Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 30

Pointing to the large U.S. Geological Survey map, Dewey traced the elevation lines. “You can see how rapidly the grade changes at the westernmost edge of Old Paradise’s flatlands. You’re climbing the Blue Ridge in a hurry.”

Sister, knowing Dewey had the latest maps as well as current information about the pipeline, asked if she could look at the maps. She also wanted an overview of where the hands were found.

Standing next to Dewey in his office, she nodded. “And the ravines are narrower, many deeper. The water can cascade down.”

“That’s why Binky had his still there.” Dewey mentioned a DuCharme now in prison. “Wasn’t it Binky?”

“Binky knew about it but it was his nephew, the younger generation.”

Weevil, whom Sister had asked to join her, was surprised. “Everybody knew?”

Dewey smiled genially. “Young man, there have been generations of DuCharmes making outstanding liquor for two hundred years. Everybody knew and everybody was smart enough to stay away, most especially the revenue man and the sheriff.”

“Why?” Weevil innocently asked.

“Because anyone who troubles a good distiller often doesn’t live long,” Dewey replied.

“Don’t worry, Weevil. You won’t be traversing anyone’s still.” Sister glanced at him as he stood next to her. Then she turned her attention back to Dewey. “You have all the maps for Chapel Cross? I have a few but nothing like you.”

“As a developer, I need detailed, up-to-date maps. Look here.” He leaned toward a large screen, computer keyboard in front of it, then sat down.

Weevil stood behind him, transfixed. “Did you have this built?”

Dewey nodded. “My trade is like any other trade. The better your tools, the better your decisions and your work. Sister, look here.” He pointed to red lines on a topo map of part of Old Lynchburg Road and then blue lines. “The red lines are state roads listed for improvement, usually an extra lane or better turn lanes.” He pointed again to blue lines. “If I develop this land on the plat, then this is what I would do, a high-grade asphalt, too. Roads are costly but good roads help sell houses. Now look at this.” Photos, large, appeared on the huge screen. “This is the Windsor model.” Punched again. “The Kent, the Cornwall. You get the idea. All are set back fifty feet from the road. That’s a big setback so the front lawn landscaping must be somewhat in place. The buyer will customize, but the worst thing you can do is sell a house on a plot with rye grass recently sown.”

“This is one of your developments?” Weevil, new to the area, didn’t know Old Lynchburg Road.

“A solidly middle-class development. Affordable for an assistant professor at the university, an associate could buy a bigger house, but these are in a $200,000 to $350,000 price range. That’s now middle class.” He looked up at her. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Is. I nearly passed out when the sticker price on the Tahoe was $54,000 loaded. I was going to buy a stripped-down version but Gray told me not to be penny-wise and pound-foolish. He reminded me of how much I am on the road, off the road, etc. So I swallowed hard and paid it.”

“Know what you mean. By the way, I’m selling the Range Rover if you know anyone that’s interested. Sucks too much gas.” He then returned to the computer. “Here, let me show you the development out by Zion Crossroads. First I’ll show what it was as raw land three years ago.” A photo appeared of scrubland, not a lot of roll to it but a pleasing prospect facing south, which is in the direction of the James River, although miles away.

“Barren.”

“Look at it now.” A large entrance beckoned into a winding drive, landscaped with rows of Bradford pears. Close-ups of homes appeared, more expensive than the Old Lynchburg development.

“How can you sell more expensive homes there than, say, at Old Lynchburg Road?” Sister was fascinated.

“Richmond. You can commute to Richmond now. Be at the Fan or even downtown in forty-five minutes, an hour if traffic is bad. And if you work on the west end, which now stretches to the edge of Goochland County, you can be at the office within half an hour. This looks good to city workers. They get their taste of the country but on a city salary.”

“You must have bulldozed the land, created a roll.” Weevil had a sharp eye.

“I did. Visual interest is important. Of course, the best of the best is a view either of the mountains or the James River or both. There are parts of Buckingham County above the James where you can look across and see the Blue Ridge in the distance. Why don’t I build in Buckingham?” he asked rhetorically. “It’s south of the James, always an issue in Virginia and it’s just too far away from Richmond, Charlottesville, although if you work it right you can get down to Lynchburg.”

“South of the James?” Weevil asked.

“Wrong side of the tracks,” Sister told him. “Dewey, go back to Chapel Cross. First give me the overview.”

“I can give you an aerial shot.” He brought up the lands abutting the mountains, the crossroads visible although far below. “The lay of the land is gorgeous whether you go north of Chapel Cross for about ten miles or south for ten miles. East you run into Western Albemarle High School. You can do some developments heading that way, Old Trail has certainly been successful.” He mentioned a dense development. “But working that way, it just becomes more and more difficult. However, if it were developed, the cheapest house on five acres would be in the eight-hundred-thousand-dollar range. It’s a spectacular location.”

“Are there road improvements scheduled for Chapel Cross?” Sister wanted to know.

“No. I think Crawford and Kasmir have taken care of that. The DMV is overburdened as it is, so if the two largest landowners had contacted the delegates from our district, an improvement could be pushed back for a decade.”

“So you don’t have any indication of that?” Sister asked.

“No, but I can show you in detail the proposed route of the pipeline.” He tapped away for about three minutes and then the route appeared coming down from the top of the Blue Ridge, down behind Old Paradise, across the lower lands at a forty-five-degree angle, crossing the road, nipping a good part of Beveridge Hundred, and then following Broad Creek east.

“Isn’t this floodplain?” Weevil pointed to the route paralleling Broad Creek.

“Yes. That’s partly why this route was so stupid. I do think Crawford has solved the problem. Soliden will shift south. So we all owe Crawford and a lot of dead people our thanks.” Dewey nodded. “But real estate is still frozen. Until people know the exact route, little will sell or be put on the market. Trust me, real estate brokers are dipping into emergency funds.”

“Look here.” She leaned forward, placed her finger on land south of Chapel Cross, then placed her finger on the Carriage House.

As the map was large, these were dots, but one could gauge the distance.

“Um-m, six miles? It’s hard to tell when the territory is rough. You’re pointing out the hands?”

“I am. Now if those hands were found where they were, why can’t the cadaver dogs find the rest?”

“If I knew that, I’d be the sheriff.” Dewey brought the Carriage House close up. “Damnedest thing.”

“I told Ben to check outbuildings, even the old Gulf station. He did. Nothing. There has to be a corpse out there but the dogs can’t find it.”

“Which means there may not be a corpse out there,” Weevil suggested. “Maybe he was tossed somewhere else. The hands were cut off.”

“This is a lot of territory. If a body were carried to a ravine”—Dewey brought up a bigger picture of a ravine running down the mountains—“the cadaver dogs would be climbing the mountain. And then again, there’s rock outcroppings, sinkholes. That body could have been stuffed just about anywhere.”

“It could, but wouldn’t the killer have to have driven to get there? You’d think someone would have noticed. The vehicles out there belong to landowners and to the workers at Old Paradise. Someone would have seen something.” Sister put her hands on Dewey’s shoulders. “What if the body was dismembered in a safe place? Hands thrown here. Say a torso up by Brownsville.” She named a rural area up on Route 810, far away.

Dewey turned his head to face her. “You’ve seen too many horror movies. Can you imagine the mess, dismembering a corpse?”

Weevil piped up. “Not if it were frozen. It would take an electric saw or a lot of sweat but it wouldn’t be a mess.”

“Jeez, I hope you two never get mad at me.” Dewey shook his head.