Point Blank

MAESTRO SUNDAY EVENING

DIX PULLED INTO Gordon’s driveway at six o’clock that evening. He turned to Ruth as he unfastened his seat belt. “You armed?”

“Oh yes.”

B.B. climbed out of his cruiser to meet them in the driveway. “Sheriff, Agent Warnecki. Somebody with the boys, Sheriff?”

“The boys went over to the Claussons’ for dinner and Foosball with their friends.”

“Are you going to arrest him, Sheriff?”

Dix said, “We’ll see, B.B.” He turned to scan the house as he murmured to Ruth, “When Christie disappeared, everyone in the department became the boys’ substitute mothers.” He turned back to B.B.

“We’ve got all our ducks in a row. Now, where did he go this afternoon?”

“He drove to Tara about two o’clock, then came back here maybe an hour ago. Looks like he turned on every light in the house.”

It did indeed, Dix thought, scanning the house. “I want you to stay in your car, B.B. If for some reason Dr. Holcombe leaves the house before we do, give me a call.”

“Especially if he’s running around waving a gun,” Ruth added.

Dix took Ruth’s arm, and they walked up the stone pathway to the front door. Gordon answered the door looking like an aristocrat in a gray cashmere turtleneck sweater and black slacks. Elegant and worldly, but exhausted, his eyes hooded and dull.

He knows we’re here for him, Dix thought, he knows.

Gordon paused in the doorway, staring at them. “Dix, Agent Warnecki. It’s Sunday; to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We’d like to speak to you, Gordon.”

Gordon looked over Dix’s shoulder. “I’ve seen your deputy outside. I hope you don’t want to bring him in, too.”

“No, my deputy is guarding our backs.” Dix walked into the entryway as Gordon gestured them in.

“We’ve got some things to discuss with you, Gordon, like who hired Tommy Dempsey and Jackie Slater.”

“Who? Oh, those men you killed in the car chase. Oh, all right. Come on in then, it’s not like I can stop you.” Gordon waved them into the living room.

Dix and Ruth watched Gordon walk to a drink trolley on the far side of the room, lift a brandy bottle, an eyebrow arched. “Either of you want a drink?”

Ruth and Dix shook their heads. Dix said, “No, we’re fine.”

Ruth looked around the large open space, all windows and rich oak, dominated by a large grand piano at the far end of the room. The walls were covered with musical scores, beautifully framed—all of them, she knew, originals penned by the composers themselves. It was a comfortable room, elegant and subtle, filled with earth tones and oversized leather furniture. A fire burned brightly in the stone fireplace. They watched Gordon pour himself a liberal amount of brandy, splashing some of it over the side of the snifter, as if he’d already had too much.

“You have a lovely Steinway, Dr. Holcombe. I noticed it when we were here before.”

“Yes, you saw everything, didn’t you, when you searched my house?” Gordon walked to the eleven-foot black grand piano and laid a hand lightly on the keys. “Did you know that Steinway fought at the Battle of Waterloo?”

They shook their heads, and Gordon sighed, sipped his brandy. “Who cares?”

Dix said without preamble, “I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet, Gordon, that we know who hired Dempsey and Slater. Or perhaps you already know?”

“How would I know? Tell me, Dix.”

“Helen Rafferty.”

His hand jerked, and more brandy spilled out of his snifter. “Helen hired those two thugs? Why, for heaven’s sake? To kill Agent Warnecki here? Helen didn’t even know her last Saturday. That makes no sense, Dix.”

“No, Helen didn’t hire them to kill Ruth. She hired them to kill Erin.”

“What did you say? Kill Erin? That’s crazy. Why would Helen do such an insane thing? No, I was thinking it was that boy lover of Marian’s, Sam Moraga. I heard he wanted Erin but she didn’t want him.

” He stopped dead, stared at them. “Wait a minute, here, Dix. This means you no longer think I killed Erin? You think I’m innocent?”

Dix said, “We know you didn’t hire them, Gordon. Our apologies for believing you did.”

“We also know Sam Moraga had nothing to do with Erin’s murder, either,” Ruth said.

“So you’re blaming Helen? I don’t understand any of this, Dix.” He leaned heavily against the grand piano.

Dix said, “We’re cops, Gordon. It’s our job to keep asking questions until all the pieces fit together. And for a while there, all the pieces pointed right at you. But in the end, they didn’t fit when it came to your killing Erin and Walt. Truth be told, Gordon, we think you really loved Erin.”

