Read Online 7 Never Haunt a Historian by Edie Claire - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edie Claire
Tags: Humor, Humorous, Women Sleuths, Family, Cousins, Pets, Animals, female sleuth, amateur sleuth, funny mystery, cozy mystery, civil war, Dogs, Family secrets, Ghost, mystery series, Mothers, Daughters, veterinarian, series mystery, family sagas
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occupants whose hasty and inauspicious departures brought about the ‘ghost stories’ Archie himself so delights in propagating. When Theodore’s son died, in the 1950s, the estate was subdivided and the parcels sold for residential development. The idea of a vengeful ‘soldier ghost’ who chases away intruders has always seemed to amuse Archie, although I can’t pretend to understand why.”
Leigh had a feeling she might. “Scotty said something about Mr. Carr hiding his money before he died,” she explained. “I don’t know if Archie actually told him that or not, but…” she paused a moment, not sure how much of her suspicions she should share. Maura had promised to pass along the information about the map and the holes to the police who were investigating Archie’s disappearance, but Leigh was skeptical that anything would come of it. The relevance of a neighborhood treasure hunt was questionable at best, even if Maura had presented the idea with enthusiasm. But on the phone this morning Maura had once again seemed distracted and anxious, worrying Leigh on a whole new front, even as the detective reminded her that Archie’s case would not be a high priority for the General Investigations squad.
The issue did, however, rate top priority with Leigh, whose children roamed the same neighborhood as a mysterious treasure hunter at best and a potential abductor at worst. She needed answers. Why shouldn’t she confide in an amiable, knowledgeable elderly man with a mind like a steel trap?
“Mr. Perkins,” she asked directly, “do you know of any reason why anyone would think that something of value was buried on or around Frog Hill Farm?”
Harvey’s clear blue eyes blinked. Then his gaze left her, fixing on some distant point above her shoulder. After a long moment, he looked back at her, his expression intent. “Why do you ask?”
Leigh took a breath. It was a fair question, and she answered it. She told him about the map the children had found and the years of unexplained filled-in holes, and she watched as he leaned forward in his seat with rapt attention.
“I had no idea about the digging,” he said finally, his tone disturbingly breathless. “Do you have this map with you?”
Leigh shook her head, happy that she could honestly say no. Harvey’s obvious interest in her question made her wary. “Do you believe Theodore Carr buried his money before he died?” she asked.
“No,” he answered shortly. “I don’t believe either of the Carr men had two dimes to rub together. They were small farmers; there’s nothing in their history to suggest they did more than scratch out a living. However…”
His gaze returned to the spot above Leigh’s shoulder. This time she turned, wondering if Mrs. Rhodis had awakened and was creeping up to breathe down her neck again. But there was nothing behind Leigh other than the painting on the wall.
“It is possible Theodore Carr could have had something else of value,” Harvey continued, his voice wistful. “Something of very great value. At least… to some of us.”
The house had gone oddly quiet. No baby gurgles echoed up the staircase. The canary had tucked its head under a wing. Leigh’s spine prickled. “Like what?”
Harvey’s eyes met hers with a twinkle. “Are you familiar with Pickett’s Charge, Mrs. Harmon?”
“Regrettably, no,” she responded. “And please call me Leigh.”
Harvey nodded at her politely. Then, with measured slowness, he moved to stand before the large framed painting. Leigh had looked at the print many times, but her eyes now studied it more closely. Like much art depicting battle scenes, it was simultaneously romanticized and gory. Soldiers were everywhere: some dead, some alive, many somewhere in between. Arms, legs, and weapons mingled in gruesome disorder. Clouds of smoke hung thick in the air, though the immediate subjects of the painting could be seen clearly. There were cannons on spindly wooden wheels, and
Leigh had a feeling she might. “Scotty said something about Mr. Carr hiding his money before he died,” she explained. “I don’t know if Archie actually told him that or not, but…” she paused a moment, not sure how much of her suspicions she should share. Maura had promised to pass along the information about the map and the holes to the police who were investigating Archie’s disappearance, but Leigh was skeptical that anything would come of it. The relevance of a neighborhood treasure hunt was questionable at best, even if Maura had presented the idea with enthusiasm. But on the phone this morning Maura had once again seemed distracted and anxious, worrying Leigh on a whole new front, even as the detective reminded her that Archie’s case would not be a high priority for the General Investigations squad.
The issue did, however, rate top priority with Leigh, whose children roamed the same neighborhood as a mysterious treasure hunter at best and a potential abductor at worst. She needed answers. Why shouldn’t she confide in an amiable, knowledgeable elderly man with a mind like a steel trap?
“Mr. Perkins,” she asked directly, “do you know of any reason why anyone would think that something of value was buried on or around Frog Hill Farm?”
Harvey’s clear blue eyes blinked. Then his gaze left her, fixing on some distant point above her shoulder. After a long moment, he looked back at her, his expression intent. “Why do you ask?”
Leigh took a breath. It was a fair question, and she answered it. She told him about the map the children had found and the years of unexplained filled-in holes, and she watched as he leaned forward in his seat with rapt attention.
“I had no idea about the digging,” he said finally, his tone disturbingly breathless. “Do you have this map with you?”
Leigh shook her head, happy that she could honestly say no. Harvey’s obvious interest in her question made her wary. “Do you believe Theodore Carr buried his money before he died?” she asked.
“No,” he answered shortly. “I don’t believe either of the Carr men had two dimes to rub together. They were small farmers; there’s nothing in their history to suggest they did more than scratch out a living. However…”
His gaze returned to the spot above Leigh’s shoulder. This time she turned, wondering if Mrs. Rhodis had awakened and was creeping up to breathe down her neck again. But there was nothing behind Leigh other than the painting on the wall.
“It is possible Theodore Carr could have had something else of value,” Harvey continued, his voice wistful. “Something of very great value. At least… to some of us.”
The house had gone oddly quiet. No baby gurgles echoed up the staircase. The canary had tucked its head under a wing. Leigh’s spine prickled. “Like what?”
Harvey’s eyes met hers with a twinkle. “Are you familiar with Pickett’s Charge, Mrs. Harmon?”
“Regrettably, no,” she responded. “And please call me Leigh.”
Harvey nodded at her politely. Then, with measured slowness, he moved to stand before the large framed painting. Leigh had looked at the print many times, but her eyes now studied it more closely. Like much art depicting battle scenes, it was simultaneously romanticized and gory. Soldiers were everywhere: some dead, some alive, many somewhere in between. Arms, legs, and weapons mingled in gruesome disorder. Clouds of smoke hung thick in the air, though the immediate subjects of the painting could be seen clearly. There were cannons on spindly wooden wheels, and
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