Page 59 of Dirty Valentine
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The drive back to town felt like emerging from another world.Cell service returned gradually, and with it the familiar buzz of Jack’s phone with updates from the investigation.But my mind kept circling back to what Leena and Evangeline had told us about justice magic and the herbs that had been stolen.
“We need to talk to Patricia again,” I said as we reached the outskirts of King George Proper.“If someone’s targeting descendants for a magical ritual, she might know details about the financial stakes that could help us understand the scope.”
“Agreed.And I want to check that incident report about the greenhouse break-in.If we can narrow down the timeline, we might be able to figure out when our killer started planning this.”
Jack’s phone rang as we pulled into the parking lot of a roadside diner that advertised the best fried chicken in three counties.The caller ID showed Patricia Whitman’s number.
“Sheriff Lawson,” Jack answered, putting the phone on speaker.
“Sheriff, it’s Patricia Whitman.”Her voice sounded strained, tinged with an urgency that made me sit up straighter.“I’ve been thinking about our conversation this afternoon, about Thomas’s research and who might want to stop it.There’s something I didn’t tell you—something about the financial implications of what he’d discovered.”
“What kind of financial implications?”Jack asked.
“The land that was stolen from Bridget Ashworth—it’s not just historically significant.If Thomas could prove the original transfers were fraudulent, it would affect current property ownership throughout King George County.We’re talking about millions of dollars in prime riverfront land, some of the most valuable real estate in Virginia.The homestead and land that Bridget and her husband farmed was parceled out after she was tried for witchcraft, having deemed property ownership null and void due to her crimes.”
“Let me guess,” Jack said.“The land that was parceled out went to the families went to the families whose names were marked on those graves.”
“Partially true,” Patricia said.“The Whitmans, Mortons, and Hughes were adjacent to the property and divided it up equally.There are records that show the Mills family was given all the livestock, as the Ashworths had one of the largest farms in the area at the time.And there is a single handwritten receipt that Blackwood took payment for his troubles in overseeing the whole affair by helping himself to gold bars that Bridget’s husband had been given by the king himself because he’d once saved the king’s life.”
“So the Ashworths were the wealthiest family on the block and the other colonists got greedy,” Jack said, summing it up.
“Essentially,” she said.“If these records held up in court some of the biggest landowners in the county could lose everything if an heir was found.”Patricia’s voice dropped to a whisper.“In the weeks before he died, Thomas became increasingly paranoid.He said he felt like someone was watching him, following him.He started keeping his research locked up, wouldn’t even discuss it with me at home.”
“Did he say why he was worried?”Jack asked.
“He said the implications of what he’d found were bigger than he’d realized.That proving the land fraud wouldn’t just be an academic exercise—it would destroy some of the most powerful families in Virginia.”A pause, filled with static and what sounded like traffic in the background.“Sheriff, I think someone killed my husband because his research threatened to expose the biggest land fraud in Virginia history.And I think they’re going to keep killing until everyone who knows the truth is dead.”
“Have you received any threats?”Jack asked.
“No,” she said.“I have to go.I’ve got meetings.”
The line went dead, leaving Jack and me staring at each other across the Tahoe’s interior.Outside, the ordinary world continued—people pumping gas, families eating dinner at picnic tables, teenagers texting on their phones.But inside our vehicle, the weight of what we’d learned pressed down like storm clouds.
“If she’s the killer then this is an interesting strategy,” I said.
“It’s hard to know which direction is up with this case,” Jack agreed.
“But Patricia is right.This isn’t about historical justice or magical rituals.This is about money.Millions of dollars’ worth of stolen land, and someone willing to commit murder to protect their claim to it.”
Jack glanced toward the diner’s neon sign, then at me with that look that meant he was about to go into protective husband mode.“When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t toast or crackers?”
“I had tea this morning,” I said, already knowing where this was headed.
“Tea isn’t food.”He was already climbing out of the Tahoe.“And before you argue, the baby needs actual nutrients, not just caffeine and wishful thinking.”
“I wasn’t going to argue,” I said, though we both knew I absolutely was.
“Sure you weren’t.”He came around to open my door, that half smile playing at the corners of his mouth.“Come on.Let’s get some protein in you before you pass out and I have to explain to the paramedics why my wife fainted in a diner parking lot.”
“You’re very romantic when you’re being practical,” I said, taking his offered hand.
“That’s because keeping you fed and healthy is my favorite hobby,” he said, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.“Well, second favorite.”
CHAPTERNINETEEN
The afternoon skyhad turned the color of old pewter by the time we climbed back into the Tahoe, the threatening clouds from earlier finally making good on their promise.The first fat drops of rain splattered against the windshield as Jack started the engine, the temperature dropping enough that the air-conditioning felt suddenly unnecessary.
