by Suzi Weinert
She eased into bed, amazed at the relief of stretching her limbs against the cool, smooth sheets. Too exhausted to read, she looked over at the dragon on the bureau. “I bet you already know how this will all turn out,” she said to him. He stared back with his knowing look. “Will you make a spell to help me fall asleep?” she asked him as she turned out the light.
She lay in the dark, trying to turn off her conscious mind, which bristled with deadlines and decisions to get her mother north. Finally, her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed and deepened. Gradually, her thoughts drifted upward into clouds where she floated without purpose or destination. Then an unexpected scene below pulled her toward it…
Staring at the steel muzzle leveled at him in the hands of a menacing stranger, a young boy froze in fear.
Warily, Birdsong glanced about and, satisfied the boy came alone, he holstered his weapon.
The boy barked a nervous laugh. “Thought you was goin’ to drill me right here.”
Studying the boy, about seven years old, Birdsong looked down. “Sorry, son.”
“You ain’t from around here. You…you lost, mister?”
“Naw, just gettin’ a drink and some cookin’ water.”
“Whatcha cookin’?”
“Well, I don’t know cause I ain’t caught it yet.”
The boy laughed and so did Birdsong. He hadn’t laughed for a long time and it felt good.
“You want an apple?” the boy offered. “I got two.”
“Well, sure enough I do.”
The boy fished his hand into his overalls, produced the fruit and extended it toward the man.
“Why thank you, sir.” Birdsong said, biting through the peel.
The boy giggled. Nobody ever called him “sir” before and it made him feel important. He took out the second apple and they ate together.
“This is mighty tasty. You grow these?”
“Yeah, in our orchard. Them trees got spring flowers now but when the apples come, my maw stores ’em in baskets in the cellar for the winter.”
“You know your way around these parts?” Birdsong asked amiably.
“Sure do. Lived here my whole life.”
“You know where the Potomac River is?”
The boy pointed.
“You ever been there?”
“Lots of times. My paw and me and our handymen fish there sometimes.”
“So…is your paw a fisherman?”
“He fishes pretty good for a farmer.”
Birdsong laughed and the boy joined in.
“Have you seen any soldiers around here lately?” asked Birdsong, doing some fishing of his own.
“Time to time.” The boy hesitated, eyeing Birdsong with caution. “What…what side you on, Mister?”
“Born and raised in Virginny, just like you.”
“So…so you a Reb then?
“Love my homeland enough to fight for it. But peace is what I really long for. Do you know what a poet is?”
The boy thought. “Selby says it’s someone who writes down thoughts about what he sees to help other people understand life clearer. If you’s a poet, can you do a poem about me?”
Birdsong smiled. “All right. How about this? ‘A boy’s excited about every day, he frisks and funs along the way, he learns from chores and what others say, and his family’s love’s the best kind of pay.”
The boy grinned at him. “Guess you remember being a boy, huh?”
“Yes, son, I do. Now what does your paw say about these soldiers who come around?”
“He hopes them damn Yankees leave us be. We won’t bother them if they don’t bother us.” He covered his mouth with his hands and grinned. “I’m not supposed to say ‘damn’ even though my paw does.”
“And do they bother your paw?”
“All the time. They crawficate our crops and animals.”
Birdsong smiled. “You mean ‘confiscate’?”
“Yep, that’s what they do. Makes my paw angry something fierce. He says ‘thank God for Mosby, even if his men can’t be everywhere.’ But we ain’t seen ‘em for some time now.”
“You’ve seen Mosby’s Raiders?”
“Well, not up close, but my paw says they’re the likeliest protection we got these days.”
“I know Mosby.”
The boy jumped to his feet, face animated. “You do? Oh mah gawd.” He covered his mouth guiltily at saying this. “My maw told me not to say them words.”
Birdsong chuckled. “I won’t tell. Who’s this Selby who told you about poets?”
“She’s my big sister. Real smart. Reads books when her chores is done.”
“You live close by?”
