by S F Bose
Martha said with a smile, “Yes, it's been a popular story in Mystic Grove for 150 years. Many people did think Samuel had the treasure. He went west after the War and after a while stopped writing home. He just disappeared.”
“What kind of treasure?” Sam asked.
I shrugged. “It always changed. You know how kids are. Gold, silver, diamonds.”
Peter smiled. “Later in his life, Silas was interviewed for a story on his life and they asked him about the treasure. He thought it was humorous. He said there were many things about the War he couldn’t remember, but he thought he’d remember a treasure. I’ll get to the issue of his memory shortly.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I keep interrupting.”
“Not a problem,” Peter said. He touched the Civil War letter on the table. “We have a transcription of the letter for you, but I’ll summarize the events. After Antietam, William feared for his life and wrote this letter home to his brother John, an aspiring preacher. William first described the battle and the murder I just shared. Then he told John about the murder and the treasure. William said he thought Silas might kill him some day. If he died, he instructed John to use the information in the letter for the best interest of their family.”
Peter sat back in his chair and stretched. “William was eventually killed by Rebels at Gettysburg. Silas was a hero at Gettysburg and in later battles. He liked soldiering and earned promotions all the way up to captain. At the end of the War, Silas mustered out of the Army. In that interview I mentioned, he said he was addicted to strong coffee and smoking tobacco in his small clay pipe.”
Martha held up the clay pipe they’d found in the basement. We all stared at it.
“I did some research,” said Peter. “In 1865, a resident found John Cahill shot to death at William's grave in the Village cemetery. John was killed after Silas and other soldiers returned to Mystic Grove.”
We sat around the table absorbing all of this new information.
“You think Silas met John Cahill and shot him?” I asked.
Peter shrugged. “I think we have a circumstantial case.”
“Can you lay it out for us?” Sam asked.
Martha jumped in. “The first thing to remember is that this house was originally the second home of Elisha and Catherine Fletcher. It was called Fletcher House back then. After Silas and Samuel Fletcher returned from the War, they lived here with their parents. Then Samuel went west and disappeared. Silas stayed in Mystic Grove. In 1865, he was living here with his father and mother.”
Peter smiled at Martha and nodded. “That’s a key piece of the puzzle. I’m speculating, but it’s plausible that John Cahill contacted Silas and met him in the cemetery at the gravesite of William Cahill. John may have thought Silas had something to do with William’s death at Gettysburg. He may also have been naïve and brought the Bible and William Cahill’s letter to the meeting.”
“So maybe John threatened to reveal the murder of Isaac Budd unless Silas forked over the treasure?” Sam asked.
“Exactly what I think. Instead, Silas shot John and took the Bible and letter back here.”
Sam frowned. “But then why didn't Silas burn the Bible and the letter right away? If what you say is correct, they implicated him in two murders.”
Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Arrogance? Maybe he never thought the truth would come out. Or maybe it was a trophy of sorts. I don’t know.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
Peter sipped a little more water. “Silas Fletcher became a banker and land speculator. When Elisha Fletcher died, Silas inherited this house and the family farm. They assumed the older brother, Samuel, was dead, so Silas was the only remaining heir. Silas, his wife, Mary, their kids, and his mother, Catherine, lived together in Fletcher House. They had hired help that still worked the old farm. Then Catherine died. Less than a year after her death, Silas and his family moved out.”
“Why did they move?” asked Sam.
“Because bad things started happening in the house. One account said they heard voices at night. Then one of their children fell down the stairs and was hurt. The final straw was when Silas got hit over the head by an intruder in the middle of the night and suffered partial amnesia. After a convalescence of several months, he no longer remembered his childhood, his brothers, or the Civil War and all its related events. But he did remember recent history, his wife and children, friends, and business details.”
“Did they catch the intruder?” I asked.
“No, they didn’t. Silas and Mary had reached their breaking point with the house. They sold it to my great-great-great-grandfather, Jacob Church, in 1876, and moved back to their old farm. In one biography of the Fletcher family, the author noted that Silas and Mary thought that Fletcher House was haunted. Silas and Mary moved out quickly and even left some furnishings behind.”
“That explains it,” I said. ”If Silas had a failing memory, he probably didn’t remember the Bible and the letter.” Peter and Martha both nodded.
Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s an interesting find and a great story. But I’m not seeing the connection to our case.”
I was surprised. “It’s a possible motive,” I said and his eyes slid to mine.
“In what way?” he asked.
“Silas Fletcher is an historical icon in Mystic Grove. He was a member of a Founding Family. He was a hero in the Civil War and a successful businessman when he returned. If it got out that he was a murderer several times over and a thief…” My voice drifted off.
“It would kill the Fletchers,” Martha agreed.
“And the reputation of the family,” added Peter.
“Really? After all this time? That’s hard to believe,” Sam said.
“Maybe elsewhere, but we take our history and the Civil War very seriously in the Mystic Grove,” Peter said. “If you go to Founders’ Park, you’ll find Silas Fletcher’s name on the Wall of Honor. It’s hard to explain, but around here that’s sacred.”
