The Virginia Mysteries Collection: Books 1-3

by Steven K. Smith

  Email: steve@myboys3.com

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  To Mom and Dad,

  For sending me downstream with a paddle in my boat

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ONE

  It was three balls and two strikes in the bottom of the ninth of the afternoon backyard baseball game. Derek dug in at the plate, gripping the handle of his bat tightly. Sam ignored his brother’s confident stare and stood tall on the flat stone that served as a pitching mound. He turned the ball in his hand behind his back so he could feel the laces. Slowly his hands came together in front of his chest. He reared back, summoning his strength and focus. As he hurled his best heater toward the plate, Sam could almost hear the white sphere cutting through the air to the bottom right corner of the strike zone.

  Derek waited patiently for the ball, hands at his ear, coiled like a snake about to strike. He swung in an instant, head down, watching the ball smack his bat as it flew through the zone. The ball shot off of his bat like a comet, flying higher and higher into the sky. It went over the big maple tree, over the fence that separated the Jackson brothers’ yard from Old Man Haskins’, and out of sight.

  “Woohoo! Home run!” Derek shouted, as he jogged around the bases in exaggerated fashion with his arms raised over his head. “The Yankees win, theeeee Yankees win!” He dragged out the word the like the sports announcer on the radio up north was famous for doing.

  Sam shook his head from the mound in the center of their backyard. He looked out toward where the ball had disappeared. “Lucky shot, Derek. But now you’ve lost the ball.”

  “Lucky shot? Are you kidding? That was pure skill. I crushed it! I’ll bet that would have been over the fence at the little league field. Maybe the high school field. Maybe even Yankee Stadium!”

  “Keep dreaming,” Sam replied, as he walked up to the fence and draped a leg over the top board. He’d let Derek celebrate his moment of glory. The truth was, his older brother was a pretty good hitter. But Sam had been practicing his pitching for weeks against the bounce-back net their dad had bought him, and he felt like he was getting better. He silently vowed to strike Derek out next time.

  “Where are you going?” called Derek. “Can’t you handle the defeat?”

  “I’m getting the ball!”

  Sam scanned the neighboring yard from the top of the fence. He spied the ball underneath the pink flowers of a rhododendron bush and jumped down into a clump of old dusty mulch. He tried not to step on some flowers haphazardly sticking out of the bed.

  “Hey, that’s trespassing you know, buster!” a gruff voice called through the trees.

  Sam peered up from the shadows, picking out his neighbor along the side of the house. “Hey, Mr. Haskins,” replied Sam, warily. Mr. Haskins was eighty years old and a little kooky. Sam used to be afraid of him when his family moved to Virginia several years ago, but the old man was okay once you got to know him. “Sorry, I’m just getting our baseball.”

  “Baseball, huh? You’re lucky you didn’t break my windowpane, boy. I’d take that out of your allowance, if you have one. I’m not sure kids your age actually do any work anymore...”

  Mr. Haskins was always harping about how kids these days just sat around inside and played video games. Sam slid off the fence, waving his hand in a friendly manner as he bent down for the ball. He hesitated, contemplating just going back the way he had come, but then decided to be friendly and walked farther into the yard.

  Mr. Haskins was wandering around the lawn in his bathrobe. It was white with long blue stripes running from top to bottom. He looked like he’d escaped from the county jail, or perhaps the local mental institution. Thankfully, he had clothes on underneath, as the robe hung open, its loose belt dragging in the grass. He wore an old, grey hat on his head and was muttering to himself.

  He peered over at Sam. “Isn’t it time yet for school to start? We need to get you back there before you break something.”

  “It’s only July, Mr. Haskins. We’ve still got half the summer left!” It seemed like summer was moving fast enough as far as Sam was concerned. He didn’t want to wish it away sooner than he had to.

  “Confounded dandelions!” the old man suddenly belted out.

  Sam jumped with a start. “What’s the matter?”

  “What’s the matter?” Mr. Haskins repeated. “Look around! What do you see?”