“Yes, yes, of course I did, Dix. She was filled with light, filled with love.” For a moment, they were afraid he would burst into tears. He got hold of himself and managed to look contemptuous. “So you’ve been going down the list. Very well. Tell me what you think Helen had to do with it.”

“Ruth and I spent the afternoon combing through Helen’s bank records. We found three large withdrawals she made in the past three weeks, in cash. We’ve been through her telephone records as well. She called Richmond twice, Tommy Dempsey’s number specifically. There was one call from Dempsey’s number to hers, last Thursday. Helen may have been a good receptionist, but she wasn’t an experienced criminal. She left a trail.”

“She hired those men to murder my Erin? But that can’t be right, Dix. She always supported me, helped me. I think she loved me. Why would she do such a thing?”

Ruth said, “It’s not so hard to figure out, is it, Gordon? Helen saw that Erin Bushnell wasn’t like the other students you took as lovers. She realized that Erin was the first woman you really loved, the one who might be with you for the long term, not just until she graduated. Helen had made herself accept that you turned her away because of your infirmity—that’s what she called it—your need for stimulation and even inspiration from those talented young women. So Helen was able to accept them, because they were temporary. Only she was a constant.

“But then you met Erin and everything changed.”

Gordon gulped down brandy, coughed, wiped his brimming eyes. “I would have given Erin anything. Anything.”

“Yes, we know, and so did Helen. And she couldn’t live with that. She snapped.”

“I still can’t believe it. How could someone like Helen find two criminals?”

Ruth said, “We called Helen’s brother, Dave Rafferty. We asked him if Helen ever mentioned either of the men. He’s a high-school teacher, and he remembered he’d had Dempsey’s younger brother in a class. He was a troubled kid whose older brother was in and out of prison. Dave thought he’d probably talked to Helen about him. So she must have tracked the older Dempsey down.”

Dix continued, “We think it was Helen who told them about Winkel’s Cave, as a good place to hide Erin

’s body. Otherwise, they would have had no way of knowing about it. Did you or Chappy ever take Helen there?”

Gordon said, “I don’t remember. Maybe Chappy took her there. I never liked that cave when we were boys, it was Chappy’s place.”

“Helen knew about that entrance, she knew about the cave chamber. We think they chose how to kill Erin all on their own, though. Did you know they used a hallucinogenic drug to disable her, and after they killed her, they embalmed her and posed her? Did you know that, Gordon?”

He looked like he was going to faint. “They embalmed her? Like morticians do?”

Ruth nodded. “Morticians and insane people. We know that Dempsey’s stepfather worked in a funeral home. He must have hung around the place, watched the process. So Dempsey did something to really confuse things. He and Slater embalmed her, and as a final touch, posed her to make it look like a ritual killing rather than a contract killing, in case she was found too soon. And that part of it worked like a charm. It was an excellent distraction. We were led to believe a ritual serial killer might have murdered Erin Bushnell. We thought there might be other victims, and spent some time and effort looking for them

—including all your former student lovers. And because they are all alive and well, it didn’t really settle comfortably that you were some maniac serial killer.”

Gordon’s face went white. “You believed I was capable of that? A killer who did that over and over?”

“They made it look possible,” Ruth said. “But we know now it isn’t.”

Dix said, “Whatever else Dempsey and Slater were, they were savvy when it came to their own survival. Until they made the mistake of coming after Ruth.”

Gordon sat down on the piano bench, then looked over at Ruth. “However did you get away from them in that cave?”

“That’s a good question. I know that if they realized I was there they would have killed me. They killed Walt, so there is no doubt they would have killed me, too. We believe that after I inhaled or touched the drug they used on Erin, I fell and struck my head. Still, I must have gotten my wits together enough to find my way out of the cave without them seeing me, maybe after they left. And I must have wandered through the woods until I collapsed near Dix’s house.”

“But that’s at least four, five miles from Winkel’s Cave.”

Ruth shrugged. “Neither Dix nor I can figure any other way I could have ended up in his woods.”

“She’s in excellent shape,” Dix said, bringing Gordon’s attention back to him. “So even while she was hallucinating and sick, she could have wandered for hours. We figure Dempsey and Slater must have told Helen about finding Ruth’s car, with her wallet locked inside. So they knew she was an FBI agent. I’ll bet that shook them, because they had to believe she knew what they’d done. I imagine they searched for her for hours.”