“Coupl’a miles.”
“Happen to see a stray horse around last night or this morning?”
The boy stared at the ground, fudging his answer. “What’s it look like?”
“Black mare wearin’ a brown saddle with a rifle in the hitch.”
The boy kicked at a stone, knowing that this same thirsty, hungry animal had wandered into their barn lot at dawn, a windfall his paw aimed to use or sell.
“Maybe…”
Birdsong read this as a yes. “Any chance I could say hello to your paw?”
“Sure ‘nuf. He’s in the north field today. Want me to take you there?”
“Why, that’d be good, son. Thank you. By the way, is someone building a house up the hill over there?” Birdsong pointed toward the foundation.
“Yeah, that’s ol’ man Parker. He started building but then them Yankees killed his oldest son and right after that, his wife died. My maw says her heart broke when her boy died. My paw says Parker turned old real fast, and bitter, too. Paw thinks the son that’s left will finish the new house for the ol’ man one day, but up ‘til then, the two of ‘em still live at their old place.”
“What’s your name?”
“Wilbur. Wilbur Gentry. What’s yours?”
“Raiford… Raiford Birdsong. Real glad to see you today, Wilbur. Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to meet up with someone like you.”
“Them’s funny names, specially Birdsong.”
“Yes, they are. But we can’t help what our parents name us, can we? Now would you point me toward your paw?”
“You jes’ foller me.” The boy skipped ahead.
Birdsong fell in step behind the boy, thinking as he walked he’d make a map on the piece of cloth tucked inside his coat, a map he’d give to the safe house or Mosby or Lee, since taking the treasure to either of them himself was far too dangerous now. But how could he make a map clear for the intended recipients to find the burlap bags, yet cryptic enough so nobody else would?
How indeed?
CHAPTER 51
Jennifer awoke next morning, refreshed by her nighttime escape into the past. The fantasy scenes had pulled her again into a seductive world a century and a half old. Their actions back then impacted lives a century and a half later just as her actions today would influence lives a hundred and fifty years hence. This thought energized her to face decisions she’d make today here in Naples. She thought of Jason and how much she missed him—his comforting voice, his thoughtful counsel and his loving touch.
Although two self-sufficient adults, they’d been together forty-one years and, during that time, blended into a synergistic whole. Though she yearned for him and for home, responsibility would keep her in Naples another ten days to finish the tasks to shepherd her mother north. Thank goodness, Becca had come to help.
To her surprise, Grammy’s physical and emotional outlook seemed upbeat. Enduring moving’s disruption and disorientation was challenging at any age, but especially when a senior yearned for familiarity and simplicity rather than newness and complexity.
Grammy sailed through the movers’ actions yesterday with ease, knowing she’d see these belongings again in McLean. But the estate sale in one week foretold the exact opposite — abrupt loss forever of long-valued treasures.
At least the
remaining logistics of the move seemed well in place. All on target…except for Max. After deciding Grammy ruined his life, albeit a life of crime, what kind of revenge did he want? According to Goodwin, Max’s previous M.O. included only opportunistic scamming of older folks—crimes, yes, but not killing anyone.
Yet he’d shown disregard for life by drugging and binding her mother. Had he intended her to die or starve to death in that closet, calculating a dead witness couldn’t testify against him? Or did his clumsy timing show no forethought for unintended consequences? Or had he anticipated help reaching her quickly because of her phone call, which apparently triggered his hasty departure? Did blowing up her mother’s car satisfy his anger at last or warn of worse to come? Had his hunger for vengeance grown insatiable? Had his original M.O. escalated to new deadly potential?
And why couldn’t Goodwin find him?
She looked at the dragon on the dresser. Its knowing eyes followed her around the room. “Do you know what will happen next, you wily rascal?”
She patted the dragon, dressed, went downstairs and started breakfast. Sipping coffee, she perused the morning paper and started the day’s to-do list. Writing “Contents of Safe “at the top, she realized they’d have to study every item there to determine the safest way to ship it north.