  “Grass?”

  “Humph! Not much of it. Look at all those weeds. It’s like I’m swimming in a sea of yellow out here. They’re taking over, I tell ya!”

  “Sorry,” said Sam, looking around but not quite knowing what to say. Mr. Haskins always seemed to be spouting off about something. It usually had to do with the weather or the mailman. “Maybe you need some fertilizer?” Sam thought he remembered hearing his dad say something about fertilizer being good for their yard.

  “Fertilizer! Ha! That’s the last thing I need, boy.”

  “Oh.” Apparently that was the wrong answer.

  “Fertilizer would just feed the weeds. I’m not wasting any of my hard earned scratch just to feed those nasty buggers.” His eyes grew large as he rambled on. “I’ve been thinking about—a master plan.”

  “A master plan?” asked Sam, raising his eyebrows. “You mean to get rid of the weeds?”

  “No, a master plan to make you taller,” yelled Mr. Haskins, smacking his hand on his forehead.

  Sam tilted his head, trying to follow what the man was saying.

  “Yes, I mean the weeds, boy. What do you think we’re talking about here? Pay attention!” He turned back to the yard. “I’m thinking of setting the whole lawn on fire and burning them out. One giant fireball would wipe ‘em out once and for all!” Mr. Haskins raised his arms up over his head in a dramatic motion like an atomic bomb exploding. “How do you think they’d like that?”

  Sam pictured Mr. Haskins’ yard engulfed in flames and took a cautious step back toward his house. Maybe the old man had really lost it this time.

  “That would be awesome!” exclaimed Derek, walking up behind them. “Can we help you burn them out?”

  “Aww,” muttered Mr. Haskins, waving off the boys with his hand. “Of course you kids would enjoy that, wouldn’t you? I’m surprised you savages haven’t set my place on fire already, the way you’re always running around here causing trouble. Nah, I’m not going to give you or those weeds the satisfaction.” He backed up and sat down on the top step of his porch, removing his hat and wiping his brow. “It’s enough to send me to my grave, I tell you what, boys.”

  Sam nodded, like he completely understood the pain of trying to keep dandelions out of the yard. He wasn’t sure why grownups made such a big deal about their grass. As long as it was mowed and flat enough to play sports on, he was happy.

  TWO

  Sam looked back at the grey hat that Mr. Haskins had been wearing. “Is that an old baseball cap?” It looked like the kind from the black and white highlight reels on ESPN.

  “What?” wheezed Mr. Haskins, patting his head until realizing tha
t he was holding the hat in his other hand. He jerked back in surprise. “Oh—my hat. Well, let me tell ya boy, this hat is special.”

  “It is?” asked Sam, staring at the hat. It looked old, but not particularly special. In fact, it was kind of ratty. It had a few small holes in the back and the grey color was faded.

  “This here is a genuine Confederate soldier’s cap, yes it is.” He gently placed it back on his head, pulling the brim down toward his eyebrows.

  “You mean, from the Civil War?” asked Sam.

  “The War Between the States. Yep, that’s the one,” said Mr. Haskins.

  “Wow, so it must be pretty old,” said Derek.

  “Of course it’s old, boy!” cackled Mr. Haskins. “It was one hundred and fifty years ago, as a matter of fact. It’s a milestone.”

  “Wow, that’s older than you!” exclaimed Derek, smiling.

  Mr. Haskins looked like he was about to shout something but then closed his lips tight together, obviously thinking better of it. “You should be so lucky,” he muttered softly.

  “But why do you have a Confederate Army hat?” asked Sam.

  “Yeah, didn’t they lose the Civil War?” added Derek.

  Mr. Haskins’ eyes opened wide. “Watch yourself, Yankee,” he said in a fiery voice, unable to contain himself any longer. “You’re in the South now, don’t forget. Richmond was the capital of the Confederacy.”

  “Oh, right,” said Derek. “We’re below Mr. Dixon’s line.”

  “The Mason-Dixon line, boy! Get it right! Don’t they teach you anything in that danged school of yours?”