Dix continued, “Helen must have contacted them when she learned I found an unconscious woman in my woods who couldn’t remember what had happened to her. It didn’t seem like they had a choice, really, so they risked coming to my house Saturday night to kill her. The only thing they didn’t count on was dying.”

Gordon was shaking his head. “I still can’t believe someone as devoted and kind as my Helen would have hired men like Dempsey and Slater. No, I think this is all a ruse to try to trap me somehow. I know you believe I hired them, maybe with Chappy’s help since he knows so many people in Richmond. That’

s what you believe, isn’t it?”

Dix said, “Oh no, Gordon, you’re being the actor here. You do believe Helen did it because she called you on Wednesday night and told you what she’d done. And that’s why you strangled her.”

“That is insulting and ridiculous! You ask anyone, Helen had to come into my office to swat flies! I couldn

’t kill anyone.”

Ruth said, “We know Helen called you Wednesday night—again, Gordon, her phone records. She probably told you all about it when you went over to her house to see her. Was she remorseful, tearful, Gordon? Truly upset about the death and pain she’d caused? Did she intend to tell everyone and ruin your life? Did you kill her in a rage, for revenge, or was it more cold-blooded than that? I go for cold-blooded, myself, because you strangled her in her sleep, when she couldn’t see you, when she was at her most vulnerable. Were you trying to protect your reputation and your cushy little wood-paneled job?”

Gordon slammed his fist down on the keyboard. “I don’t want to talk to either of you any more about this! You accused me of murdering Erin; you’ve had me watched continuously; you’ve searched my house, my office, my e-mail, for God’s sake. And you have found nothing! And through all this I have cooperated with you. And here, after all that, you have the gall to come to my house and accuse me of murdering Helen. You have no proof of anything!”

So much for a distraught confession, Dix thought.

But Gordon wasn’t through. “You are right about one thing, Dix. If what you say about Helen is true, then there is nothing left for me. Everything will come out now, no hope for it. I will have nothing—not Erin, not my reputation, my career, my good name. It’s only a matter of time before the board of directors of Stanislaus very civilly demands my resignation. Can you imagine how Chappy will delight in that? Of course you can. You have ruined my life, Dix, ruined it!”

Gordon stuck out his hands. “So arrest me, find yourself a grand jury to indict me. You know it’s impossible because I didn’t kill Helen and so you can’t have any proof that I did. You think I’m stupid and weak or you wouldn’t even have come here.

“Damn you both. Get out of my house. Don’t come back unless you come to arrest me.”

It was as if he’d yelled out all his passion. He slumped forward, looking ineffably weary. He whispered, not looking at them, “Please leave. I want to be alone to mourn Erin, and Walt and Helen. I’m tired to my soul. I want to go to bed.”

CHAPTER 38

TARA MAESTRO, VIRGINIA MONDAY MORNING

RUTH AND DIX sat facing Tony and Cynthia. Chappy sat in his big winged patriarch’s chair, his fingertips tapping.

Dix looked around at Christie’s family, who were utterly silent. He didn’t think he’d ever been in their company when one of them wasn’t insulting or complaining about one of the others. He sat as silently as Ruth, tapping his foot, waiting for one of them to speak about Gordon. Of course they knew everything. It was all over Maestro.

But no one said a word.

Dix finally said, “So which one of you is going to tell me where Gordon went off to?”

Chappy shrugged. “Can’t imagine why you’d think any of us would have a clue, Dix.” Chappy sat back and folded his hands over his belly. He chuckled, shook his head. “So old Twister’s gone into the wind, has he? Milt at the post office called me this morning, said your deputies were banging on doors trying to find him, but it seems he’s a ghost. How did you let that happen, Dix? Didn’t you have a deputy watching his house?”

“We know a driver with Flying Cabs picked Gordon up on the street behind his house and drove him to Elderville. He was dropped off in a residential neighborhood. No one we’ve spoken to in the area knows him, no one saw him. Someone else must have picked him up from there.”

“Good for him, I say,” Cynthia said, and toasted all of them with her last bite of muffin.

“Uncle Gordon was free to go, Dix. And you don’t really have any proof against him, do you?” Tony asked. He sat forward, clasped his elegant hands between his knees. “Who cares if he took off? If you find out where he is, you still can’t bring him back.”

“He left because there wasn’t anything here for him anymore, Dix,” Cynthia said. “He was ruined. He couldn’t face the humiliation, so he left.”