Next she wrote, “Estate Sale Prep.” Peggy said they’d like a week for “arranging” and with the sale a week away, this meant they’d start today. Then “make airline reservations.”
Pausing with her list, she flipped instead to the Naples Daily News weekend classified section’s Garage Sale heading. Quite a few listed, some in pricey neighborhoods, suggesting higher quality merchandise.
Jennifer’s draw to these sales included not only what she might buy, but what she might see — a glimpse into another person’s life as reflected in the belongings he’d gathered. She glanced around Grammy’s main floor—just as her own mother’s house told exactly such a tale.
Each sale’s story captivated her, for it sprang from some special reason, as did her mother’s. Attending the sales relaxed her, like getting on the course relaxed a golfer—a familiar, positive experience garnished with a splash of the unknown. This stimulation, plus her curiosity about people and situations, made each sale an adventure for her.
Any shopper understood browsing for the unexpected, but her quest for that particular frame had fueled her with special purpose for two years. That quest exploded into unanticipated excitement when the frame at the McLean sale also revealed an intoxicating mystery. Her mind wandered, following the lead of the riddle and map until a sudden voice startled her to the present.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Deputy Ryan strolled into the kitchen. “My replacement should arrive any minute. Glad to report an uneventful night. The new deputy will introduce herself when she arrives.”
“When she arrives?”
“The Collier County Sheriff’s Office is an equal opportunity employer open to anyone with qualifying skills. I think you’ll find her very qualified.”
“Good. Thanks for your help last night, Deputy.”
“I’ll just wait in the living room until my replacement gets here.”
As he left the room, Grammy appeared at the kitchen door, smiling. “Do I smell bacon?”
“You do. Did you sleep well?”
“Oh, yes. Living to tell about the movers gives me new confidence for what comes next.”
Uh-oh, Jennifer thought. Movers were the easy part.
Grammy answered her ringing phone.
“Hello… Peggy? Yes, this morning at 9:00 is fine. How many…? Four? Okay. See you then.” She turned to Jennifer. “They want to start preparing the estate sale today. Will 9:00 work?
Becca’s sleepy voice came from the door. “It will now.” She sniffed the air. “Only bacon can save me until then.”
Studying her list, Jennifer said, “Each day we need to shrink our presence here so Peggy and her crew can get every room ready for the sale. We should move out soon, tonight or tomorrow.” On her list, she wrote “select and reserve hotel.”
Before the others could comment, the doorbell broke the silence. Jennifer hustled to do the window peek, saw Goodwin and unlocked the front door.
“Morning, ladies.” Goodwin’s nostrils flared at the aroma permeating the main floor. “Bacon?”
“Not just any bacon but Nueske’s bacon.”
“What?” Goodwin asked.
“Applewood smoked with an unforgettable flavor. Most devotees order it from Nueske’s Wisconsin catalog, but here in Naples it’s for sale in Fresh Market’s deli.”
“Want some?” Becca waved her slice toward him before gobbling it down.
He sidled to the serving platter. “May I?” he asked Grammy.
“Only if you have good news for us.”
“Does good advice count?”
Jennifer pushed her list aside. “Depends upon what it is.”
“You still plan to move to a hotel in the next couple days?”
They nodded as Goodwin munched on a bacon slice. “Whoa, this bacon is amazing.”
“The advice?” Jennifer prompted.
“Don’t tell anybody where you’re going and check in under an alias. Give friends your cell number, not the hotel phone.”
The women exchanged confused looks before Grammy spoke for them all. “Why?”
CHAPTER 52
“Let’s call it a ‘precautionary measure.’ With Max free,” Goodwin sidestepped the recent car-arson, “why create a possible way for…,” he glanced at Grammy’s worried expression, “…for him to…cause any mischief?”
The doorbell rang again. Through the window, they saw and welcomed in a uniformed woman. She handed Jennifer a card as Deputy Ryan joined them from the living room. He nodded to her as she took over and he went off-duty.
