over the bananas and Cheerios in his bowl. It formed white waterfalls over the round pieces of cereal that floated like miniature life preservers.

  Derek wandered into the kitchen and plopped down into his chair with a thud. “Who won the game last night?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t find Mom’s phone. Try the paper.” Sam crunched between bites. “Maybe Dad brought it in before he left for the gym.”

  Derek walked over to the counter and picked up a banana. He grabbed the newspaper from under a box of cinnamon muffins and pulled out the sports section. He dumped the rest of the paper on the table next to Sam.

  “Guess who won?” he said, flipping through the pages. “It’s worth two points.”

  Sam didn’t answer. He didn’t feel like playing Derek’s game. They were always competing over something, even when it didn’t matter. Dad had started it when they were little by telling them they’d get “points” when he wanted them to do something. The boys had carried on the tradition themselves, even though the points never counted for anything. Sam suspected Derek secretly kept an ongoing tally of who was leading, just so he could win. But Sam was too tired for the game this morning. Derek could have all the points he wanted.

  Derek moved his finger up and down the page, pointing at the lines of box scores. “All right, the Rams won! 68-52! Look at this awesome dunk picture!”

  Sam leaned out of his seat to see the page, his curiosity to see a cool dunk overtaking his drowsiness. As he stretched across the table, he knocked over a half-full glass of orange juice. It quickly spread across the surface to the rest of the newspaper.

  “Sam!”

  “Whoops, sorry.”

  “Don’t just say sorry! Get something to mop it up!” shouted Derek.

  “All right, all right,” Sam said with a huff. He grabbed a wad of napkins and blotted up the wet pieces of newspaper. He was starting to pick them up when something caught his eye on the front page of the Metro section.

  He froze in mid-wipe.

  The juice found the crack in the middle of the table and began dripping onto the wooden floor.

  “Hey, Earth to Sam!” Derek hollered when he noticed Sam not cleaning up the mess. “What’s the matter with you? What are you looking at?”

  “It’s him!” Sam whispered, pointing to a photo that had mostly escaped the flood of orange juice. The picture showed a group of strangely dressed men standing in front of a big white building.

  “It’s who?” said Derek. “What’s that picture?”

  “It’s the guy from St. John’s Church, the guy I ran into in the basement! It’s him, Jerry!”

  “What? No way! Are you sure?”

  Derek read the caption under the picture on the page:

  Participants prepare for historic reenactment at St. John’s Church, Sunday at 2 PM.

  “You mean the guy who tried to grab you was one of the reenactment people dressed up in colonial costumes?” asked Derek.

  “Yeah, did I leave that part out yesterday?”

  “Yes, I think you failed to mention that part,” said Derek. “Why would someone in the reenactment try to grab a kid? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does make sense. He was trying to steal something out of that wall in the basement, and I interrupted him.”

  Sam pulled the edge of the curtain back and scanned the yard. “Change of plans. We can’t go back to the church if he’s definitely going to be there. He’ll see me for sure!”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Derek said in his most confident voice. “We’ll put you in a disguise so he won’t recognize you. Is this place big? You can blend right in. He’ll never know you’re there.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty big,” said Sam. “There are lots of rows of benches.”

  “Perfect,” said Derek, smiling. “We’ll sit in the back during the performance. When it’s over and the actors are off signing autographs or something, we’ll take a better look around.”

  “I don’t think they’re the kind of actors that sign autographs, Derek. It’s not Hollywood, it’s a historical reenactment.”

  “Okay, well, we’ll figure something out. Don’t worry – it’s going to be fun. I’m ready for another great mystery to solve. If it works out as well as the last one did, we’ll be golden!”

  “Or we could be dead,” Sam said with a groan. “That would be worse.”

  FIVE

  The Reenactment

  “Boys, co
me on!” called Dad. “The program’s going to start soon and we need to get a seat. You don’t want to sit in the back row, do you?”

  Sam and Derek followed behind their parents up the sidewalk that led into St. John’s Church.

  “That’s exactly what I want to do,” grumbled Sam.

  “We’ll be there in a second,” shouted Derek. “You guys go ahead and get some seats. Sam wants to show me one of these cool old gravestones.”

  “Okay, but it starts in five minutes,” said Mom. “And Sam, take off that silly looking hat. This is a church after all.” She walked in the front door, shaking her head.