Dix said, “That’s certainly putting the best face on it, Cynthia. The fact is, though, Gordon is no more accomplished a criminal than Helen Rafferty was. He knows he’s left tracks. That’s why he snuck off while he could.”

The silence returned, none of them meeting Dix’s eyes.

Dix looked at Tony. “I find it interesting that you didn’t bother to tell me all of Gordon’s accounts were closed out. I don’t suppose you helped him with that, Tony? I certainly can’t imagine Chappy doing it.”

“It isn’t against the law to give a man his own money,” Tony said.

Dix looked at each of them, wondering if there were words that would convince them. He didn’t think so. They were finally together on something, not set against one another. He gave it a try anyway. “I know Gordon wouldn’t have had the knowledge or the wherewithal to plan something like this.”

Chappy chuckled. “Evidently old Twister’s got unplumbed depths. Who would have thought it possible?”

Tony asked, “Who cares if someone helped arrange transportation, money, ID, whatever, for him, Dix?

It’s not against the law.”

Chappy grinned. “Hey, maybe I did it for old Twister.”

Dix shook his head. “Chappy, you’re the only one I wouldn’t suspect of that. You can’t be in the same room with Gordon without your tearing into each other. I wouldn’t have thought you’d do anything for Gordon except visit him in jail, joking about a file in a cake.”

Chappy rose slowly to his feet. He shook a finger at Dix. “Are you nuts, Dix? Gordon and I are brothers. All we’ve ever done is have some fun with each other.”

Ruth said, “You know where he is, don’t you, Chappy?”

Chappy smiled down at her. “He was going on about killing himself, the little pissant. I wasn’t going to let my own brother do that, not after we lost Christie, Dix. And he’s not going to spend the last years of his life rotting in prison, either. Not unless you can prove what he did and, of course, find him. Naturally, I have no clue where he is, Agent Ruth.”

Dix said, “So I gather Gordon won’t be coming for a visit anytime soon. If he does, I think we’ll have to notify the Justice Department about a fake passport, won’t we?”

Dix rose together with Ruth. “Chappy, you never cease to surprise me. I’d like to bring the boys over sometime soon. This has been a difficult time for them. Would that suit you?”

“That would be nice, Dix,” Chappy said. “Real nice.”

CHAPTER 39

GREYHAVEN INN GREAT BEAR ROAD MAESTRO, VIRGINIA MONDAY LUNCHTIME

“SORRY WE’RE LATE, guys, but we had a little business with Chappy, Tony, and Cynthia.”

Sherlock grinned up at them and Savich rose to hug Ruth and shake Dix’s hand.

“You two look like you could use a little more sleep,” Dix said. “You had a wild time last night.”

“True enough,” Savich said. “We slept in this morning.”

“At least until Sean jumped on the bed and began a war dance,” Sherlock said. Once they were all seated and had ordered, Dix looked around the large room with a huge quarried gray stone fireplace at one end and beams overhead.

“This is one of the best-kept secrets for lunch in Maestro. Wait till you taste the vegetarian minestrone, Dillon.” He raised his coffee cup. “To a conclusion, of sorts, to the trouble in Maestro.”

Ruth grinned. “We solved it, Dix, so don’t sound so down in the mouth.”

Savich sat back and looked from one to the other of them. “All right. So tell us about this business at Tara.”

Dix nodded. “Well, when we spoke earlier, I told you how surprised we were at how well Gordon stood up to us. We really hoped we could break him down but it didn’t happen.”

Ruth sighed. “We hoped to get a confession, and I swear we hit him with everything we had for maximum impact.”

Dix said, “You could see it in his eyes when we told him Helen was responsible for Erin’s and Walt’s deaths. He knew, Helen had told him all right.”

Ruth said, “Dix, I’m thinking now it was Chappy who told him how to handle us. Gordon never seemed that strong to me.” She shrugged. “It’s Chappy’s doing. And it’s possible Chappy did more than get Gordon out of town.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if Chappy has somehow covered up any evidence there was, too,” Dix said.

“You’re certainly giving Chappy a lot of credit, Ruth,” Savich said. Ruth said, “I’m just saying Chappy’s helped him more than once. Chappy helped him escape.”

“It’s not just Chappy,” Dix said. “When Ruth and I went to see the family this morning, it turned out to be all of them.”