“And the statue of the Union soldier near the wall is a likeness of Silas Fletcher,” Martha added. “The Fletchers are also founding members of the Mystic Grove Civil War Society. They participate in all of the commemorative celebrations. They also use the Civil War connection in some of their company advertising.”
Some of the puzzle pieces slid into place in my mind with a reassuring click. “Justin must have found the Bible and the letter and realized the impact. Do you think he might have contacted the Fletchers to offer it for sale?” I asked, looking at Peter and then at Martha. They looked at each other.
Finally, Peter said, “Martha and I have discussed it. From the time he was a little boy, Justin was driven by money and security. He might have approached the Fletchers with the Bible and letter.”
“There’s another possibility,” I offered. “He may have wanted to save the Fletchers, while helping your family too. Offering it to the Fletcher family first, would have saved them from considerable humiliation. Also, whatever money Justin might have asked for would have helped you with the Emporium. I think Justin’s intentions could have been good.”
Peter and Martha’s faces softened and they both smiled.
“You don’t think someone in the Fletcher family killed Justin over this letter, do you?” asked Sam.
Peter, Martha, and I all shook our heads.
“Martin is one of the finest men in Mystic Grove,” Martha said, her voice tight with emotion. “Damian has been a pillar of the community for decades. And young Tim is going to run for the U.S. House of Representatives. There’s not a mean bone in any of their bodies.”
“I can’t see it either,” I agreed. “I wonder if Justin had a partner in offering the Bible and letter. Then they had a falling out.”
“Who?” Peter asked.
I shrugged. “No idea.”
“You’re sure the letter is authentic and that William Cahill wrote it?” Sam asked. Peter’s head went back liked he’d been slap
ped.
“No offense,” Sam said quickly.
“None taken. I’m one hundred percent sure on both counts. I’ve bought and sold Civil War letters for decades. This letter is authentic. The Civil War Society and Historical Society both have large collections of Civil War letters from all of the soldiers who served from Mystic Grove. They were scanned into databases ages ago. I compared William's handwriting in this letter to others we have from him. William Cahill wrote that letter,” Peter said firmly.
“What happened to Ephraim Budd and the Cahill family?” I asked.
“Good question,” Peter said. “When word arrived about Isaac’s death, Ephraim traveled to Sharpsburg Maryland. The regiment was still there when he arrived. William Cahill was among the soldiers who helped Ephraim Budd find Isaac’s crudely marked grave. They transported William’s body back to Mystic Grove and buried him in the Village cemetery. After that, Ephraim sold his business and he and his wife left Mystic Grove. I did some further research and found that they went east to live near relatives in Rochester, New York. He was successful in business there too.”
“I wonder if Silas said anything to Ephraim Budd when he was in Maryland,” I said.
“I wondered that too, but we don’t have any evidence either way,” Peter replied.
“What about the Cahills?” asked Sam.
‘That was another sad story,” Peter said. “After losing both of their sons, the Cahills sold their farm and moved away. I couldn’t find any trace of them.”
“When this is over, what will you do with the Bible and letter?” I asked Martha.
She ran her fingers over the cover of the Bible. “Peter and I will have to talk about it. I think it would be best to go talk to Martin and give him the letter. However, I want to keep the Bible.”
Peter smiled at her and reached out to cover her hand with his. “We’ll do whatever you want to do.”
“Do you think we could keep the letter and Bible a while longer?” Martha asked.” I’d like to go through the Bible page by page to see if there’s anything else in it.”
“I don’t see why not,” Sam replied. “When you’re done, we’ll come get it and give it to the police. Could we possibly get a copy of the letter and the transcript?”
“Of course,” she said and quickly got us the copies. We thanked them and left the Emporium.
***
“We should talk about the letter,” Sam said, as we walked back to the office. His jacket was open and his hands were jammed into the pockets of his pants.
“What about it?”
“If it gives Martin or Damian Fletcher a motive, don’t you think we should interview them?” he asked.
I thought about it for a minute. “You know, if I seriously thought either Martin or Damian killed Justin, I’d agree. But I really don’t. If Justin contacted the Fletchers, I can guarantee they would have paid anything he asked for the letter. There was no need to kill him for it.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point. Maybe the Fletchers weren’t the customer. Who else would really want that letter?”
I took a deep breath. “Someone in the Cahill or Budd families. But according to Peter, both families moved away over one hundred years ago. Or possibly an enemy of the Fletchers. In either case, I don’t think money would have been an issue,” I replied.
“Yeah. I agree. Another dead end.”
We reached the Bowman Building, went through the lobby and up the stairs. When we were back in the office, Sam had a series of phone calls about cases he’d outsourced to Adrian Rich. I focused on updating the online case file so it was current.
Chapter 50
After I finished updating the case file, I made a hot cup of caramel cappuccino and wandered into the conference room. I flicked on the light and sat in a chair across from the handwritten case board.
I scanned all the names. Jimmy Dietz had been such a promising suspect. Now, my unpredictable gut and I leaned toward Mark Sweet. Justin had backed out of a business deal with Sweet. Who knew how much money he might have made with a new business venture on the Emporium site? It was a prime business location.