  Derek looked over at Sam. He was hiding under the shadow of a tree just off the sidewalk between two tombstones.

  “I look ridiculous,” said Sam.

  “You said you wanted a disguise. You look good!” Derek let out a little chuckle. Sam was wearing an oversized hat they’d found in the back of their dad’s closet with dark sunglasses that kept slipping down his nose.

  “I need a disguise from my disguise,” muttered Sam.

  “Don’t worry about it, you’re not going on a date!” said Derek. “Now let’s look at these gravestones before things start. We need to figure out what marker those guys were talking about. Are there any special graves? Any famous people buried here?”

  “The tour guide said a couple of Virginia governors’ graves are here, and the mother of some guy named Poe. Oh, wait.” Sam remembered the grave he’d seen with Billy and Caitlin. “There was one more grave, and it was important. It’s over here.”

  Sam led Derek over to the edge of the sidewalk to a large stone.

  “George Wythe….” read Derek, pronouncing the last name as Sam had earlier, like the letter ‘Y’.

  “With,” said Sam.

  “With who?”

  “No, his name – With.” Sam could hear Caitlin’s voice in his head correcting him.

  “What’s with whose name?” said Derek.

  Sam smacked his hand to his forehead. He felt like he was in that old black-and-white comedy Dad had showed him where two guys were arguing about the names of baseball players. “No, you pronounce it ‘Wi-th.’ It rhymes with Smith.”

  “Ohhh,” said Derek. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I did!” shouted Sam.

  “Okay then,” said Derek, “so George Y-th, With, whatever. Who is he? I mean, who was he?”

  “You can read, can’t you?” With a sigh, Sam pointed at the large plaque on the enormous gray stone. It listed the key accomplishments of the late Mr. Wythe.

  “Wow,” said Derek, reading the plaque. “So he was really a signer of the Declaration of Independence? That’s pretty cool. If a marker means a gravestone, do you think this is the one those men were talking about?”

  “It could be. I think it would be from around the same time when Patrick Henry gave his speech.”

  “Hey, look here on the plaque,” said Derek. “It says Wythe taught Randolph, Jefferson and Marshall. Is that Thomas Jefferson? I don’t know who those other names are.”

  “I think so,” answered Sam.

  “Well, that’s pretty cool if he was Thomas Jefferson’s teacher. He was an important dude all right!”

  The church bell began to ring. Two old men hurried past them up the sidewalk to the entrance.

  “I think the reenactment is about to begin, Derek.” Sam turned. His brother was kneeling behind the stone, peering down at the dirt.

  “What are you doing?” Sam hissed. “You can’t dig up his bones!”

  “Listen…I think I hear something.” Derek put his ear to the ground in front of the stone.

  “What is it?” Sam asked, leaning over.

  “Do you hear it? Ba-boom…ba-boom… It sounds like a heart beating. I think they buried poor George alive in here!”

  Sam bounced up and pushed Derek into the grass. “Will you stop it!” He didn’t know how he always fell for Derek’s lame jokes.

  “Gotcha, Sam!” Derek shouted.

  “Shh! Be quiet, we don’t want anyone coming over here and asking what we’re doing. This place is a federal park or something. We could get arrested for messing with the grave of a signer of the Declaration of Independence.”

  “Actually, the sign out front said this is a National Historic Landmark. I notice these things,” Derek said, proudly.

  “Boys! Derek! Sam!” The brothers jumped as they heard their dad’s voice ring out across the graveyard.

  Derek wiped his hands on his pants and hopped to his feet. “We’re coming! Come on, Sam! Move it!”

  ***

  The boys slid into the wooden pew beside their parents toward the back of the church. Mom wasn’t happy they were late. After all, it had been their idea to come there in the first place. She pulled the hat off Sam’s head and frowned at Derek’s dirty pants.

  Derek nudged Sam in the side and pointed toward the front of the church. Several actors were standing in the aisles, arguing back and forth in English accents, using very formal-sounding words. They all wore the colonial clothes like the tour guide from their class trip.

  “Do you see him?” Derek whispered.

  Sam scanned back and forth, trying to pick out a familiar face. It was hard to tell since they were near the back, but he didn’t recognize anyone.