When Dix finished explaining, he waved a carrot stick at Ruth. “And that’s why,” he said, “our FBI agent here is convinced Chappy is behind Gordon’s great escape. We’ll be patient,” he added, “but you know, as far as I’m concerned, unless we find proof, Gordon can stay gone.”

Savich thought Dix wanted Gordon to stay gone, proof or not.

Their food arrived, and talk turned to the boys. Over a dessert of warm fresh apple pie Ruth said, “

Okay, guys, tell us exactly how you managed to track down Moses Grace and Claudia.”

Sherlock looked over at her husband. “Well, it’s like this. What Dillon did wasn’t quite what you’d want to get out. In fact, the lid is on as tight as we can make it. So consider yourselves privileged.”

Dix’s eyebrow shot up. “Whatever did you do, Savich? If it needs to stay among the four of us, you’ve got my word on that.”

Savich nodded, set his fork on his plate. “You know that when someone calls nine-one-one, the dispatcher gets the callback number and the location of the person almost instantly, regardless of the carrier. Bottom line, we reprogrammed all the cell towers in the Washington, D.C., area to switch any call to my cell phone to the Hoover Building as a nine-one-one call. We fastened MAX to the dashboard, all ready for Moses to call. When he did, we had a nice dancing yellow dot showing us exactly where he was.

“The programming was manageable, but getting permission to work with the cell phone providers to reprogram their networks was the hard part. But Moses helped us out. When he bombed the Bonhomie Club he became a domestic terrorist threatening the nation’s capital. Some very important people in the executive branch wanted him stopped immediately, and that turned out to be quickly fatal for him.”

Dix said, “So anyone calling your number would have had their voice recorded and their location displayed in the FBI building. Is that legal?”

“Not usually,” Savich said, smiled, and took another bite of apple pie.

CHAPTER 40

WINKEL’S CAVE MONDAY AFTERNOON

THEY STEPPED THROUGH the cave opening with no hesitation this time and climbed downward, pressing close to the right side of the cavern, well aware of the precipice two feet to the left. Ruth stepped into the cave chamber where Erin Bushnell had lain and shone her head lamp all around. “

What a relief, this place doesn’t seem all that scary anymore. It’s nice now.”

“It’s nice because it still smells like a crime scene. All right, Ruth,” Dix continued patiently, “you refused to tell me anything until we were here. This has to qualify. Do you think you can tell me what we’re doing here?”

“We’re here for some treasure hunting, Dix. We’re here for my Confederate gold. I keep thinking about my treasure map. It said the gold was beneath the niche. When I saw the deep crevice and realized parts of this cave are cut well below us, I started to wonder whether they meant that literally. The soldiers may have found a lower crevice or cavern and buried the gold there.”

“Why go to that much trouble?”

She walked to the deep niche, went down on her knees, pulled out her pick, and began tapping the earth. She said over her shoulder, “They didn’t want anyone to find the gold, even if they found the cave. That’s why they left the map incomplete.”

He stood behind her, watching, saying nothing.

They both heard it—not the sound of rock but the dull sound of wood. She looked up at him, her smile lighting up the dim chamber. “Is this great, or what?”

She began digging with her pick, and Dix dropped to his knees and began pulling away the loosened earth. Within moments, they felt rotten wood planks, and soon they uncovered a depressed floor some three feet square.

Once Dix had pulled up the last plank, Ruth lay on her stomach and angled her chest down into the hole, Dix’s Maglite shining down. “I wondered how they could do this, but now I understand. It’s a natural passage they boarded up, like a hole into a low-ceilinged basement in a house. The drop is only about five feet. I wondered how they could get the gold bars down there so easily, and this is how.” She jumped to her feet and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Let’s go down there, partner.”

Once Dix and Ruth stood in the middle of the chamber, they panned their flashlights around the small space. “Look,” Ruth said. “That narrow passageway probably leads back to the underground river and that cliff at the cave entrance.”

“The cave floor must slope up very fast,” Dix said. “It dead-ends here in this chamber. Look how the floor keeps going up. At the back wall, I’ll bet it’s only about three feet tall.”

“All that’s surely nice,” Ruth said, “but where’s my gold?”

Dix said, “I guess there’s no reason to think the Rebel soldiers would leave the gold out in plain view, not after they went to all the trouble of lugging it down here and covering that hole in the ceiling.”

A few minutes later, at a height of about four feet, Dix’s fingers pressed against something rough in a crevice in the west wall. He pounded his fist against it and heard the echo of wood. “There’s something here, Ruth,” he called as he felt excitement fill him.