  Sam couldn’t tell if Mr. Haskins was really mad or just pretending to be, like grownups did sometimes. But there was definitely a gleam in the man’s eye when he talked about respecting the South. Sam was pretty sure the Mason-Dixon line was the border between the North and South during the war, but he wasn’t certain. When he lived back up north, Sam never really gave much thought to the Civil War, but here in Virginia it was a much bigger deal. People seemed to really enjoy remembering history, maybe because there was so much of it around.

  Sam looked back at the hat. “Do you act out Civil War battles or something?” He’d seen people dressed up like the founding fathers at St. John’s Church in Richmond on a class trip last year, so maybe people did Civil War reenactments too.

  “Nah,” replied Mr. Haskins. “Don’t have the time for that kind of malarkey. But there’s no need to disrespect the South. A lot of blood was shed. A lot of young boys lost their lives. Sometimes brother fought against brother on opposing sides of the battle. Some of them were not that much older than you two.” Mr. Haskins stared off at the trees like he was remembering something.

  Sam hadn’t really thought about having to go to war himself. He was pretty sure ten years old was too young to fight. Maybe Mr. Haskins meant Derek. Twelve wasn’t old either, but Derek liked to act like he was already a teenager.

  Mr. Haskins looked back over at them. “It’s the anniversary, you know, of Lee’s surrender at Appomattox—one hundred and fifty years today.”

  “Apple what?” asked Derek.

  “Appomattox!” barked Mr. Haskins. “Look it up! Open a book or turn on one of those electronic do-dads that you kids are always running around with. You might learn something!” Mr. Haskins stood, turning toward his front porch. It looked like their conversation was over.

  “Derek! Sam!” a voice called through the trees. “Come on, we’re about ready to leave.”

  It was their mom, calling from their front yard. Their parents were going on a weeklong trip to Paris for their wedding anniversary. It was pretty extravagant, but their dad had won free airline tickets from a contest at work, and their mom had quickly arranged the trip. She said it was the trip of a lifetime.

  “Let’s go, Sam, we need to tell them goodbye,” urged Derek, heading out of the yard. “See ya later, Mr. Haskins.”

  “Are they leaving you?” Mr. Haskins asked, nodding toward Sam’s house.

  “Mom and Dad are going to Paris for a week,” Sam replied.

  “Paris?” Mr. Haskins put his hand on his chin and stared up at the clouds. “I was in Paris once. Beautiful city. The missus and I got lost in the Louvre for over thirteen hours. Nearly had to spend the night on the couch in Napoleon’s apartment. Would have, too, if they hadn’t found us when they did.”

  Sam didn’t know what the heck the old man was talking about. He peered through the trees to make sure his mom and dad hadn’t left yet.

  “What are you boys going to do while they’re gone? Try again to break my windows?”

  “No, our cousin’s coming to watch us. And we have lots of stuff lined up to do. Tomorrow we’re riding bikes on Belle Isle.” Sam turned, taking a few steps toward his house. “Okay, well…see ya.”

  “Alright, boy. Happy trails on your bikes. Just keep a look out for the ghosts.”

  Sam stopped in his tracks. He turned to the old man. “What?”

  “On the island. Watch out for the ghosts.”

  Sam walked back over to where Mr. Haskins stood. “What ghosts?”

  “You never heard the legend about the ghosts on Belle Isle?” Mr. Haskins shook his head in disbelief. “I tell you what, come over to my place later on and I’ll tell you about the ghosts. You kids are always doing too much in too little time. Wouldn’t kill you to sit still for a few minutes and listen for a change. Besides, if you’re going to Belle Isle, you’ll want to hear this.”

  Sam opened his eyes wide and gulped. Maybe he didn’t want to know about the ghosts.

  Mr. Haskins let out a cackle as he noticed the look on Sam’s face. He slapped his wrinkly hand on Sam’s shoulder, giving him a light shake. “Come on, boy, relax. Show some backbone. And bring that numbskull brother of yours, too.”

