Edith stood in the doorway surveying her employer with a worried frown. “You look like the fellow for whom Dismal Swamp was named.”
Bill rubbed his eyes and groaned. “Is it too late to consider a career in real estate?”
“Seems like that’s what caused your problem in the first place,” Edith replied.
“My sister says that I’m too trusting.”
Edith considered this statement. “Well,” she said. “I don’t think this would have happened if A. P. Hill had been here. Maybe you just need to be a little more conservative from now on.”
“If there is a
If Edith had a soothing reply to this outburst of self-pity, it was forestalled by the appearance of A. P. Hill herself, briefcase in hand, looking as grimly determined as usual. She wore her no-nonsense blue suit, and her blond hair was newly cropped into the unglamorous style she favored to offset her prettiness. Bill resisted the urge to crawl under his desk in the face of such ruthless efficiency.
“Hello,” she said. “My case is finished. We plea-bargained.” She took in the bleak expressions on the faces of her listeners. “What are y’all looking so glum about? I’m the one who lost the chance of a great trial.”
Bill and Edith looked at each other, avoiding A. P. Hill’s searching gaze.
“What’s wrong? Did Mr. Trowbridge finally stump you with a question?”
“Tell her,” said Edith. “I just remembered we need some more manila folders. I’ll run out and get some. It’s almost lunchtime anyhow.” It was ten-fifteen. She snatched up her purse and hurried out the door before anyone could reply.
A. P. Hill set down her briefcase and perched on the edge of Bill’s desk. “Tell me what?” she said with a puzzled frown.
“I had a few problems while you were gone,” said Bill. “First of all, I was handling my mother’s divorce. You knew about that? Well, my mother fired me. Claims I wasn’t devoting enough time to her case.”
“Just as well,” said Powell. “It’s best not to represent family and you probably wouldn’t have charged her, so it isn’t a financial loss. I guess it hurt your feelings though.”
“It might have,” said Bill, “except that I had other matters on my mind. Mr. Trowbridge called this morning. He’s canceling the rest of the yearly retainer for stupid questions. He says he’s decided to take law courses at night at the local community college. He claims that my sister suggested it.”
“There’s one other concern,” said Bill. He explained about the simple real estate transaction, the power of attorney, and the Cayman Islands wire transfer while his partner’s expression changed from polite bewilderment to apprehension and finally to utter dismay. “And so,” Bill concluded, “I have hopes that Elizabeth will find the Confederate daughters and save me from being charged with fraud and murder.”
“I see,” said A. P. Hill. She was several shades paler now. Her eyebrows seemed to have arched permanently in an expression of horror.
“They were really very kind,” Bill said.
“Except that they left you under suspicion of fraud and murder,” his partner pointed out.
“The million and a half worries me,” said Bill. “Will the state expect
“I hope not. We didn’t get insurance on the practice yet, did we?”
“No. We opted for filing cabinets instead. I could never hope to raise that much money, Powell. I have the seventy-five thousand dollars from the house sale commission, but that wouldn’t go far. Besides, I paid off my college loan with it and bought a car and the fax machine.”
A. P. Hill groaned. “You shouldn’t be let out alone,” she said. “You have to pay taxes on that, remember! Are those all the assets you have?”
“All my worldly goods,” said Bill. “Except for this.” He fished out his Confederate penny and held it up with a rueful smile.
“Let me see that,” said Powell, snatching the coin. “Where did you get this?”
“Miss Bridgeford gave it to me. For a lucky piece. You see. I told you those ladies were nice.”
“They were very kind. Look, can I hold on to this for a little while?”
“Don’t you think I need a lucky piece more than you do?” asked Bill.
“I promise to let you have the luck, partner. Right now I’d better go and talk to somebody about this little predicament of yours. We need to do something before you get indicted. I have our reputation to think of.”
“Who can you talk to?” asked Bill. “I was afraid to go to any of the old boys in town, because if they find out how badly I’ve screwed up, we’ll never get accepted by the legal eagles around here.”
“I don’t care for the thought myself,” said Powell Hill. “But I can’t see any way out of it. I’m going to see what I can do to clear up this mess. And then I suppose I’ll have to talk to Cousin Stinky.”
“Great!” groaned Bill. “Your cousin Stinky. You think a country lawyer from southwest Virginia can help me out? Where does Stinky practice? Martinsville?”
“Richmond. Cousin Stinky is the state’s attorney general.” A. P. Hill tossed the coin in the air and caught it. “Catch you later, partner.”
– LAST WORDS OF STONEWALL JACKSON
CHAPTER 10
“LET ME TELL her about it, Flora!” Lydia Bridgeford was saying. “After all,
“But who put it there?” Dolly Hawks Smith demanded.
I was almost oblivious to their bickering, because the words
“Some of it,” said Lydia Bridgeford. “One of the cabinet officers, a Mr. Micajah Clark, managed to account for about thirty thousand dollars, which he did turn over to the Union authorities. But remember that when Richmond fell, the government took the treasury with them to Danville. Gold bars.”
I shook my head. “There couldn’t have been much money. The Confederacy was poor. Our soldiers had no shoes, no ammunition, no meat-”
“I thought of that, too,” said Flora Dabney. “But the Union blockade cut off the Confederacy’s trade with other countries, which meant that there were no supplies to be had. That’s not the same as being without the money to buy them.”
“I have been tracing the Confederate treasury for some time now,” said Lydia Bridgeford. “My dear father was one of the men responsible for guarding it.”
“Your father stole the Confederate treasury?” I should have thought before I spoke, but, frankly, I was amazed to find that genteel larceny was hereditary.
Lydia Bridgeford was thoroughly indignant at such an improper suggestion. “Stole it from whom?” she demanded. “The government had fallen and the officials were trying to flee to Mexico. I am sure that he was keeping it in trust for a time when the South would rise again.”
“Oh, Lyddy, he was not,” said Dolly Smith. “You know perfectly well that your father spent his share and lost what he didn’t spend in the crash of ’29. What’s buried here is