“I’m Deputy Julie Martin, your security detail,” she introduced herself, then closed and locked the front door. “Would one of you like to show me through the house or shall I just take a look myself?
“Here, I’ll show you. Let’s start upstairs,” Becca volunteered.
As they started up the steps, the doorbell stopped them. Deputy Martin paused, hand on her holstered weapon. Jennifer peeked through the side window. “It’s Peggy and her team. They’re here to organize for the estate sale.” Jennifer opened the door for them.”
“Where would you like us to start?” Peggy asked.
“How about downstairs?” Becca suggested.
An awkward silence ensued. Deputy Martin understood why Peggy’s team was here, but they didn’t know why a uniformed policewoman stood on the stairs. Jennifer thought fast. She didn’t want to alarm the estate sale team by identifying Martin as a sheriff’s deputy guarding the house. She explained, “Miss Martin’s here helping my Grammy.” This seemed to satisfy everyone.
Back in the kitchen, Grammy apologized to Goodwin. “Sorry about my robe. Time for me to get dressed.”
As she left, Goodwin rose from his chair. “Time for me to go, too.”
Jennifer touched his sleeve. “Before you do, is my mother in real danger from Max?”
“We don’t know, but safe choices are smart choices. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, but does this mean you have no new information?”
“Afraid not.”
“Have you heard the name Antonio Venuti?”
“Now that’s a segue.” He scratched his chin. “Geez, that name sounds familiar but I…wait, it’s coming to me. Yeah, I think…isn’t he that Miami Mafia guy with the Saluti family? Didn’t they rub him out a couple years ago? Seems like he stole some of their money. I can look it up to be sure.” He eyed Jennifer curiously. “Why you asking about him?”
Jennifer invented, “When a friend knew I’d be in Florida, she mentioned the name. Guess splashy news draws attention. Up north many don’t know Florida’s Atlantic coast from the Gulf coast.” She changed the subject. “Thanks for providing protection for us until y
ou catch Max.”
He stood. “Don’t know if it’ll last that long, but maybe a couple days. You head north in what, a week?”
“Eight, nine days. Right after the estate sale. Ah, Deputy. Another quick question?”
“Sure.”
“If we drive north with some valuables from the safe–jewelry and such—what’s the safest way to transport them?”
Goodwin’s hand turned the doorknob then halted. “You mean short of an armored car?” He barked a laugh. “Put them in one of those carry-on bags with wheels. Pull it wherever you go, into your hotel room at night, by your chair in a restaurant, into the ladies room. Burglars might notice parked cars packed high or empty hotel rooms with guests out for meals. Keep the carry-on always close, but act like it’s not important.” He stepped out the front door.
“Thanks.” Jennifer closed and locked the door behind him as Becca and the deputy started to tour the downstairs.
Deputy Martin came over. “So your mother’s planning an estate sale soon?”
“Next weekend.”
“Is the dragon statue up in the twin bedroom part of that sale? If so, would it offend her to ask if I might buy it?”
“The gold dragon statue holding the pearl?”
Deputy Martin nodded. “These creatures fascinate me, and I have a collection.”
“Sorry to say, that one’s actually my dragon and I’m very attached to it—almost seems like a wise friend. So, I’m afraid it isn’t for sale. But you collect dragons?”
She nodded. “You might think it odd since police work is real-world fact-oriented and dragons are imaginary-world legend-oriented. But the contrast sharpens me for both.”
Jennifer grinned. “Tell me more.”
“Well, I’m no dragonologist, just an amateur,” Deputy Martin explained, “but versions of these creatures appear in most cultures around the world. My detective mind says this isn’t coincidence, so I look for explanations. One clue comes from trying to think like a primitive person to figure out how he reasoned—which is similar to trying to think like a criminal reasons in planning a crime. If ancients invented a believable explanation for what they feared, they might hope to protect themselves. Without explanations, they lived in constant terror from unpredictable danger.”