There was one big hurdle, though. Sweet would have to get any project approved by the Village Board, which would be extremely difficult. Sweet also had a temper, had lied about events on the day of the murder, and his girlfriend hadn’t corroborated his alibi. However, none of that was damning evidence. We needed a ballistics report for his Sig Sauer handgun that matched the bullets that had killed Justin Church.
I paused at Ben’s name. Although he’d argued with Justin several times, Ben wasn’t a violent man. I’d never seen even a hint of a temper. Furthermore, Mom would never stay with a violent man. I doubted Matt Durand even thought he was a serious suspect.
My eyes slid to Damian’s name. He had been in the Mystic Grove area on the day of the murder. Instead of traveling on business as he usually did, he went home to spend time with Sherrie. Sherrie had confirmed to Newmont that he was with her all afternoon and evening. Damian also didn’t own a Sig Sauer. The only notation I had for him was, “2 Anonymous Letters from Finnegan?” I got up and added “Motive – Civil War letter?”
I paced back and forth. That left us with the Mystery Man. How could we find a guy no one could identify? Angela hadn’t recognized him and no one else admitted to seeing him. Once again, I silently cursed Mystic Grove for not allowing outdoor security cameras.
The back of my neck prickled. I was missing something. Frustrated, I went to the kitchenette and made a fresh cup of coffee. Instead of focusing on the suspects, I pushed them out of my head. Sometimes patterns and answers came to me better if I stopped focusing on the problem.
Returning to my office, I looked out the window at the Emporium. The connecting door to Sam’s office was closed but I could hear his voice. He must be on the phone.
“Motives and alibis,” I said softly, thinking of Raven’s words. In my mind’s eye, I could see Mark Sweet running out the back door and all the way to the East Parking Lot. I thought about the anonymous notes that both Matt Durand and Sam had received accusing Damian of being at the Emporium. However, Damian had a solid alibi. That brought me back to the Mystery Man. I shook my head and sipped my coffee.
Then the clouds parted and it hit me. I closed my eyes for a minute to work through some of the evidence. Then I hurried back to the conference room and looked at the Case Board. I finally realized what I had missed!
Grabbing my case folder, I went down the hall to Sam’s office door. He was working on his laptop, his head bent over the keyboard.
“Sam?” I said, going into the office.
His head snapped up. He read something in my face and asked, “What?”
I put my hands on the back on one of the visitor’s chairs. The support felt good. “We need to talk to Finnegan.”
“About?”
“The anonymous letters we received and a couple of other things.”
“You’re on to something?” Sam sat back and had a slight smile.
“I really don’t want to jinx it. Could you call him? It’s important.”
Without any hesitation, Sam called Finn on his cellphone. I started to pace.
“Finn. It’s Sam Nolan. Listen, something has come up with the Justin Church case and we think you can help us. Any chance you could come to my office today?” Sam asked. There was a pause. “Half an hour? That would be great. Thanks, man. See you then.”
“Was he at home?” I asked, sitting down in the chair.
“No, he’s at the Village Tavern. You’re not going to tell me what you found?”
“Humor me? I could be all wrong,” I replied and he smiled. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if my hunch would prove out or not.
“Okay.”
“Fill me in on Finn,” I said, dropping into a chair.
Sam described him as a bright and resourceful guy. After arriving in the U.S. from Ireland, Finn settled in Chicago. He went to DePaul University, studied busi
ness, but left without a degree. Thanks to his computer skills, he built a website in his spare time that offered beard and mustache products as well as grooming advice for men. It turned into a major online hit.
After a year, he sold the website for mid six figures and decided college was a waste of his time. Finn left Chicago and traveled north to stay with friends in Madison. Then he met Rocco Moon, another young entrepreneur, who dropped out of MIT. They became partners in a website flipping business.
“Website flipping?” I asked. “Like house flipping?”
“Exactly like that. They buy a website that’s undervalued, improve the design and monetization, and then sell it for a profit.”
“They make money doing that?”
“Yes, a lot of money. Finn has the magic touch when it comes to business. He and Rocco bought a house in Mystic Grove and work out of a converted den.”
I chewed my lip as I considered this information. If the PI business didn’t pan out, I’d have to brush up on my computer skills.
***
The front door chimed and Finnegan strode into Sam’s office. I felt the energy level increase in the room. He greeted Sam, grunted at me, and unzipped his leather jacket. Then he sat in the second visitor’s chair next to me, looking at us with disdain. Irish flat cap, gray Henley sweater, and blue jeans. In some ways, he reminded me of Sam.
“So what do you need?” Finn asked, his Irish brogue rolling over me. Sam’s eyes shifted to me.
I handed Finn a copy of the anonymous letter that Sam and Matt had received. “Finn, did you write this?” He glanced at it and his lips tightened.
“Finn, how you answer my questions will either help Sherrie or hurt her,” I said softly.
His chest expanded and contracted as he took in a gulp of air and puffed it out. “That I did. I wrote it. I dropped one off at your office and mailed another to the coppers. I knew you’d suspect me, but I was desperate. Fat lot of good it did.” He thrust the letter back at me and I returned it to the folder.