  Sam just nodded.

  This was not going to be good.

  THREE

  “Honey, we’re going to be late!” their dad’s voice called. He walked out of the house lugging two black suitcases. A few moments later, their mom walked past the open front door, dropping another bag in the foyer before disappearing again. Sam pictured her consulting the giant notebook that housed all the lists she had made for every trip or vacation in his lifetime.

  A horn tooted behind them on the cul-de-sac as a taxi screeched to a stop at the end of their driveway. It wasn’t yellow, like Sam would expect, but rather an ugly combination of green and white. A car door opened and shut and an older girl was standing in front of them. She was tall, with long, straight, black hair that flowed over her backpack.

  “Honey, Meghan’s here!” their dad called toward the house.

  Meghan was their cousin, Aunt Darla and Uncle Peter’s daughter. Aunt Darla was their mom’s sister, and they lived in upstate New York. Meghan was a sophomore at the University of Rochester. Sam and Derek’s parents had lined her up to watch the boys at the last minute. It just so happened that Meghan’s boyfriend from college, Paul, had graduated last spring and now worked in Richmond. Sam suspected that might be the true reason that she had agreed to fly down and watch them, rather than a desire to help his parents out.

  Paul was at work, so their dad had arranged for a taxi to pick Meghan up from the airport. They were planning to take the same taxi for their trip so they didn’t have to leave their car in the airport parking lot for a week. The whole plan was complicated. It was a good thing his mom had her list.

  Sam didn’t really remember Meghan. He’d been pretty young the last time they’d visited Aunt Darla’s house before moving to Virginia. His mom had said Meghan was nineteen, which meant that she was still a teenager. He wasn’t sure that was old enough to be responsible for them, but it was hard to tell—he didn’t know a lot of college students. Actually he didn’t know any college students.

  His parents had said Meghan was very responsible, although he thought he picked up a hint of doubt in their voices. Sam suspected they were pretty desperate and were probably just happy to h
ave someone they knew to watch them. He didn’t want to think of who might have been plan ‘B’. Maybe Mr. Haskins!

  “Hi, Uncle Bill,” Meghan said, as Sam’s dad walked up and gave her a hug.

  “Hi there, Meghan,” he answered. “Thanks for coming on such short notice! I’m not sure what we would have done without you.”

  “I told you that we could have taken care of ourselves, Dad,” said Derek, walking up next to them. He looked at Sam and chuckled. “Or at least, I could have. Sam might not have made it, but that wouldn’t be a great loss.”

  “Hello, Derek,” said Meghan, “You’ve certainly grown a lot. The last time I saw you, I think you were in kindergarten.”

  “Don’t worry, he still acts the same,” said Sam.

  Meghan bent down farther than she needed to and looked into Sam’s eyes. “Sam, You were just a little more than a baby the last time you came to my house in New York.”

  “Yeah,” croaked Sam, squirming uncomfortably as she tussled his hair. “I’m ten now.”

  Their dad looked at his watch. “Well, I hate to throw you right into the fire, Meghan, but we’ve got a plane to catch. Alison’s inside the house getting the last of the bags. Derek, why don’t you grab Meghan’s things and take her inside to Mom.”

  Derek picked up Meghan’s suitcase, bowing to her like a butler. “Right this way, madame. We’ve prepared a magnificent suite for you.”

  Meghan laughed at Derek’s antics, but Sam shook his head. “Don’t pay attention to him. He’s always a little bit odd. Dad said they may have left him outside in the rain too long as a baby.”

  Derek led Megan up to the front door. “Alison! I mean, Mom! Meghan’s here!”

  Sam looked over as his dad helped the driver load their bags into the taxi. He wished that his parents weren’t going away at all. When they had told him about their trip, he thought there must be a Paris, Virginia, but they had meant Paris, France. They said that it was important for them to have quality time for their marriage, whatever that meant. If they really wanted some quality time, they should just send Derek off to summer camp or something. That would make a very happy home as far as Sam was concerned.