Cromwell's Folly by Ginny Fite

Author:Ginny Fite
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2022-08-29T21:30:21+00:00

Chapter Thirty-five

April 5, 2014, 4 p.m.

The first thing Sam Lagarde asked Beverly Wilson when she opened the door of her house was whether she had any mud boots. “It gets a little deep out this time of year,” he explained.

As it turned out, she did have a pair of rubber Wellies that had a little heel. He noticed the heel with a feeling of happiness. Just enough for hanging on in a stirrup. He also noticed she had a barn coat similar to his own and was wearing a soft-looking green scarf. She placed the boots on the floor of the back seat of his car and hopped in the front. Lagarde thought she might be glad to have this sudden reprieve from her solitude. She wasn’t talkative but she was alert. He noticed now that her feelings played across the screen of her face and if he was attentive, they wouldn’t need words. He wondered how she learned to be so quiet. Most women he knew just yakked and yakked until he wanted to put plugs in his ears. On the other hand, her silence forced him to talk more. Maybe it was a strategy on her part; the other guy had to make the first move all the time with Mrs. Wilson. Maybe that gave her time to assess people. Of course, the minute he had his conclusions drawn, she overturned them.

“Do you have any more information about who killed Ben?” she asked him as he turned off Route 81 onto Route 9 towards Charles Town and Harpers Ferry.

“I have more information but it’s like having more pieces of the puzzle that still don’t fit together,” he said.

“Tell me some of your pieces.”

Sam Lagarde decided he liked her directness. It was possible he would like whatever she did. It was very comfortable sitting next to her, both of them going in the same direction, looking out over the passing landscape. They were about half way to their destination driving on the new overpass above what used to be a two-hundred acre orchard for apples and peaches, now cut in half for the very convenient highway from Martinsburg all the way to Berryville, Virginia. Beverly was looking at the acres of trees still bare but getting ready to bloom into a galaxy of pink and white stars.

“It’s a shame about the orchards,” she said. “Can’t really call this area apple valley anymore.” She turned her head and looked at him. “So, what do you know?

“We went to talk with Evelyn Foster, the woman who called you, today. She was in a bad way. She committed suicide while we were there. Apparently she was pregnant and was HIV positive.”

He paused. That was a lot of painful information to dump on Beverly at once. He looked over at her. She was staring out her passenger side window. Nothing showed on her face but the changing light from the window.

“God, how horrible for you,” she said.

That was the last thing he expected her to say.

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