  A voice in the front of the church announced, “The floor recognizes the good gentleman from Hanover County, Mr. Henry.”

  “Mr. President, I move to propose an amendment!” shouted a loud voice from the left side of the room. The speaker rose from his bench and turned to address the crowd.

  Sam gasped when he immediately recognized the man’s face. He slouched down in his seat and lowered his head. He wished he still had his hat on.

  “Look Sam, it’s Patrick Henry!” pointed Derek in excitement. He turned and saw Sam slumped down in the bench. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s him!” Sam hissed. “That’s the guy!”

  “Wait, Patrick Henry is the guy who tried to grab you?” Derek whispered in astonishment. “I mean, not the real Patrick Henry, but the reenactment guy Patrick Henry?”

  Sam nodded his head quickly.

  “Whoa,” muttered Derek. “That’s not good.”

  Mom looked over, noticing Sam’s pale face. “Honey, are you okay?” she whispered.

  Sam shook his head and held his stomach with his hand. This was a huge mistake. What was he thinking coming back here so soon?

  “I think he’s feeling sick,” said Derek.

  “Okay, go out with him to the bathroom, but don’t wander off,” whispered Dad with a sigh. “Please try to be quiet so you don’t disrupt the program any more than you already have.”

  Derek nudged Sam toward the aisle, and they crept toward the exit. Sam tried to open the heavy wooden door without anyone noticing, but it let out a loud groan that echoed through the room. He wanted to keep going, but he couldn’t help looking back at the actors at the front of the room.

  Jerry was waving his arms in his Patrick Henry role, shouting about how the colony couldn’t protect itself from England. When the noise from the door rang out, though, he raised his head. His eyes locked with Sam’s. A streak of fear shot through Sam’s body, and he froze in his tracks.

  “Death!” yelled Jerry. “Death is waiting at our doors if we do not build up our own rations and militia!”

  “Come on, Sam, go!” Derek pushed them through the doorway into the sunlight.

  Sam ran over to a tree and bent over with his hands on his knees. He couldn’t stop breathing fast. Maybe he was hyperventilating.

  Derek patted Sam on the back. “This is perfect! Are you ready?”

  “What? Are you crazy?” Sam looked up. “We have to get out of here. Did you hear what he yelled when we left? ‘Death is at the door!’ He was looking right at me, Derek!”

  “Relax, Sam, that was just part of the show. He wasn’t really looking at you. It is perfect, don’t you see?” Derek pulled the
program out of his pocket. “Bad Patrick Henry is busy in there with the reenactment. The show is supposed to last for an hour, and they’re not even halfway through it. That means we’ve got at least thirty minutes to explore and look for clues without having to worry about him.”

  “Unless,” Sam moaned, “he comes out in the middle of the program and looks for us. Then he has thirty minutes to kill us with no one else around!”

  Sam pictured Jerry digging up a fresh grave just for him.

  “He can’t do that,” said Derek. “He’s Patrick Henry, the star of the show. And look!” He turned the paper program around in his hands, showing the page to Sam. “We know his name. Right here, see. Patrick Henry is played by Jerry Millburn.”

  “Great,” Sam said. “Well, let’s get out of here before Patrick, Jerry, or whoever he is comes after us.”

  Derek checked his watch. “We still have time. Come on, we need to go down to the basement where they were digging. I’ll bet there’s something really cool in that spot. Maybe it’s a Babe Ruth rookie card. That would be worth a fortune!”

  “Wrong century, Derek, but I agree that it must be something pretty special. Otherwise Jerry and his henchmen wouldn’t have been in there digging.”

  Sam reluctantly followed Derek. He looked warily over his shoulder, half expecting Patrick Henry to jump out with a musket and shoot his head off. Sam tried to picture him inside the church talking away about liberty and death. He looked up and caught a glimpse of his brother walking around the corner toward the back of the church.

  “Derek, wait!” he hollered, running to catch up.

  Derek stood next to an old door at the back of the building. “Is this the door you went through when you saw them?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but there’s a padlock on it.”

  Derek grinned wide. “You mean this one?” He opened his hand and held out the lock. “It was unlocked already. Come on!”

  Derek pulled open the door. The same dim light hung over the stone floor. Sam got the chills when he saw the spot where Jerry had grabbed him. They scampered down the hallway to where the men had been working. The big empty space was still in the rock.