They quickly uncovered more wood planks. Dix looked at Ruth, raised an eyebrow. Ruth nodded to him and smashed her pick through the rotted wood. It splintered inward. Dix leaned over her shoulder, shining his Maglite into the blackness.

“Oh my.” Ruth crawled into a space too small to stand in, laid the Maglite on the floor. She knelt in front of a low pile of what looked like bricks covered in dust. She ran her sleeve roughly over it. They stared at six rows of gold bars, four deep, lined up perfectly by those soldiers long ago. Sitting next to the bars was a very old leather satchel.

Ruth touched the gold bars, but her eyes went to the satchel. Gently, she pulled it out, carefully unfastened it. Inside was a small leather-bound notebook. “It’s not a diary, there aren’t any pages. There are a dozen or so letters here.” She ran her fingertips over the folded sheets. She unfolded one near the top of the pile. “It’s a woman’s handwriting. Her name is Missy and she’s writing to her husband.” She looked up at him. “He’s got to be one of the soldiers who stole the gold.”

Soon they both sat cross-legged on the cave floor, the stacked gold bars unnoticed behind them, looking through the packet of letters. “They’re all to Lieutenant Charles Breacken. Wait a moment, not this one.”

She picked up the last letter in the pile. “It’s from him. He never got to send it. I wonder why he left it here?”

She read:

It was brutally hot today and still all we have to wear is wool. There’s a battle coming, everyone knows it

’s coming, but no one wants to talk about it. I don’t know when I’ll see you again, Missy, but perhaps next month. I’m glad your parents are there to help you on the farm. Is your father still drinking too much?

We are protecting something of value we managed to steal from the Confederates, who were taking it to General Lee in Richmond. They are searching for us. We are determined they shall not have it. Elias stumbled across a cave for shelter, and I am writing this letter to you by candlelight deep inside the cave. If we prevail, my darling Missy, we will have done a great service for the Union. When next we meet, I may be Captain Charles Breacken.

I’ve got to go now. Elias just came in, said the Rebels are getting closer. I’m needed. Kiss our daughter. Your loving husband, Charles

Ruth said in a whisper, “He was a Union soldier, an officer.”

“And he never got home to his wife and daughter,” Dix said. “He died.”

“All of them died, but they didn’t give up the gold,” Ruth said. “I wonder how the map ended up in an old book in that attic in Manassas? Why did Charles leave his satchel here? It obviously meant a lot to him.”

“Maybe,” Dix said, “he was killed right here, outside, near Lone Tree Hill.”

He pulled her against him. “Well done, Ruth. You did it. Mr. Weaver’s going to be a very happy man. You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

She kissed him in reply.

NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE BRIEFING THE WHITE HOUSE TUESDAY MORNING

THE DIRECTOR OF National Intelligence jiggled the ice in his glass, a sure sign he was pleased about something. “With respect to item six, Mr. President, the FBI domestic wireless telecommunications operation has been decommissioned with no disruption of emergency nine-one-one service. The single FBI agent injured by gunfire will fully recover.”

The president sat back in his leather chair and steepled his fingers. “And operational security remains intact? We can expect no blowback on any possible civil liberties questions?”

“That is correct, Mr. President. And we believe the swift conclusion has indeed given the message we discussed.”

“John, I’d like you to write a letter under your own signature commending Special Agent Dillon Savich for his briefing and the successful execution of his plan.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” the director said. “Now to item seven, the request for new countermeasures on the Afghan border.”

EPILOGUE

THAT SUMMER

RUTH WARNECKI KNOCKED on the front door of a small tract house in a subdivision of Midlothian, Virginia. Linda Massey answered the door with two boys, both under the age of four, clinging to her jeans, and a baby nestled in the crook of her arm. She gave Ruth a harried smile. “I hope you’re not selling encyclopedias,” she said. “This crew is still a little young and no one else has the time.”

“No, I’m not selling anything,” Ruth said. “I do have a story to tell you about your family that goes back to the Civil War. I think it might interest you.”

Linda Massey, the closest surviving descendant of Lieutenant Charles Breacken of the Union Army, was five hundred thousand dollars richer.

Ruth left an hour later, feeling so fine she clicked up her heels. She waved to Dix, who was leaning against his Range Rover, waiting for her. She gave him a huge grin and a thumbs-up.